Labor Day is a holiday in the United States, set aside to honor the dignity of labor. It also is the traditional end of summer in the U.S., albeit meteorologists and astronomers might not agree. Write a poem about work. It might be about a certain kind of work, or the avoidance thereof. It might be about a profession, from the world’s oldest to those not thought of yet. It might honor real laborers or legendary ones. Or, it might be about the idea of work itself.
MARIE ELENA’S ATTEMPT
Little Sophie’s Newest Fascination
She gets out her toolkit –
Complete with pliers, wrench,
Screwdrivers, hammers,
Paintbrush, and bubble gum.
Bubble gum?
Staple gun actually, but hey,
Whatever works. 😉
© copyright Marie Elena Good, 2013
WILLIAM’S WORK
POLYMATH
Mighty Melvin Geldinfeld,
the pride of academia,
had a spare physique that spelled
a pimple with anemia.
He wheezed and sneezed and coughed a lot,
harrumphed with halitosis;
although a man, he seemed a tot
who had a bad prognosis.
But Melvin knew most every fact;
knew Oz from Osawatomie;
he knew why quarks and Quakers quacked
and even knew phlebotomy.
He taught at Harvard and at Yale;
at Oxford was in residence;
for kicks he brewed an English ale
and served it to French presidents.
He got a sense of deep euphoria
designing ladies’ panties;
he passed the secret to Victoria
so she could sell more scanties.
In life he was a Renaissance,
and death has not dispelled
the all-pervading ambience
of mighty Melvin Geldinfeld.
© copyright 2013, William Preston
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Happy Labour Day All!
Haiku on Labour Day
at the end of day
my dad unlaced heavy boots
work done ‘til morrow
© 2013 Patricia A. McGoldrick
Oh, Patricia … you’ve caught the spirit precisely! I think I know your uncle. 😉
Thanks! 🙂
This is such a rich haiku, Patricia…wow.
🙂 Hannah
What a tribute! Total goodness in just a few words!
Thanks RJ!
I would call this senryu rather than haiku, though I know that’s quibbling. Whatever it’s called, this is a powerfully simple picture; “elegant,” as scientists like to say.
Thanks for the comment, William!
Yes, senryu would be right. I tend to call it all haiku as well.
Perfect, Patricia!
Thanks so much, Linda!
Captures it well – Nice
Thanks so much, Debi!
Patricia, your wonderful poem so reminded me of my Dad, Thank you!! I am inspired to write about him! 🙂 !!
Henrietta, honoured I am! 🙂
Just lovely, Patricia!
Meenarose, so kind!
Nicely done and you inspired a little senryu of my own. 🙂
Thanks, Michelle. 🙂
You’ve captured so much in a few short lines. Well done, Patricia
Thanks, Erin! 🙂
That’s a powerful image, Patricia.
Bill, yours has me in stitches! Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with RJ? 😀
I agree!! Love this character you’ve created!!
😀
(But William – I totally love your poem!!! – and Marie…your’s is so sweet!)
Thanks RJ! Not a good poem, but written right before my self-imposed midnight deadline, and it made me smile because Sophie is so much fun. 😀
William–Working eccentrics!
Marie–Sophie the little contractor!
😀
I agree! Wonderful poem William, it a seussical feel to it. 🙂
Thanks. Glad it wasn’t nonseussical.
That sounds like a song cue…♪♫♪♫♪
Must be played by a band though, you know a Sousa or is is Seusa band? lol
Right, Michelle, that’s exactly how I felt reading it. Wonderful poem, William.
[…] PROMPT #118 – WORKING, WORKING […]
Fists
~
First there were her hands,
peach and porous-
enormous.
Soft yet firm
stern and adamant,
supple and cupping
strong and yielding
scouring and nourishing;
her petals of palm
were a hollow for holding.
Tiny infant body
through stages of life
till suddenly she chose…
completion
delusion
confusion-
rose of motherhood wilted.
A flower fallen decomposes
becomes one with the ground
where I grieve too early
for one still alive
but actively absent.
Enormous-
peach and porous,
first there were her hands.
~
Copyright ©Hannah Gosselin 2013
Oh, hmmm seems I have a misplaced period…after “holding” and before “tiny” …that should be a ( – ) or a ( , ), I think.
Oh Hannah – how beautiful, but so terribly sad.
Such power in the word choices and inversion in the poem itself! This is a compelling picture. Wonderful.
Hannah, this IS indeed sad. It would be SO hard to watch.
I am having enough of a problem dealing with my mother’s “age-appropriate” forgetfulness and lack of motivation. I pray this her body will not outlive her mind.
Sad.
“where I grieve too early for one still alive but actively absent.”
Powerful and sad. So hard to watch.
Oh, your title alone says so much!!
Excellent poem Hannah. As everyone else mentioned above it is sad and oh so powerful.
