Here is a list of Work Poems ordered by Most Viewed, posted by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
CAT D9 AND MATT.....!
There's a story let me tell you
That happened some time back
So grab a stump and listen
'Bout a D9 Cat. and Matt.
It was '08 round September
And the word had just come through
'Bout some fellers that were coming
To do an interview
They were from a publication
From France across the sea
And arranged to take some photos
Of the Cat.D9 and me
So we did the picture bit OK...
They were awestruck at the 'C'
Then it came at last to my turn
To tell them about me
So I told what they needed
And how to drive the Cat.
Explained about the blade plough
The seeder an' all that
How we rake the country
Before we start to sow
They were speechless as I rambled
Till I gave them both a go
At driving from the cabin
How to turn and twist and back
By the time that they had finished
I think they had the 'knack"
Still silent from the action
They were lost at what to say
But were happy with their efforts
Of their 'drive the Cat' display
Some time later we all parted
Me back to my job
For I must keep the hours up
And earn an honest 'bob'
Then came the time the boss came out
A magazine for me to see
In centre fold was Cat.D9
And large as life was me
The pictures didn't look so bad
The Cat. looked good and clean
And there was 'Matt' as bold as brass
The centre of the scene
Then I looked at all the writing
Gave a squawk of sheer dismay
It was in French... the whole damn lot
What it said I could not say
Then one day while in Roma
I said to my friend 'Pete'
About to print some photos
From the Magazine to keep
And he said just leave it with me
He knew a lady he could see
That could translate into English
The story here for me
So he got it all translated
It was done down at 'SURAT
And I was so so excited
About the story an' all that
So I made a deal and offered
To shout Dinner and a yarn
With the Lady and her Hubby
And her friend called 'Christianne'
So in March we had the dinner
It was sad to see it end
For the company was excellent
And now they are my friends
So I went back to my home place
Where rests the D9 Cat.
And they went back to their place
South of Roma ...to SURAT
M. B. Poems 2012
That happened some time back
So grab a stump and listen
'Bout a D9 Cat. and Matt.
It was '08 round September
And the word had just come through
'Bout some fellers that were coming
To do an interview
They were from a publication
From France across the sea
And arranged to take some photos
Of the Cat.D9 and me
So we did the picture bit OK...
They were awestruck at the 'C'
Then it came at last to my turn
To tell them about me
So I told what they needed
And how to drive the Cat.
Explained about the blade plough
The seeder an' all that
How we rake the country
Before we start to sow
They were speechless as I rambled
Till I gave them both a go
At driving from the cabin
How to turn and twist and back
By the time that they had finished
I think they had the 'knack"
Still silent from the action
They were lost at what to say
But were happy with their efforts
Of their 'drive the Cat' display
Some time later we all parted
Me back to my job
For I must keep the hours up
And earn an honest 'bob'
Then came the time the boss came out
A magazine for me to see
In centre fold was Cat.D9
And large as life was me
The pictures didn't look so bad
The Cat. looked good and clean
And there was 'Matt' as bold as brass
The centre of the scene
Then I looked at all the writing
Gave a squawk of sheer dismay
It was in French... the whole damn lot
What it said I could not say
Then one day while in Roma
I said to my friend 'Pete'
About to print some photos
From the Magazine to keep
And he said just leave it with me
He knew a lady he could see
That could translate into English
The story here for me
So he got it all translated
It was done down at 'SURAT
And I was so so excited
About the story an' all that
So I made a deal and offered
To shout Dinner and a yarn
With the Lady and her Hubby
And her friend called 'Christianne'
So in March we had the dinner
It was sad to see it end
For the company was excellent
And now they are my friends
So I went back to my home place
Where rests the D9 Cat.
And they went back to their place
South of Roma ...to SURAT
M. B. Poems 2012
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 2012
About this poem:
This really happened so I thought it appropriate to put it to verse....
The Painter
The Painter
With a special eye, he picks up the the view
Deftly gathering each colour and Hue
Seeing his subject in a whole new light
He picks up a canvas, his face glowing bright
He sets up his easel, in just the right place
Affixing the canvas, with ease and grace
His palette close by, his brushes all clean
His mind capturing the subject, which is soon to be seen
His brush strokes can be light
Yet at times needed, are bold
Lovingly between his fingers
his beloved paintbrush he holds
His eyes darting back and forth
Keeping his subject in full sight
Capturing each minute detail
As the picture springs into life
All time and space stand still for him
He is driven like the wind,
Concentration upon his brow
For his painting is not a whim
To create a natural beauty
The texture, the tones of colour
As he finishes his masterpiece
His heart, could not be fuller!
