Work Poems (218)

Sounds of a great mountain roar
trembling echoes
a shaking voice,
flooding down the face
a river of tears
inside each drop
treasured sparkling crystals
pearl jewels weep.

Brings new life
honey as joy sweetly blushing
desires your beauty ,
Crowned queen of the flies bouquet colors,
a butterfly dances floats upon a sun lighting rays,
touching inside with warm wings
sweeping an angel.

Sweet gently skipping desire
hot pulse beats star lighting passion
glows behind the jewels,
baby you shine beautifully bright
when the thunder roars
beast of reality natures lion.

Loves arrow strikes
deeply blushing red
under a pink moon ,
sweetly embracing together
kissing forever spirit of the night
sparkling always uniting under your love,
when our dream becomes true
into eternity hand in hand
one masterpiece
walking to paradise
adoring the picture within you.

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.

Bob had to leave
It wasn't his choice
He had to because the management didn't like him
He knew his job
He showed up every day
He was fun to work with
But they said he was over on his hours by three hours
Why do the good workers get trashed
And the bad workers stay forever
I've seen it too many times that it makes you wonder
Why does it seem that the bad people prosper
Is it some kind of sick joke?
I will miss Bob
I'll miss his jokes
I'll miss his company
I'll have to go on work Monday without him
Work has always sucked
Maybe it's because people like Bob find some way of dissappearing

The internet seems to have gone away
The smoke is gone and the mirrors are broke
Looks like it’s going to be one of those days
Our system is kind of a joke

It was working today for an hour or three
When a student came asking for help with his work
I tried to download the file (it’s free)
But I couldn’t, and felt like a jerk

The network admin isn’t answering his calls
He is probably tearing his hair out by now
I don’t think I want to see him at all
He’s probably having a cow

The people are starting to rise up in arms
They’ve called for his head in a sack
I don’t think they really would do him harm
But I hope someone’s watching his back

The day is all sunny, the sky is quite blue
A gorgeous autumn day
I hope that he knows what he needs to do
And gets it all done right away

Here I am looking at this paper and holding a pen,
trying to think of something to write about again.
But every time I try, I just come up blank,
As if there is nothing life in my think tank.

I use to be good at this, this writing thing,
it use to be I could write about anything.
Now I can barely scribble out a couple lines,
and think about how this is all just a wast of time.

Even now I staring at the clock,
only because I can't think of an original thought.
So I look at the tv and what do I see,
just my reflection looking back at me.

So maybe it's time to give up on this writing thing,
even though I love it more then anything.
Or maybe I'll sit and stare at the clock,
wishing I could get out of this writers block.

I love all kinds of music
It has helped me through the years
getting me through some hard times
and has cleared away my tears
from classical to heavy metal
I have time for all
for when you pump it loud enough
you can really have a ball
Music has done so much for me
through sickness or when alone
I pretend that sometimes i'm the one
thats singing on the microphone
or maybe a little air guitar never goes astray
the reason I said air guitar
you wouldn't pay to hear me play
So i will leave it to the professionals
for I think it's best for all
I am better at being D.J.
to get the people on the floor

IT'S MIDNITE AGAIN; TIME TO PATROL THE STREETS! JUST ONE STOP, AT THE LOCAL MART, TO PICK UP, MY EATS! NIGHT PEOPLE ARE STRANGE, BUT INTERESTING TOO! THEY ALL HAVE THEIR STORIES; FROM MANY TO FEW! A YOUNG GIRL, FLAGS ME DOWN; SHE'S SUCH A CUTE HONEY! SHE'S NOT HERE TO CHAT, JUST PICK UP SOME MONEY! I SPEED OFF TO THE NEXT STREET, ON MY CHARIOT OF GOLD! I PUT UP WITH THE ELEMENTS; HEAT,RAIN, AND COLD! THE SUN IS UP, AS I MAKE MY WAY HOME; I SHALL RETURN TONITE, TO THAT BEAUTIFUL, PLEASURE DOME!

Who can they be?
Whomever they be
It includes you and me.
For poetry is the heart of our being
What we feel and what we are seeing..
It need'nt be real but does not make it false.
We can be naked wit,h no shame
light a fire with no flame
Be in love, never knowing who they are,
Wish upon a star.
A rpoet can hear the roaring of the sea
When the Sea is not around,
Hear the singing of a Whale
ause we know it by its sound.
We can dance on a cloud on a clouddless day,
slide on the snow on a summer;s day
we treat ourselves along with the world
In every word we write
For that is how we know
That all our words have might!

"peace! WHERE ART THOU?" I SCREAMED.
Peace said "Here I am, on the other side of hurt."
"What are you doing so far away?"
"How long the journey depends on you."
I am but a beacon of the troubled mind,
The white lining on the stony ridge of chaos,
Beckoning the soul to seek itself.
I am a gift you must seek me out.
But the mote is the hurdle you must leap.
So get jumping!"
"And so, getting through the mire of loss gives
You the practice of acquiring peace?"
"Yes, tap your Spirit to sustain,
Until the journey ends.
And loss and hurt fold into Peace."

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