Oh God, the sadness… Hannah this is so poignant, so real, so heartbreaking. Beautifully penned! ❤
Oh, Hannah… I so understand… “…where I grieve too early/for one still alive/but actively absent…”
Sad, beautiful and, unfortunately, so relative to many of us.
Hannah, it seems it has all been said above, but I just have to add, amen to all the comments. Wow
You guys are all such an amazing source of kindness, support and poetic encouragement. I consider myself to be very lucky to be among such fine people and poets. Thank you all so much.
I apologize for my lack of reading this week so far…a busy holiday weekend and a big first day of school today…
I will see you all soon…happy writing to all of you! 🙂
Marie!! Yes, I love the image of Sophie Sunshine here! They have such rich imaginations! 🙂
Thanks, sweet friend. 🙂
Your piece is poetry at its finest. WOW. Poetically penned, emotion-rich poignant beauty.
WOW.
Marie!! An “all-caps wow,” form you is SUCH an honor and I’m humbled…thank you so much. ♥
*from* 😉
MISSION
he swears his forte is setting
matters straight,
Working the red pencil,
redesigning misdeeds and
syllogisms premised illogically.
“the world needs cleaning up,”
he insists, “and we are lazy,
too complacent. We need to work
out the bugs. Strive! Strive!
Be perfect!”
long into long night
he lies in bed proofreading
Paul’s Epistles and some
not-so-light Dante.
#
This poem caught me flat-footed; great comic timing here. Reminds me of a teacher I had once. I think this is excellent.
Hilarious! This is indeed a perfectionist and impossible-to-please critic at work.
Wonderful Sal, I can picture this persnickety, parsimonious person.
… yes… !!
Wow! I didn’t expect this. Still. (Applauds!)
Sal, however did you come up with this?! Standing O out here!!!
Great poem!
Yikes… Great poem, Sal!
Oh, my gosh! Salvatore…have you been peaking into my room at night, watching me, lol?
I love that red pencil at work on the Letters and Epistles. Great one, Sal!
Obsession comes through, Sal!
This is another old poem I wrote for my dentist. Dentists work hard to care for our teeth, but they rarely receive praise for what they do.
Where is His New Crown?
Doing his job well
often brings a frown,
not a smile.
The more thorough
he is, the more likely
the patient is glum.
A new root canal is needed
to replace an old defective
one next to a small cavity.
This and a new crown
is not the good news
She wanted to hear.
But isn’t it good news
that he keeps her
teeth in good shape
and the new root canal
will protect her
immune system?
Where is her smile?
That would be
his new crown.
I think this is superb.
Thanks, William, or do you prefer Bill? This poem was first written on April 22, 2009 for the Poetic asides work prompt. It coincided with my visit to the dentist.
Humor even in the dentist’s chair. Very nice, Sheryl
Thanks Debi. I would say this reflection came AFTER getting out of the dentist’s chair.
I bet! 😀
Having been recently crowned myself, Sheryl, I am amazed you pulled off the whole poem! My cheek is sympathy swelling alongside yours.
My cheek was never swollen. I’m sorry to hear yours was. Our dentist is a dear and always asks about our family.
Great dentists here too but still experience the apprehension expressed in your poem, Sheryl. 🙂
Ah… a poem with some bite! 😀
Groan.
Now, now!
William, groaning at a pun is supposed to be a compliment. I never laugh at them.
Beg your pardon. I know that, and was going with the flow of the joke, or so I thought.
Aw, this is a lovely tribute to one of our least favorite professionals. 🙂 I too have lovely dentists but I still cringe.
No, dentists never really get any praise, do they? I had all four wisdom teeth pulled earlier this year. We’ve known our dentist forever and he did a great job, but I never want to see him again! 😉
This is a really good poem, Sheryl. I like it!
Yes, I, too, have an excellent dentist… and this would look great on a wall in his working space :D!!
Thank you for the comments, everyone. Henrietta, I’m sue your dentist would appreciate a thank you note or poem from you.
Marie, That’s a wonderful vignette of a little mechanic. Funny thing is, I’ve seen some mechanics use gum as temporary glue. As you say, whatever works.
Teehee! Thanks Bill. She was so cute. She was excitedly pulling tools out and telling me what all she had in there. When she got to “bubble gum,” I said, “Bubble gum? In your tool box? Let me see, Sophie.” She pulled out the staple gun and proudly held it in the air. Close. 😀
My cousin’s granddaughter broke a piece of sidewalk chalk and wanted her grandfather to fix it. He took the gum out of his mouth and stuck the two pieces together! It work but she was disgusted to have chewed gum between her pieces of chalk! 🙂 Cute poem Marie!
HA! What an adorable story, Michelle! 😀
Ha, ha, ha… love that, Michelle!! 🙂 !!
Aww… Delightful, their little imaginations!!! 🙂 !!