With a special eye, he picks up the the view
Deftly gathering each colour and Hue
Seeing his subject in a whole new light
He picks up a canvas, his face glowing bright
He sets up his easel, in just the right place
Affixing the canvas, with ease and grace
His palette close by, his brushes all clean
His mind capturing the subject, which is soon to be seen
His brush strokes can be light
Yet at times needed, are bold
Lovingly between his fingers
his beloved paintbrush he holds
His eyes darting back and forth
Keeping his subject in full sight
Capturing each minute detail
As the picture springs into life
All time and space stand still for him
He is driven like the wind,
Concentration upon his brow
For his painting is not a whim
To create a natural beauty
The texture, the tones of colour
As he finishes his masterpiece
His heart, could not be fuller!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Nov 2010
About this poem:
inspired by a friend on here....an Artist....I have not seen his paintings but can see them in my minds eye!!
Hit The Road Jack!
Hit the road Jack!
And don't you come back
No more no more no more no more
Hit the road Jack and don't you come back no more
What you say?
Oh employer oh employer don't treat me so mean
You're the meanest employer that I've ever seen
I guess if you say so
I'll have to pack my things and go
Now boss now boss don't you treat me this a way
Cause I'll be back on my feet some day
Don't care if you do, all is understood
You want too much money and that ain't no good
I guess if you say so
I'll have to pack my things and go
Hit the road Jack
And don't you come back no more!
Don't you come back no more!
And don't you come back
No more no more no more no more
Hit the road Jack and don't you come back no more
What you say?
Oh employer oh employer don't treat me so mean
You're the meanest employer that I've ever seen
I guess if you say so
I'll have to pack my things and go
Now boss now boss don't you treat me this a way
Cause I'll be back on my feet some day
Don't care if you do, all is understood
You want too much money and that ain't no good
I guess if you say so
I'll have to pack my things and go
Hit the road Jack
And don't you come back no more!
Don't you come back no more!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2016
About this poem:
Possible job cuts have been announced where I work some time next year. This song has been playing in my head since. The original is by Ray Charles.
A Field Worker's Soil
Come kiss heaven's hand and give a warm embrace;
Soil the roots of wisdom unto this desolate earth.
A barren land you blisfully sow high hopes,
plant with joy a prosperous toil reaped with dirty bones.
Sacred be your pastures green labored hard and long;
Blessed are the grounds in which you now step upon.
For valued is the meadow that your hard-work built,
nothing is ignored now for decent work dispels all guilt.
The spirit does appreciate burning blood and tears;
and blistered hands of effort-fetched by arduous years.
Rewarded be the sweat of a field worker,
for bountfiful is the fruit of his labor.
Soil the roots of wisdom unto this desolate earth.
A barren land you blisfully sow high hopes,
plant with joy a prosperous toil reaped with dirty bones.
Sacred be your pastures green labored hard and long;
Blessed are the grounds in which you now step upon.
For valued is the meadow that your hard-work built,
nothing is ignored now for decent work dispels all guilt.
The spirit does appreciate burning blood and tears;
and blistered hands of effort-fetched by arduous years.
Rewarded be the sweat of a field worker,
for bountfiful is the fruit of his labor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2009
About this poem:
Most people (ignorant, so to speak) immediately assume that all hispanic immigrants are good for nothings, that they belong in the rice fields. Little do they know, hispanics in general are labor ready workers, hard-workers, willing to sacrifice whatever it is necessary to provide their families with daily food. They're underpaid and disrespected, this poem was written in honor of those great men whose fruit is the product of their labor.
pressed
he stands amid the dusted rays
of beams from smudged, windowed days
casting light on the words below
pressed flat upon papered page
he's been here since before sun up
stained and smelling of turpentine
surveying the thoughts he's pressed
quickly he hangs the page to dry
then re-inks the typeset laid to table
and inserts another piece to press
pulling at the screw pressed platen
repeating process his labors express
his desire to enlighten the world
not just his neighbors informed to tell
ideas and thoughts carried on back
ancestors haunched with ink and quill
before them criers cried the street
events be known upon lips aloud
spreading ideas throughout the land
difficult to speak beyond the crowd
and unbeknownst to him and kind
someday in future ideas are spread
with something called electricity
through wires and waves on into head
to reach to you my heartfelt soul
ideas with emotions and feelings said
until now, thoughts sweetest aspirations
words spread like jam on slice of bread
words, like feelings toil quietly
carry your touch and feeling along
to distant lands and distant times to
give life's meaning, therefore prolong
what the publisher and writer wish
to convey to all able to read or hear
that thought, like life, is precious
held close at hand, the mind made clear
© Goode Guy 2011-08-09
of beams from smudged, windowed days
casting light on the words below
pressed flat upon papered page
he's been here since before sun up
stained and smelling of turpentine
surveying the thoughts he's pressed
