Work Poems (218)

When a man finds a woman
gently he must go
woman have emotions
and a tender soul
some will hurt easily
some will be tough
others will hide the hurt
and then have enough

A woman wants many things
but deeply to love
find someone strong and true
her hand to his glove
and should they argue
as lovers often do
why not hug and love her
and stop her feeling blue

And the rights or wrongs
that make us argue so
let them be like raindrops
and watch them as they go
kiss her and make up
and it will be better in the end
life's too short to argue
when bridges you can mend

So love her tenderly
passionatley eternally
let your lips touch
hands that caress
touch sweet frame
admire her so
shes never a mess
this woman of finess

disillusioned by affectation lead astay by the thought fantasy creates a reality that only pain has brought yet the expectation of a new creation is a feeling long sought confused by illusion was the lession taught

Am I done yet?
Glancing at my watch, wishing it's time to go...

Am I done yet?
Looking at my work load, wishing it's all cleared...

Am I done yet?
Pacing, sitting, standing, fingers fidgetting...

Realizing it's still long hours more,
I stopped asking myself.

Turning to my work load,
I embraced and focused on the task.

Added melody by moving my lips,
straightening my back.

Not noticing time raced by,
Glancing at my watch, fingers last move,task done.

This is my day,
pushing myself to be useful and productive.

only a look
only a glance
the music played
and soon they would dance
love can come
in unexpectedly

and it is so
that you never know
when you dont expect
love will arrive
only a look
and only a glance

Knowledge is gain, ignorance – loss,
This is what even children know.
We either learn or stay in the dark.

We learn all that is written in books
Through much boredom and toil.
This is what even children know.

We acquire the knowledge
Based on human experience
Through much boredom and toil.

Leaning on progress of old and new
We benefit from the knowledge
Based on human experience.

Equipped with the knowledge
Picked on the road to survival
We benefit from the knowledge.

It being a maxim, as everyone knows,
Knowledge is gain, ignorance – loss,
Picked on the road to survival,
We either learn or stay in the dark.

When i was just 6 my mum asked of me,
when you are older what will you be?
I went and i played and i gave it some thought,
A doctor or a lawyer, even an astronaught?

As I got older it came to pass,
I would stick in at school
and do well in class,
I got good grades and kept my nose clean,
"Its doesnt matter where im going, I know where ive been"

After high school,
I got my degree,
My parents face,
thier so proud of me,
I took a deep breath and told them my thoughts,
"Mum, dad, ive decided, im gonna be cop"

They smiled and said
"Thats a wise choice son,
you can do this job better than anyone"

Life was good,
I had everything you see,
A new born baby and a wife to be.

One day at work I was breaching a house,
I snuck up to the door quiet as a mouse,
"Police! get your hands up!"
As i ran through the door
BANG, i found myself laying on the floor.

In my thoughts i reflected,
on all that had passed,
doing well in school,
aceing each class,

making my parents proud and living my life,
My gorgeous little girl and my darling wife,

This all didnt matter it had to be said,
When I grow up I dont want to be dead.

luxuriating on the bright lit screen
see what write was wrought upon
for us to ponder points of plenty
words of wisdom from worlds beyond

all those thoughts from savage minds
enlightened visionaries, weird lines
of love and death and more love
to grip around my waist or throat

feel words breathing hard, panting
as they crawl up the leg, imploring
and incessantly slip into outer ear
to shout into tunneled mind

you feel my pain, depression, it says
as i walk into battle or cold river
drowning in human feelings too heavy
to flight the air of day's hope

did the dogs write the words down
and chimps peck at the typewriters
while parrots chirp cawed letters
telling the history of being human

no, it was the humanity in each of us
that took the time to scratch and peck
the farmyard of life, rich-scented
with desire to explain ourselves, us

indebted, we begrudgingly acknowledge
we couldn't have said it any better
though most cases can't be said at all
yet writers write and singers sing

always efforted, affronted, afflicted
with the need to explain what it is
to explain how we got here as if we
weren't even riding the same road

thumbs out, thumbs up! well done
you chronicler of timelined humanity
read your thoughts now to me aloud
sing your songs of woe and praise

© agoodguy2have 2010-12-17

Catch your breath
Open up and swallow air
The waves of the future
are fast approaching.
Kicking against the current
stretch arm over arm
swim, else drown
in the salt of tears,
the bittersweet pill of survival
clutched in our hands.

Laughter rings from within
conference-room walls
knowing the shoals
of year’s end closing
were safely navigated
sails slightly tattered
billowing in winter’s breeze.
Yet, frigid winds blow
outside our doors
waiting to ice spring plans.

Made instruments of our own demise,
then it will be the hemlock
that comes to our lips.

How do we arrive
at a place and time?

Is life one big coordinate plane?

Are the x's and y's numbered and set?

Are the slopes all predetermined?

Or are we all a
v
e
r
t
i
c
a
line

as yet undefined

waiting for the function
and the pencil to draw.

granny is sitting in her old rocking chair
the coal fire simmering bright ,puffs of smoke rising up the chimmney
granny sits in her rocking chair
in her granny slippers warming her self by the coal fires light

dark is the room the silences the cold dampness of the chill from the world out side
the black and white tv switched on with its lighted screen white and hissing to be played again

the old cukoo clock on the wall chimes
the passing hours on the hour every hour
breaking the silence all around
granny sits in the darkness rocking to and throw in her favorite
chair

sitting silent not knowing who is there
the poorly dim lite room its darkend old fashiond wall paper falling the decay lying around what a pitfull site to be hold ,the knocking on the windows from outside children playing knock knock
oh what a nouisence they are

granny iqnores them hoping they will go away
thinking of her childhood her youth snathced away, her youth gone for ever,just taken away ,locked in her old age only with
her memories locked inside her mind so no one can see
for shes the only one with the key