ALL IN HOW YOU LOOK AT IT
Funny:
when a machine
runs, we call it working;
but when it stops, we don’t call it
lazy.
copyright 2013, William Preston
hmmm, I never thought of that.
Love this! Where is that “out of order” sign?
Well, not usually. But we do get ticked, nevertheless. 😀
HA! 😀
🙂
I love this, Will!!!
Ha, ha, ha… a placard for housewives/moms who take a rare break… :D!!
I like the ‘workings’ of your mind.
Hmmmm…. Some would say it hasn’t any, but thanks.
Lazy Limerick
There once was a man from Kirk
Who hated to go to work
So he ducked his head
And stayed in bed
No longer has job to shirk
Bingo! Boinnnng! For me, this works on two levels: It’s funny anyway, and the skimping of a few syllables ordinarily used in limericks accentuates the “lazy” idea.
Yes, I started to fix the syllable count, and then realized it would help stress lazy if poem itself sluffed off.
Absolutely!
hee, hee… delightful reasoning…
LOL. I love it!
Thanks Linda.
Funny indeed. A near limerick is just fine. In fact, I have to check each time I need to try a limerick. I often miss.
Oh my! Good one! Limericks are so fun, aren’t they?
Love it! 🙂
I normally can’t stand limericks, but I LOVE this one!!
Love this Iris!
Marie, I love your poem. With her work ethic and creativity Sophie should go far.
William, your description gives a “you were there” feeling. I love the phrase, “a spare physique that spelled a pimple with anemia.”
Aww! Thanks Sheryl!
NO NEED TO WORK
Our parents did it with pride.
We do it with inevitablility.
Our children avoid it like the plague.
Soon the government will support us all.
This is interesting. The use of “inevitability” in the second line segues to what seems to be a foregone conclusion at the end. I think this is well crafted.
Very!!
That does paint a scary future for me. Well done, Linda!
Yep. Me too. Good job, Linda.
Scary!
Let’s hope not! Nice poem Linda. 🙂
What an evolution!
Oh no…I hope not… Although, I do tend to avoid it like the plague – I’ll have to work on that. 🙂
Home Work
“You want to know what work is?
I’ll tell you what work is:
Work is work.”
“Busy yourselves
with the meaningful tasks
you have set for yourselves.”
Good wife
sturdy and true
busy in trivial works
in the kingdom of hearth and home
wonders if it’s been enough.
“File me under “W”
because I wonce
was
a woman.”
My Father Teaches Me to Dream, by Jan Beatty; The Workforce, by James Tate; The Secretary Chant, by Marge Piercy
Oh, excellent choices, Debi. You’ve covered the bases,
Interesting!
Yes, in spades.
This is wonderful, Debi!
“…in the kingdom of hearth and home…” Home is so very important!! Love this!!
[…] at Poetic Bloomings today, they are asking us to write a poem about work or the avoidance of […]
http://2voices1song.com/2013/09/01/contemplating-labor-day/
The Prism
By: Meena Rose
Looking through the glass
I see her hustle and bustle
About in a kitchen preparing
Dinner – never once turning her
Back to the small voice seeking
Attention.
Dinner is set and everyone’s at the
Table smiling and chattering as she
Gazes upon him and the weariness in
Eyes he works hard at shielding with
A smile that never makes it all the
Way up.
The meal is done. It’s blessing spreads
Warmth from within – his tension finally
Easing as he relaxes into the couch nodding
Off to sleep in the midst of American Idol
Blaring and cellphones ringing and the little
One screaming.
She herds the chaos and restrains it to a
Night’s slumber and then she tenderly
Approaches her man covering him with an
Afghan – a light kiss upon his brow;
She retreats to her sanctuary and pulls
Open her briefcase.
The proposal is reviewed – she is certain
That is what the company needs as she tosses
In more diligence refining it to a glimmering
Gem – her mind finally at ease, she heads
Towards her nightly date with the bath
Releasing herself.
He rouses her out of the now cold bath and
Wraps her in a towel lending his body heat
To her cold form – two wan smiles exchanged
As they head towards their bed. Her sigh,
His naughty grin is all they could manage
Before surrendering to sleep.
Oh, my! I get tired just reading this. The fact that this woman added to her daily work at home was an amazing twist to me. The last sentence says it all.
The life of the professional working woman. It is truly tiring.
Seriously!
True!
Meena, I think this is one of your finest.
Wow.
I don’t know your history like Marie does, but it is indeed fine. For me, the title is a bit astounding, given the detail of the poem: it makes me think of Newton’s experiments in color, and how a prism distributed sunlight and then second prism collected it again. fascinati8ng.
Nice to meet you, William. You picked the proper visual. I was thinking of how light fractures as it travels through glass. The opening line “Looking through the glass” and the subsequent dissection of a slice of life is what led to the title. Glad you liked it.
