My work might not seem difficult to those who lift or stand or strain, since most of it is sedentary using just my brain. It doesn't take an iron nerve, or being tough, or strong, or brave: but I assure you, it's enough to put me in the grave
My work might not seem difficult to those who lift or stand or strain, since most of it is sedentary using just my brain. It doesn't take an iron nerve, or being tough, or strong, or brave: but I assure you, it's enough to put me in the grave
It’s raining where I work today
But I’ll show up and earn my pay
Or try to: try to prove my worth
As though each day was a new birth
But through this pane of glass I see
The wild world in front of me
And hear the booming thunder roll
All things beyond my weak control
The vanity that is my life
The constant struggle, strain and strife
That daily I myself surround
Like rain, as it comes tumbling down
If I think at once of all I’ve
To do, then I’ll never arrive:
It takes some denial
To get through my pile
And come out the backside alive
This conjures an image intestinal;
Perhaps, then, to work is just destinal —
The weekend, it’s true,
Is just more to go through;
At least, “going through” is directional —
(“Weekend Limericks” – 10-9-2015)
At lunch I have a sandwich
I sit and read a book
I get my soda refilled
I slowly take a look
To see how long I’ve sat here
And find, to my dismay
I might as well stay longer
And craft a resume
See the world of human workers:
Used and blandly cast aside,
With the trappings, and the comfort
Meretricious words provide
See the world of dust and shadows,
See humanity writ small:
Love’s a game for fools and beggars
Words we do not mean
At all
How did I ever end up here?
It’s like a sort of fantasy –
And yet, these halls are real,
And this is happening to me
But sill, life’s downs and ups
They are but little understood:
And when I wasn’t looking
Things turned
Good
So what now, can they make of this place?
All is still to do;
Location’s good, they have the space,
No effort they’ll eschew
The dreams of those who try their hand,
Another, average day;
An empty room turned into something,
That’s
The human
Way
I’m puzzled and dismayed
I have been played
By my own hesitance