Poems about work



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№ 1208865

Work. 3.(Drunk at the forklift)

Minimum wage men
With
$200 dollar shoes
And minimum wage women
Expecting $300 bags
From them.
I remember telling my last girlfriend
"WELL... SHIT! . . YOU SAID WE WEREN'T GOING TO BUY EACH OTHER ANYTHING FOR CHRISTMAS! WHY'D YOU BUY ME THIS!!! "
She cried
And on the
26th
I bought her a crystal
Necklace on twine
From a Mexican swapmeet
And ice cream
Sandwiches.
I mouth off so much at work
All day
Sometimes
I think I'm
Trying
To get canned.
The higher ups seem
Entertained by it.
I've seen the guys
That sweat
Panic
And dream of sales
Get fired.
While I stand in the bathroom
Writing poems.
I do feel bad about
Not putting effort
Into
IT.
But
I figure...
There are more
Humane traps
Out there.


drunk,  work.

Author: Ray Suarez
+0-
Date: 06/04/2020


№ 1208626

Work

I work with a guy a year younger than me
Got two kids
And two jobs.
Meanwhile all my money goes to
Whitewater rafting and books
And weed
And paying for school.
One of them is two years old
The other four months
And he doesn't read.
Probably doesn't go whitewater rafting
Either.


work.

Author: kneedleknees
+0-
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1208494

The artist at work

I don't draw anymore
I have pencils on the floor and doodles on my door
Doodles of the past when I would push
Shoving the door shut as barricades turned to mush
I don't draw anymore
I used to sing for you on my bedroom floor
"Don't let them ruin my core"
Although you didn't respond
I'd still draw for you and sit by the pond
I don't draw anymore
Can passion derive from pain?
Even when you're considered "crazy" and I'm "sane"
I still think about when we would draw together
You weren't very good, but you assured me forever
I don't draw anymore
We couldn't afford oils but I was okay with pastels
On my birthday you could tell
I would use chalk
While you and I would talk
Scratching against the pavement


artist,  work.

Author: Alana Valente
+0-
Date: 05/04/2020

№ 1207665

Driving to Work

Today I drive in silence
With no song to calm me down.
The only radio playing
Is a hole within a hole.
The DJ is a martyr
And the music's harsh and cold,
But my mind is far away from here
With someone I could not hold.

I look through my cracked windscreen
At the rain thats pouring down
And ghosts driving on the highway
To some forgotten town.
My fuel is running empty
But still my engine drones.
My mind is far away from here
With someone I could not hold.


driving,  work.

Author: Cry Sebastian
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020


№ 1207551

Creating A Work of Art from Scrap

I am not a work of art. I don't have that much beauty in me to help me create one. I've always wanted something that might help me with my works. Whispering trees, mocking buildings, silent pavements, weary soil; everything that used to work simply drives me numb now. Being too absorbed into my works for these past few months, I failed to notice a change so near that pretty much sparked me.

Who needs trees with their leaves of wire under the smoking mid-day sun to inspire your art if your standard of beauty lies near to you?

My sweetheart had a beautiful long hair, it went under his shoulder and always managed to fall graciously like confounded summer leaves. The temperate air would sometimes brush it away from his face instead of his own two hands. My hair is short, dry, and plump. Hanging like a rope up to my chin only. One of the sole reason his hair is the thing I started to cherished the most, and had started to become my favorite object to paint. I still can see the shine glimmering strand by strand; framing his smile in a grotesque manner.

My sweetheart had a long, beautiful hair. It was a pity he did not like it as much as I did, despite taking care of it in the best way possible. I can still remember the unsettling shadow whenever he looked down and was darkened by the dim complexion of his soft raven hair. Always the peculiar inspiration to my art. He was a work of art, an original beauty.

My sweetheart had a breathtaking long hair, it had been an oblivious month or two since the last time I saw him, before isolating myself with tons of faded colors. His long hair ignited me, but gradually it tortured me, tossing me unimaginable fear for I could not paint it in its natural beauty. All I could think of was:

I might ruin beauty.

What a shame, I was filled with spirit before being frustrated all over again.

My sweetheart had a heartbreaking long hair, which he promised to cut sooner or later. My sweetheart had a melancholic long hair, a beautiful thing that led us to a mouthful argument and rough doublespeak. He shouldn't have planned to cut it, I practically begged him to not to. I am lost within my mind, how am I supposed to continue working if the only thing that I was trying to paint went away?

I had a sweetheart who had a gorgeous long hair and I was a selfish imbecile and a stray soul.

I wouldn't bear a single thoughts of seeing him without the dark curtains wrapping his head like the parlor of an old fortune teller.

How am I supposed to work with him?

The only things I have are these empty canvases, paint in the colors of tears, and paintbrush.

Paintbrushes,

Gather your material, prepare for the bristles.
It could be made of various materials,
Animal hair,
Such as:
Horse hair, from the mane and the tail,
Or any other kind of animals with long hair,
Needle trees and grasses,
Synthetic hair,
Human hair.

Second, prepare the handle of your brush.
Bamboos, sticks from one's own yard are recommended,
For a professional look, we suggest doweling.

Next, select a strong adhesive to attach the bristle to the handle. You would have to spread the adhesive glue to the tip of the handle and attach it with the bristle.

After that, wait for the glue to dry before you carry on to the next step.
Find a strong material like metal or rope to bind the handle and the bristle together.

And there you have your home-made personal brush.

Despite making it in a rush and on a drunken heart, I pretty much loved the result.

If only you did not argue to cut your hair.
If only I could think clearly, better than this,
I could still see my sweetheart's eloquent long hair in its most proper and beautiful form, to ignite my heart even more.
Not in the form of this crappy, hellbound paintbrush I made myself in the most abhorrence manner.

I should not have gnashed your head to the tip of my easel after you told me your little desire of having a shorter hair,
I should not have been that ill-tempered, overflowing your head with warm red liquid.

Ah well,
My sweetheart had a beautiful long hair and a fresh thick blood.
At least I would still have the chance to work with him though I can see him no longer.
I have his soft hair attached onto my paintbrush, giving me the wildest dream,
And his blood in the color of blooming red Chrysanthemum,
It should not have happened,
But what could be better than this?


art,  creating,  scrap,  work.

Author: Noandy
+0-
Date: 04/04/2020

№ 1206302

BLACK WORK DAY

Aye, you take away,
My livelihood with a wicked smirk,
Know ye, today,
The heaven multiply your sorrow's birk.


black,  day,  work.

Author: Dada Olowo Eyo
+0-
Date: 03/04/2020


№ 1204240

Test (work in progress)

Sit
Down
Now

And take this test

The
Title
Is
ВЂњLife”

I guarantee you will be stressed.

God
Hands
It
Out

To all of his dear students.

Each
Test
Is
Different

Determined by your weakness.


progress,  test,  work.

Author: Karissa
+0-
Date: 01/04/2020

№ 1204181

Early work

The babies my father held.

The hell, the world's
Largest.

The parts of the house
That caught fire
In two
Moving

Vans. the bully

Mother poisoned
In the dreamy
Media
Of religious

Thought. the daring

Suicide, the doubled
God.


early,  work.

Author: Barton D Smock
+0-
Date: 01/04/2020

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