Bill: Meena’s and my roots stem from an online children’s writing course we overlapped in. When you get a moment, please read my interview with her. You will come to understand her beauty and astounding strength. http://poeticbloomings.com/web-wednesday-interviews/poet-interview-meena-rose-beyond-baghdad/
I see what you mean.
Marie, thank you very much. I was inspired.
Just sooo glad to see you again here! ❤
Great poem Meena! I too love the twist of adding the working woman twist on top of the working at home woman.
Thank you, Michelle. This is the reality most of us women face today. I never appreciated how single parents managed on their. It is tougher and more rewarding as I have recently began discovering myself.
This. Is. Amazing!!!
Thank you, Erin. You all are amazing me with all your enthusiasm for my first poem after a 4 month hiatus from writing. I am feeling very grateful.
Oh, Meena… you have captured the exhaustion… !!
Thank you, Hen!
I love the idea of smiles not making it all the way up. I can feel the weariness in this.
F-4 Maintenance
“Just show me the Tech
Manual!”, my Dad told us that he
told them every time.
Heh!
🙂 !!
😀 !!
!! 😀
“F-4” brings to my mind a big jet fighter, used in Vietnam. If so, this piece has subtle humor. Love it )even if I have the wrong Phantom).
You are correct, my friend… Dad (civilian employee) was a stickler for ensuring pilot safety… We were very proud of him (my brother followed his career choice in the Air Force):) !!
Sounds like my dad. But we don’t have an F-4…just a broken dishwasher.
Great poem, my friend! 🙂
Ha, ha, ha… My Dad and appliances/tv repairs…uh, not so good… , but man he knew a jet’s ejection, armament system… {you know, “boys and their toys”} 🙂 !!
Thank you, friend!!! 😀 !!
You’re welcome!
😀 !! My dad can pretty much fix anything….well, maybe not a jet engine…
!! 😀 !!
Pre-meditation
Ah, the organized mind at work!
Closing as manager, not a clerk.
In rising, I can take some extra time,
not due to return until nearly nine.
As the rushing pulse of the the day subsides,
the clarity of forethought soon presides.
No desire to leave promptness to chance,
all must be calculated in advance.
While washing dishes (two days in growing)
the pace abates, gradually slowing.
And the organized mind, carefully thinking,
while hands in dishwater ever sinking:
“What better way to avoid mistake,
than prepare tonight while still awake?”
Coffee pot filled and stands complete,
awaiting the first of morning heat.
Egg salad ready to meet the bread,
a little TV and I’m off to bed!
As organized mind is laid to rest,
calculates time to rise at best.
Eyes must open by quarter-to-eight,
to arrive by nine and not be late.
Mind records day’s final deed,
to awake refreshed, the time to heed.
Morning light, it’s quarter of,
mind is churning, time to move.
Coffee’s lit, shower taken,
dressed and combed; juice is shaken.
Lunch is made, car is ready,
mind awake, hand is steady.
All those school buses still on the road?
By now they should have dumped their load!
Arrive at work, never late—
the clock in the car says five to eight?
Ah, the organized mind at work—
an hour early, what a jerk!
Ellen Knight
9.1.13 for Poetic Bloomings, a work poem
Too organized, huh? Whew, a work Poem indeed.
Wow! What a lot of work!
Oh no! Your ending!
Nicely done, and a lot of work went into making the rhyme and rhythm work so well. Nice job!
Thank you both. 🙂
sorry, three.
Wow. Is there such a thing as a shaggy-dog poem? As Marie said, it takes a lot of work to make all those rhyming couplets work. I think this is superb.
Oh Ellen…this is great! 😀
Oh, your ending… fantastic job, Ellen!! :D!!
Wonderful, Ellen. All the way through, the rhymes work beautifully.
Thank you all so much. How encouraging!
His Ranch
David De Jong
Coffee’s on, bacon’s fryin’ in the pan,
The day will awake soon, its part of the plan.
The choir has already started, each soloist perched in her tree,
High time to get rollin’, crack The Good Book, bend a knee.
The air is crisp, sun’s beginin’ to rise,
It’ll be a good day – time to pack-up supplies.
Coffee in the thermos, a sandwich and a cookie, for something sweet,
No matter what you bring, when it’s eaten outside, it’ll be a treat.
With a jug of fresh water, won’t be a need before sun-down to make the trip back,
Even the dog gets a biscuit, down there, in the bottom of the sack.
Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just, “do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.
Strand by strand feel the wire, as it’s pulled taught, post to post,
Twisted, stapled, a boundary, a symbol, respected by most.
The horses will smile with a sigh as they graze this new grass,
Spring calves will soon join them, kicking their heels as they pass.
Grass on the hill, fresh water a-plenty flowing through the creek,
Each stone a monument; what would they tell, if they could speak.
Would it be of horses grazing long ago, bareback riders, or a sleepy toad?
Would they remember the buffalo, the wolf, the pioneer along the road?
Friends and enemies, family and foe,
All pass this ranch, we all have to go.
Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just, “do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.
The clouds pass majestic, as they can be,
Never the same are you allowed to see.
A storm begins to brew, with a wind from the east,
Those same clouds churn and turn, to a mighty beast.
The rain pours down, and with a crack of lightin’ to the ground;
The fence is down, and herd runs free, fleeing the thunderous sound.
With rain runnin’ down my back, from the brim of my hat,
I laugh at the dog, lookin’ like another drowned rat.
He’s full of life, content, happy as can be,
There’s nowhere else, he’d rather be.
Much the same myself, I must admit,
This doesn’t change a thing, just makes me spit.
Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed, to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just, “do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.
Time passes slowly, and tends to get lonely, sittin’ solo on the bench,
But there’s a town nearby, with plenty a folk, you can tell by the stench.
Don’t seem to have a-yearnin’, to ride in, and spend much time there,
Cept; for Sunday mornin’ church, supplies, or occasional social affair.
The air is fresh, the pasture’s green, you can’t deny the magic of this land,
Each blade of grass, leaf of the tree, created with purpose, from His hand.
Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just, “do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.
Winter will return and the cold winds will blow,
Even then there will be beauty, unspeakable in the snow.
The season will pass, like all seasons do,
It’s a prayer, its God’s Grace, that’ll get you through.
So join me; enjoy the day, cherish the pleasure, or lament the loss,
If its healing or forgiveness you need, He put it there, up on the cross.
He’s done His part, now it’s time to do mine,
There’s times I truly believe, he’s givin’ me a sign.
With a debt of gratitude, far too steep to pay,
I’ll gladly work in awe, here, on His Ranch today.
Some may call me crazy, some may call me the fool,
I just smile at all the wonder, sittin’ on this stump for a stool.
I consider it a privilege, a joy, to be workin’ this small branch,
It’s the Good Lord’s alone; He holds the deed to this here ranch.
There’s no start, no finish, just, “do this, remember”, is what He said,
So for His gift of life, I’ll gladly partake, I’ll work the land, I’ll taste the bread.
You put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you.
Hear, hear!
To me, this sounds like something the Sons of the Pioneers would’ve sung. As RJ said, a lot of thought, and, I suspect, time, went into this.
David, I always love to read your poems. They have such a simple, honest thankfulness in them. This is beautiful and thoughtful. I love it!
“a simple, honest thankfulness”
Spot on.
Thanks everyone. This is an older piece that came to me middle of the night / early morning hours, after I took a spring day off from “work” to fix fence on our acreage. It had been a long winter and it felt so good to be outside. I woke up with the refrain in my head and started writing it down and went from there. We have presented this piece several times while playing “Amazing Grace” in the back ground and showing a slide show of various country/ranch/nature photos.
Oh, so purely Gorgeous… you took me right there… such a gift you have, David!!
This work is a joy and seems to show no indication of fatigue. Well expressed, David. The refrain is quite effective, too.
Marie and William,
Nicely done with the prompt and the responses.
Thanks Meena! As I said up above, mine isn’t a good poem, but it sure is fun thinking of Sophie. 😀
Working at Being Nice
“Be nice to nerds. Chances are you’ll end up working for one.” ~Bill Gates
So, here’s a bit of good advice:
it’s always nice to be…well, nice
‘cause payback’s a bite
so just be polite.
If the mood
to be rude
to geeks and nerds and dorks is what
you think is cool, you’re so wrong, but
remember these words:
you could work for nerds.
Uncivil
is drivel.
###
RJ: absolutely love this!
You sure put a smile on this nerd’s face.
HA! Good work, RJ!
This nerd loves this poem! 🙂
Oh, another good one! This reminds me of a Honeymooners bit from the 1950s. Kramden, the bus driver, says to Norton, the sewer worker, “Be nice to people on the way up, because you’re gonna meet `em on the way down.” Norton replies, “Happens to me every day in the sewer!”
Oh, to go back to Honeymooners days! 😀
!! Love this !! :)!!
Good one, RJ! And what a good quote!
Love that ending, RJ!
RJ, The last line sums it up. As usual, you have combined insight, poetic form, and humor.
Thanks! 😀
Angels In Disguise
Their job requires so much more than just
The bare-essential, back-to-basic skills;
To really earn complete respect and trust,
They go beyond just training and a will:
Delicacy,
Patience,
Self-sacrifice,
Vision
Are just a few things they must learn and strive
To master to succeed; a lot of work,
But willing to learn all of this and more,
My dream might just be realized when I’m grown.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
When I used to go the doctor’s all the time with my brother, we bought mugs for his nurses that said “Nurses are angels in disguise”. That seemed appropriate for this prompt – also being what I want to become after I graduate. 🙂
Erin Kay – this was lovely, kind, and inspired. And it was a Dorsimbra, too. Nice.
By the way, as compassionate as you seem to be, I bet you’ll make a superb nurse!
