Vexren4000 Apr 19

Stoic abandoned complexes,
Where such work was done,
Men's lives worked away into dust,
Until they were shambling shells,
Scarcely resembling,
The proud human they used to be,
Driven into retirement,
A lone chair to decay into,
Passing time and days,
Spent losing youth and life.
Man the only animal,
To work himself to a grave.
To have his son he spawned,
Do the same.

Catarina Pech Apr 18

There is a drip
It started years ago, slowly
It is torture
The drip is faster now, incessant
My love and I weathered it together, for a while
We are cut off now
I am North and he is South, I miss him
Sodden, waterlogged

Up North I’ve found an umbrella, a friend
Twenty minutes a day reprieve
My love’s umbrella blew away, across state lines
Zero minutes a day respite
Not even an old grouch to splash in puddles with
I do, I splash, at times
But when I am with my umbrella, I am blessed
When splashing, appeased

My love and I reunite at home every day, he is sopping
Nearly drowned
I offer intimacy it warms him, dries him off, nearly
A mist still lurks close
Next day it begins again, the dripping
Unceasing dripping
I believe I have the fortitude to handle the drip
But I am not impermeable
Even with my umbrella, because my LOVE is soaked
Sometimes hypothermic

It is about working together at a dead end job until we split to two locations, and our new friendships or lack there of.

A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
I execute it all for pay.
My daily trade is killing time.

I slice the day up like a lime
in sections green and silver-gray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

I'm practiced in this pantomime,
proficient, quite au fait.
My daily trade is killing time.

Like a hit man in his prime
I knock off the hours of the day.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.

Yet killing here is not a crime;
it's merely the established way.
My daily trade is killing time.

No. killing here is not a crime;
it's the toll road through this fray.
A minute for a dollar, a second for a dime.
My daily trade is killing time.

As a person who likes to stay busy, I hated it when, after 16 years as Audit Director at a university, I was transferred to Assistant Controller working for a person who truly earned her title as "Controller". Since the decision had not been hers, she resented it (as close as I can figure, anyway) so she held back on assigning me work or letting me do work, even when she talked about being swamped. Also it was a large office and I couldn't help but notice a lot of "goofing off". The situation was grist for the mill for this poem...and luckily didn't last long. I left and went in a whole new direction and have been my own boss ever since. :-)

but when the night sets in,
and you wash the disgust off your face,
the eyes in mirror are just not looking to admire
that pretty face,they ask for dreams once promised
this job is going to save you from everyone
but who is going to save you from yourself?

The mouse in the maze is very weary.
It’s way too much concerted effort
Just to earn a grain of corn.
The route is always changing
And someone turns off and on the lights.
The music plays the same song, over
The humming of the ventilators
And the shutter bangs incessantly.

The mouse is tired of stupid games.
No one cares which way it runs,
Or how much corn drops into the bowl.
The smell of pee in the far back corner
Makes the air unpleasant to inhale.
The will to win another piece of corn
Battles with the need to find
The exit that is at the other end.

Notes have to be written down
Measurements and timings
Fill the logbooks of the staff,
As bored and weary as the mouse.
Protocols must still be followed
Finally the time clock in the hall
Clicks over to the magic hour
And mouse and men can all go home.

My work ia very interesting - until it isn't.
Annie Coleman Mar 18

When shall I get out of this rut?
Counting down the hours until I can go
Only five and a half now, but
I'll be back next weekend, I know.

And only thirty dollar bills a day, for what?
To get hit and kicked and yelled at
I'd rather get payed for selling my body like a slut
Or maybe I'll be a professional eater and become professionally fat.

Pure disgust is all I have to say
Until next time, dreadful day.

Maura Mar 17

I'm only average
average won't get you a job
I'm totally fucked

Nateive Son Feb 26

The end of my job interview,
For a legal marijuana grow house,
Ends with the standard,
"Please tell us about yourself, Jojo"
And I take a sip,
From my Days Inn coffeewater,
Savoring the moments,
Before the dam breaks.

"I guess I'll start with the basics,
I'm a technologically advanced psycho luddite,
Shot into the future,
But something keeps tethering me to the past,
Whatever that even is,
And every time I'm next to a river or granite chunk,
I feel this peace that things are even somewhat permanent,
Unlike the 24/7 news cycle,
Which grinds my food into shit,
The stress that powers the universe I suppose.

And I can remember back in J-school,
Being really excited about living in the hole,
And calling up the cops for grisly details,
But then the next day,
Something else would happen,
And it was like yesterday,
Totally erased.

I just didn't get it.

And so I rejected the socialization of modernity,
In favor of roaming this Brave New World,
With nothing but my own mind,
People are always trying to take that away from you,
And now I'm here,
Because I enjoy talking to plants,
More than people."

The hippy chick,
With some great pit hair,
Looks up from her laptop,
And gives me a small grin.

Good news,


This poem will be revised and expanded at a later date

Too much caffeine, not enough daffodils:
Ryan Hoysan Feb 26

As human beings
We have the potential
To do anything we set our minds to
Except for this moment in time
I feel as if the odds are stacked just slightly too high against me
As though sheer force of will just won't cut it this time
As much as I hate to think this way I fear it might be true

I've started thinking that maybe the major that I've chosen to study in college just isn't working out. It has been my dream to study computer science in college and make a career out of it, but I'm not so sure of that anymore. Maybe I'll end up changing majors... Things are just kinda complicated in my mind right now.
Nateive Son Feb 26

+Dedicated to BusBar Dancer+

Hey Jack!
(That's the monk sitting next to me,
Year bein' 1492,
scribbling his scribe like a mad cat high on the 'nip,
Quill dippin' like a hardcore pornographer,
Just let out to vote in his first election,
Since goin' in the joint for THE WEED possession)



I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,
I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,
I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,

So that I can live forever.

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