quickly he hangs the page to dry
then re-inks the typeset laid to table
and inserts another piece to press
pulling at the screw pressed platen
repeating process his labors express
his desire to enlighten the world
not just his neighbors informed to tell
ideas and thoughts carried on back
ancestors haunched with ink and quill
before them criers cried the street
events be known upon lips aloud
spreading ideas throughout the land
difficult to speak beyond the crowd
and unbeknownst to him and kind
someday in future ideas are spread
with something called electricity
through wires and waves on into head
to reach to you my heartfelt soul
ideas with emotions and feelings said
until now, thoughts sweetest aspirations
words spread like jam on slice of bread
words, like feelings toil quietly
carry your touch and feeling along
to distant lands and distant times to
give life's meaning, therefore prolong
what the publisher and writer wish
to convey to all able to read or hear
that thought, like life, is precious
held close at hand, the mind made clear
© Goode Guy 2011-08-09
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2011
About this poem:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inkhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Printing_press
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Publishing
THE PAINTER
He sits at his blank canvas pondering what to paint
Brushes ready he ponders what to paint
will it be a land scape today pondering he thinks
resting his head on his knee he thinks
he looks at the views all around deciding on his view today
a nice water view he desides to do today
boats floating up and down on the water
the calmness of the gentle floating water seagulls flying over head
the gentle sea breeze the coldness of the day
he warms his hands to take away the chill
with brushes in hands,he paints away
his background color white of course
he covers his canvass in no time at all
ready to start he draws his figures he moulds his scene like the paccso he his, gentley sketching his figures come to life boats there
figures there, seagulls of course floating in the air
his talent has no bounds a paccaso he is
now with brushes in hand he slowly lovingly glides his brushes like a work of art painting many colors on his work of art
slowly he builds up his picture brightly lite colors
his picture opens wide to let spectators view inside his work of art
now open to view
now finished and open to view
they come and stir and glare at his art some smile some people laugh
they stare containtly for major detail all looking at his art
with a beaming smile and pride, he joins them and smiles looking at his art
Brushes ready he ponders what to paint
will it be a land scape today pondering he thinks
resting his head on his knee he thinks
he looks at the views all around deciding on his view today
a nice water view he desides to do today
boats floating up and down on the water
the calmness of the gentle floating water seagulls flying over head
the gentle sea breeze the coldness of the day
he warms his hands to take away the chill
with brushes in hands,he paints away
his background color white of course
he covers his canvass in no time at all
ready to start he draws his figures he moulds his scene like the paccso he his, gentley sketching his figures come to life boats there
figures there, seagulls of course floating in the air
his talent has no bounds a paccaso he is
now with brushes in hand he slowly lovingly glides his brushes like a work of art painting many colors on his work of art
slowly he builds up his picture brightly lite colors
his picture opens wide to let spectators view inside his work of art
now open to view
now finished and open to view
they come and stir and glare at his art some smile some people laugh
they stare containtly for major detail all looking at his art
with a beaming smile and pride, he joins them and smiles looking at his art
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2010
About this poem:
the joys of paintingMinimum Wage
What if there was a worldwide minimum wage of 15 dollars an hour?
What would someone in Vietnam or China make in a year?
So let's multiply it out
15 hour work day times seven days a week equals 105 hours
Let's say they also get time and a half after 40 hours
So the first 40 hours would equal 600 dollars
The next 65 hours would equal 1,462.5 dollars
Add them together and you get 2,062.5 dollars
Multiply that out times 52 weeks and you get 107,250 dollars
What do they get now?
It's around a dollar an hour with no overtime
So they get 105 dollars a week and 5,460 dollars a year
Where does the 101,790 dollars a week go?
What do the owners of these companies do with all that money?
How much do you really need to be comfortable at their expense?
When is Michael Jordan going to go to Nike and demand good pay?
Probably not too soon as he just became a billionaire this year
Off of shoes made by neglected workers making a dollar an hour
What would someone in Vietnam or China make in a year?
So let's multiply it out
15 hour work day times seven days a week equals 105 hours
Let's say they also get time and a half after 40 hours
So the first 40 hours would equal 600 dollars
The next 65 hours would equal 1,462.5 dollars
Add them together and you get 2,062.5 dollars
Multiply that out times 52 weeks and you get 107,250 dollars
What do they get now?
It's around a dollar an hour with no overtime
So they get 105 dollars a week and 5,460 dollars a year
Where does the 101,790 dollars a week go?
What do the owners of these companies do with all that money?
How much do you really need to be comfortable at their expense?
When is Michael Jordan going to go to Nike and demand good pay?