RJ just covered my thoughts nicely. Erin Kay, you are a sweetie.
Thank you, Marie Elena!! Live you! ❤
…but apparently I can’t spell – that should say love, not live…
Hey … live, laugh, and love! ❤ !
Tehe… ❤
I say amen to RJ’s comments, too, Erin Kay.
Thank you much, Sheryl!
Oh thank you so much, RJ! I’ve actually had a few people tell me I’d make a good nurse (my pastor included), so I am definitely hopeful. 🙂 Thanks for sharing the Dorsimbra – it’s one of my favorite forms so far! ❤
Sweet poem Erin!
Thanks, Michelle! 🙂
Well done, Erin Kay. I can see you now: checking sutures and sonnets.
Oh William, you never fail to make me smile… Thank you! 😀
Oh, Erin, I have soo much respect for nurses… I could never be one; I freak-out too easily — I wish you much success!!
Thank you so much, my friend!!
I have a deep respect for them as well. You sound like my older sister – she can’t stand even to hear about injuries and/or sickness. 😉
… yes… I “feel” it when someone hurts or gets sick…
That sounds like you: compassionate and sensitive of others. ❤
Hugs… the one downside is that I must spend alot of Alone-time to rejuvenate… folks don’t always understand this… 🙂 !!
I can see that, but I still wouldn’t mind being on the more squeamish/sensitive side. I know not being scared of injuries and things is probably a good thing for a nurse to be; however, sometimes it can seem like I don’t care, when really I care a whole lot.
So there are pros and cons on both sides. 🙂
Absolutely… and I think that you will be a Wonderful nurse, my friend!! 🙂 !!
Well done, Erin! These people do so much for so many others!
They certainly do. Thank you, Patricia!!
Inspired by Patricia’s haiku, I thought I would write a little senryu of my own. 🙂
labor unrest
the hammer fell silent –
all doors should be locked
Wonderful words, Michelle!
Thanks for the mention! 🙂
I think this is highly effective, and it puts me in mind of an old Weavers’ song, Union Miners.
Yes!
Very nice, Michelle!
Love the different take on the topic, Michelle. As Bill says, quite effective!
Thank you everyone!
This is one I’d written previously for an assignment on mining. My mind went to the miner’s wife and what it was/is like from her perspective.
Miner’s Wife
She watches from the kitchen
door ajar and robe clutched tight
his kiss still warm on her lips.
She watches till his fading
form recedes into the dark
headlamp dimming in the mist.
Up ahead muted voices
drift back, football highlights mulled
from last night’s high school victory.
“Ho, wait up,” he calls to them,
they pause, then they are three.
Three light-beams along the road
three lunch buckets at their sides
and in three houses, three wives
whisper a prayer, “Keep him safe.”
Funny, how this poem comes right after Michelle’s, and my response thereto. I love this. It has the timeless feel of miner families everywhere, for all time.
Thanks William
Debi, you wrote this with a seeming understanding of the emotion and the routine. I especially am captivated by your middle stanza – I can hear, see, and feel the scene and mood. EXCELLENT.
Thanks Marie, relatives in small mining communities here in Southern WV.I visited them summers when I was a kid.
Very cool! Sounds like you have more than one story to tell with this, too.
a glimpse of the movie, “How Green Was My Valley”, a classic…
“…robe clutched tight…” Captured!!
Thanks you all.
This is lovely, Debi! It reminds me of the miners on The Princess And The Goblin by George MacDonald.
Love those books. Have you read “At the Back of the North Wind”
Yes! That is another favorite. Also “The Highlander’s Last Song”.
I’ll have to check that one out.
Working Hands
Arthritis twists her fingers, knots her joints,
‘til she can hardly lace and tie her shoes,
but she will park her cane and grip a hoe
and weeding in the garden, she will go.
When we come from the fields, exhausted, sore,
we freshen up and go to milk the cows,
then dinner must be made and dishes done
and any homework finished—or begun.
Despite the burning pain, her hands perform
the tasks of stacking bales or kneading dough;
they soothe tired babies, keep the household neat,
take comfort in dish-washing water’s heat.
A little pain’s a smallish price to pay
for all the pleasure working hands can give.
She peels a peach, sends me to piano—
my fingers find what my mind does not know.
She takes my hand and on its top she lays
her own, as if to show me where I’m bound.
She squeezes to make sure I understand
that I come from a lineage of worn hands.
This is another of your works almost too good for words. The pictures you place before my eyes vie with the timeless quality of that last line. Just superb!
Thanks, Bill. I thought I was the only night owl. 😉
Superb, indeed. Jane, you never cease to blow me away with your ability to weave wisdom, visual, storyline and mood – all with well chosen words.
Jane thank you for bringing both of my grandmothers back with this fine piece of yours.
this poem so close to home that you made me cry…
…Tears… the women in our family are/were masterful in our homes… Love this, Jane!!
Oh, wow! What else can I say?
Beautiful weaving of generations.
Thanks so much, friends. Sorry for the tears, although some are tears of thanks. I attended a funeral recently back home and saw a few students I’d taught years ago, as well as home folks. One old gentleman said, “I don’t know your name, but you’re a Garner” (which was my mother’s maiden name). When I told him he had mistaken me for my mother, he said, “Well, you got her hands too.” THAT almost made me cry. Thus, the poem. I’m so glad it resonated with you all.
Oh, wow … thanks so much for the “more to the story.” I feel your tender heart.
Oh Jane…so touching and beautiful! 🙂
Mind Over Matters
A simple
habit of mind makes
all labor
bearable:
find the fun in what you do;
imagine it heals.
Imagine it matters
to someone.
Imagine the someone.
This works. The poem and the advice. Very nice.
(Yes, this owl is still roosting.)
Very Mary Poppins-like! Love this!
YES!!!
Thanks, Bill, Marie, and Hen. A spoonful of Splenda??
Yes yes yes! Wonderful poem and advice!
COP
A cop’s main job is keeping peace:
he must police
the neighborhood
for its own good.
He often gets so little thanks,
but in the ranks
they know the work
he does not shirk
and that includes striving double
to halt trouble.
But he’s in it
in a minute.
copyright 2013, William Preston
I’ve always said I would never want to be married to a police officer. Thanks for this tribute, Bill.
…Love them!!!
They are amazing. Wonderful tribute, William!
Packing Peaches
Promoted to ring-packer, I sat at the end of the row
Of ordinary sorters and picked the prettiest peaches to go
On the top of each bushel basket that the city wives would buy
To can like mom & Grandma did, ( the old ways were hard to die).
The fruit house sat by the railway station, the peaches went by train
To markets in the cities, all of our sunshine and our rain
But most of all our limestone soil produced the nicest crop
Of fruits and vegetables, in our state we were the top
The fruits were sorted, one by one, the berries were the first
To be loaded in the fruit-house, where we sorted out the worst
That went straight to the canneries in a larger town
But our county had the name for quality, it shone
And we packers knew and respected this bit of fame
From teen-ager to grandmother we would not bring shame;
Each bushel basket that we filled carried that guarantee
The freshest fruit in the USA came from county Honesty!
I can see the whole operation. Honestly. Love this.
I Love this poem!!
Sounds like a great job!
Grooming
First, fill a basin and pitcher high,
set pet shampoo and towel nearby,
pick up the cat, take paws in hand,
and gently lower into warm pan.
Now, wait ‘til yowl and hiss are done,
a moment only—this is fun—
release the hind paws (not the fore!)
and taking pitcher, gently pour
warm water over back and neck.
The shampoo’s lid is on—oh, heck!
Now don’t get rattled, use your teeth.
You have a wildcat underneath
who’s watching every move you make.
Use yum-yum voice, for heaven’s sake!
Rub shampoo into sodden fur
and listen for that kitty’s purr.
A quickie rinse and then again,
for cats don’t like this grooming plan.
In his green eyes, you see your skin
in ribbons, pay-back for this sin,
so wrap that towel around him right—
claws inside flailing, hold him tight,
and pet him ‘til he simmers down.
Release! He shakes, then rolls around
the floor, the garden’s dirt—your bed.
He won’t come. Clean the house instead.
Who knew that he could go berserk
and make bath time three times the work?
You’re pasted with wet fur, and that
is why you bathe—without the cat.
I want you to make a video of this and put it on Utube for me as I have never heard of anyone bathing a cat like this…
heeheeee! There’s no hand available for filming, but trust me, I don’t bathe these rascals often.
Hilariously superb!
AAHAHAHA… Oh Jane, thank you for the laugh!!! 😀 !!
This is hilarious, Jane. I can barely bathe my dogs!
High-larious!!! Glad I don’t have a cat… 😀
A LAZY LIMERICK, BARELY WORKING
I wrote dim words
about bright nerds.
They spoke:
“This bloke
must work with birds.”
copyright 2013, William Preston
NB: This little bit sprang from two earlier posts, Iris’s and RJ’s, plus a nod to Ogden Nash and his “limick” form. My abbreviated limerick isn’t the same form as Nash’s creation, but I think this idea is.
… your mind is always workin’, William :)!!
It sure is! Love this, Will!