Probably not too soon as he just became a billionaire this year
Off of shoes made by neglected workers making a dollar an hour
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2016
About this poem:
I was listening to a cd book by Glenn Beck and had to go to a different cd that didn't deal with the minimum wage debate. Are there employers out there that believe as I do that workers should be properly taken care of?Going to the Bathroom
I like to slack off
I really do
I brownnose the boss
And compliment him too
My coworker are so jealous
Of all the work I don't do
They don't know the game like I do
Cause I'm going to the bathroom
And I'm gonna sit on my throne
Going to the bathroom and I'm gonna slack off
Going to the bathroom and read the newspaper
Going to the bathroom I love
Morale is low and I know why
Cause I'm always in the bathroom
They have to do their work and mine
I don't care cause I make the most pay
It's not how hard you work but who the boss likes
That's why I'm going to the bathroom
And I'm gonna sit on my throne
Going to the bathroom and I'm gonna slack off
Going to the bathroom and read the newspaper
Going to the bathroom I love
That's right
I'm going to the bathroom I love
I really do
I brownnose the boss
And compliment him too
My coworker are so jealous
Of all the work I don't do
They don't know the game like I do
Cause I'm going to the bathroom
And I'm gonna sit on my throne
Going to the bathroom and I'm gonna slack off
Going to the bathroom and read the newspaper
Going to the bathroom I love
Morale is low and I know why
Cause I'm always in the bathroom
They have to do their work and mine
I don't care cause I make the most pay
It's not how hard you work but who the boss likes
That's why I'm going to the bathroom
And I'm gonna sit on my throne
Going to the bathroom and I'm gonna slack off
Going to the bathroom and read the newspaper
Going to the bathroom I love
That's right
I'm going to the bathroom I love
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2013
About this poem:
A parody of Going to the Chapel. I had this coworker back at a job I had up till 2006 and he would do this constantly. He did get written up once, but still continued to do this. I figure he worked about half his shift and the other half did stuff like this to get out of work and he was the highest paid. He was also my favorite coworker which shows how bad some of my coworkers were.
... funny as well ; as good"
No kinder place to hang it up well made funny as well ;as good" at night good at the fight good as breakfast in bed at midnight...funny as well; as good is that you can see it in your life and living in an infatuation why do I need you here and there and why do they think they have the right to change it up and get some???
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2015
About this poem:
This notion had been inspired by a single day of events
NO !
Why is it so that they seem to not know,
The answer to their question was definitely no?
You tell them once, you tell them twice,
Your anger grows after telling them thrice.
But they continue with the badgering,
Hoping to con you out of your thing.
To them it's nothing but a game,
Their parents probably do the same.
More than a game it is their hustle,
To them the mouth is their working muscle.
They could have what you have gotten,
The meaning of work they have forgotten.
They also don't seem to be able to save,
For if they did they would not crave,
To have that which I did conserve,
They're lying beggars, I did observe.
Maybe it's because they're lazy you see,
I just wish they'd quit bothering me.
As they continue they keep getting louder,
Until you want to fill them with gunpowder.
Their badgering seems to be persistent,
In saying no I am very consistent.
Once they realize that you wont budge,
It pleases them to hold a grudge.
It is not long before they return,
They pester you without any concern.
You always seem to have something they want,
And to get it they begin to whine and grunt.
In saying this I have not lied,
To see what would happen if I tried.
I asked of one to see how he'd act,
The dude almost died of a heart attack.
The answer to their question was definitely no?
You tell them once, you tell them twice,
Your anger grows after telling them thrice.
But they continue with the badgering,
Hoping to con you out of your thing.
To them it's nothing but a game,
Their parents probably do the same.
More than a game it is their hustle,
To them the mouth is their working muscle.
They could have what you have gotten,
The meaning of work they have forgotten.
They also don't seem to be able to save,
For if they did they would not crave,
To have that which I did conserve,
They're lying beggars, I did observe.
Maybe it's because they're lazy you see,
I just wish they'd quit bothering me.
As they continue they keep getting louder,
Until you want to fill them with gunpowder.
Their badgering seems to be persistent,
In saying no I am very consistent.
Once they realize that you wont budge,
It pleases them to hold a grudge.
It is not long before they return,
They pester you without any concern.
You always seem to have something they want,
And to get it they begin to whine and grunt.
In saying this I have not lied,
To see what would happen if I tried.
I asked of one to see how he'd act,
The dude almost died of a heart attack.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 2014
About this poem:
Written 6-2-07 while serving 90 days for a probation violation. I was writing about the inmates. I wrote over 100 rhyming stories about everything in the jail. I stayed busy.Poems entered on these pages are copyrighted by the authors who entered them. They cannot be reproduced without the author's written consent. © Copyright 2001-2024. All rights reserved.
This is a list of poems submitted by CS members. Click 'Details' tab to see all poems, or click on a poem title to view and comment on individual poems. Click headings to sort by comments or views.
Would YOU like to post a poem in the Poet's Corner? Have you written poetry that you'd like to share with other members? Posting your poetry shows your skill and creativity and helps members get to know you better. Your poem will appear on the Connecting Singles Poetry page and also in a link on your profile page.
Click here to publish your poetry »