Grandfather and Work
When anyone mentions celebrating the working man, I think of Grandfather. Six of us grandchildren spent a summer with him and grandmother; none us over the age of 9. He worked as a carpenter at
a sawmill the other side of town and rode the city bus home each day to a place called Boylston, near Montgomery, Alabama. He worked with his hands, five days a week, until he died. The other two days he spent fishing on the Alabama River when Grandmother would allow it. He represented to us kids what every important person did: work. There must have been something sacred about work as we held him
with such respect. He wore a inoperable hearing aid, so I guess noisy kids never really bothered him. We children would run the half-mile down the red clay, country road to meet him at the bus stop each
afternoon. It was a chalky, dusty road, still filled with acres of cotton fields back then. I don’t know what grandfather thought of us meeting him each afternoon, but it was sort of the highlight of our day. It was our
adventure! Little hands, clinging to him from both sides; front and behind, he must have appeared as a sort of Pied Piper as we made our way, giggling and circling about him; the older ones always jostling over
who would carry his toolbox. We adored him in those suspendered overalls he wore; perhaps even worshiped him, as we skipped our way home.
You’ve made me love this man, inoperable hearing aid and all.
Ohh, me too… such a sweet, tender story…!!!
Oh this is so sweet! ❤
Thanks, Erin Kay.
Housewife/Mom/Student
Resume (Prose poem)
Well, reading through your job announcement: Yes, I have prior experience. I can keep your puppies well-fed, watered, and freshly bathed/groomed. Also, their living/play areas clean and sanitary, so that they may play and rest. Additionally, I will sing them a song and put them sweetly to bed, each night. All of this, I will do, 24/7, until it is time for them to move out into the real world. Salary? Umm… I couldn’t begin to know where to start negotiations…
Could be priceless…..
:D!! My husband used to say: “Honey, some day I am going to pay you for all that you do around here…” until he read an article that someone wrote that had an itemization of what it would actually cost if he had to hire someone to do all of the little tasks of a household… I think it was well over $100,000…We both laughed!! :D!!
😀 !!!
The Gift Of Serving
Working hard
At serving others:
Selfishness
Dissipates,
Leaving the body as drops
Of honest-earned sweat.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
…oh, so true, my friend… such a Gift!!
It is. Thank you, dear friend!!
!! 🙂
That last line is precious!
Thanks, Will! 🙂
Loyalty
Sam never missed work,
was not late.
Short lunch break,
and back at his desk. He had
been there forty years.
Firm merged–takeover.
New owners
in the dark
about how the business ran.
They downsized, cut Sam.
… so sad… so true…!
Happens all too often these days. You describe it starkly and succinctly.
Thanks Hen, and William. I watched it happen over and over.
That’s why I won’t use self-checkouts; each lane represents somebody who doesn’t have a job.
Sadness…but you wrote about it so well
Thanks, Erin!
“Seven inspiring laborers”
Hi.
Ho.
Hi.
Ho.
I was wondering when those little fellows were coming!
I wanted to title it “A Little Labor Union” but I didn’t know if that was PC.
I don’t see a problem with that. It’s a funny title, in my opinion.
My Laborer
Of grass
stains and grease.
Of aged sweat stains
between our sheets. Of
worn torn jeans and steely-
eyed evening greetings through
summer’s heat and winter’s sleet.
Of midnight tremors and fearless fatigue.
Of sunrise thermos squeals and creaking
knees as you sneak into the bleak of
morning fog seeped in pain,
seeped in the freedom
of duty, I pray you
Godspeed.
I think this is moving, and excellent.
Thanks, William.
For a friend’s stepfather who recently responded to the alarm and didn’t make it home.
A CALLING TO SERVE
Black soot,
billowing smoke
lunge toward him.
Heat stress,
dehydration
are partial enemies.
Structure weakens.
Walls cave in, flames won’t retreat
and neither will he.
Beams ablaze
crumble downward.
Life comingles with ashes.
Every step in danger.
Every step his duty.
Every inch the hero.
© Susan Schoeffield
This is a superb tribute, in my opinion, and that line, “Life comingles with ashes,” is stunning.
A Work Haiku
I’m on vacation
Keeping up with the grandkids
Now that some hard work
Makes you wish for your day job, maybe?
Grandchildren? ….. Day job? ….. I’ll take the grandchildren every day.
LABOUR DAY
You were due August 25th but as I sat
through “Chorus Line” grateful
for the air-conditioned theatre
during one of hottest summers
on record (1981)…
I knew you’d be late
Sure enough, a Virgo even then
you were timing things to be
exacting and made your entrance
truly on Labour Day that year
as it fell on September 1st
and so did you…
I became certain that labour
had nothing to do with the workforce
and everything to do with
delivering a child and nothing
since then has dissuaded me
from that notion.
This is so precious. I love that phrase, “nothing to do with the workforce…” Well done indeed.
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings #118: Working, Working […]
IT TAKES WORK
some days
are more challenging
than others
troubles greet me
at the door, before I’ve had
my coffee
I don’t work
with patients, but sometimes
I lose mine
nose to the
grindstone, finishing my
to do list
I don’t like
being crabby, sometimes
it takes work
2013-09-06
P. Wanken
Work
Work alone’s no fun
Always to be done
Mix it with passion and bent
Enthusiasm
Will fill the chasm
You won’t know where the time went
[…] . Poet Bloomings #118 “Working” […]