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Naveen Malhotra Dec 2020
Coriolis curious I sat
When I read poem
Mention coriolis effect
Memories flew back
Four decades on axis of time
Spiegel's Theoretical Mechanics
Came to my mind
I at once recapitulated
Moving coordinate systems
Coriolis curiosity to die down
Paying tribute to the professor
Rennselaer Polytechnic Institute
Where once Albert Einstein
Failed to get admission
He now the scientist greatest
Never get disappointed in life
Take cue from his life
Oh, I have digressed
My knowledge refreshed
After four decades
Today I again know
Equations of motion
Coriolis and centrifugal
Pseudo forces
Earth's rotation causing
Coriolis effect
Deflect, deflect and deflect
Man of engineering profession
Without wife now writes poetry
Poems giving solace and peace
Living in grace with the deceased
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
Maybe Dracula

was a phlebotomist.

In which case,

he was only doing his job,

and pretty well, at that!
Jones Ayuwo Sep 2018
As I sat by the window sill
Decked in grey garb
Listening  to adumbrations
And other grey garbage,
My eyes were drawn beyond the room,
Out across an odd sea of serrated roofs
Till I saw,
On a sandy patch of land
Ten boys and a ball.

I sat between my passion and my profession,
Peering out the window of my profession.
I watched engrossed, my passion
Bib around my neck,
Boots upon their feet.

“LD/HCR/.... “
The court clerk cried.

I profess passion for another profession,
I’m not a professional at my passion,
But I can profess my profession passionately!
And so I rise...
“May it please this honourable court...”

And it was ******.
Suhas Sep 2018
A teacher is honored
adored and idolized,
A doctor considered almighty
and worshiped into.

An engineer portrayed
as the pillars of future,
A bureaucrat painted
like a messenger from above.

But little does the world know
the truth of the twilight,
everyone coming here for services
under the low lit alleys.

Alleys that are always looked below
ironically are the alleys of forbidden pleasure,
all i am is just another soul
working to feed her kind

Abused shamed and discriminated
forced to bear an illicit fruit
only to realize she shares the same plight as mine
and yet i put on a smile to serve every night

only to pave a different path, a path
abiding the "NORMS" of society.
neth jones Jun 2018
An udder of lies
A profession
You are an utter lung

Fresh of breath
You prove yourself
Over and over
To be evident and no false seller

But a greeder within me
That I offer meals no longer
Stirs in its dormancy
Alters in recognition of you :
Double Tongue
D.T. 2.         Pledge

though a tradesman by action
I pledge no double tongue
and steer
by matching simple heart to equal heat
good of spell
clean of word
to be a tradesman of loft
deemed weight
sufficient
DEW Dec 2017
Gloved hands flex in umbra of night
a cot rocks, glittering in the rays of moonlight
baby coos, shaking its rattle
the leathery hands stalk the craddle
finding their prey, the gloves seek the neck
like guillotine, they reap
... they reap

Every idea meets this end
Every dream of mine every prayer
In infancy they glow then glow no more
throttled by shame, they break
chastised by fear, they fade
I would rock them, nestled in coaxing arms, close to my heart
the clock chimes its hour with pride and finality
at midnight, the reaping begins
upon the witching hour, my dreams are snuffed
and nightmares usurp their place.

Is it torment to expect more of myself?
Content to write poetry and leave epic tales of heroes and nemeses to doom and dust?

How many old lovers have I professed my dreams to
how many friends have I bored with my tales
how many family members smiled as I asserted my storytelling chops
only so I could stop, even before the period could halt the last sentence of the novel, thwarting its purpose.

How many heroes clambered upon my doorstep
begging, pleading for me to pen their heroism
How many villains woke me up with their cackling
In the corner, sitting, their eyes glowing in the void of night,
smiling teeth too white
or too black
feathered hats bobbing as their malice peaks
when they hold snaking knives to my throat
and with morbid breath instruct,
"For the love of God..." they say,
"Paint me in a good light, but make my misdeeds known, **** you!"
And I would lay awake, dreaming of these worlds
until the clocks knell
knell
knell
knell
allowing the ebb of time
to wash away my desires, my talents
and the glistening, far-off worlds fade to nothing...

In the end, indeed,
even my mind fades
leaving nothing but a husk behind
and all who knew come to watch
hanging a tombstone upon my rigor mortis neck,
it reads the words,
"He tried, of course he tried
but the devil has his price,
and this poor soul couldn't make rent."
My most cynical take on my problems with writing long stories (some short stories and otherwise, novels): It's also the first time I've written about it poetically, almost therapeutically.

I remember a time when I could sit down and not leave until 5000 words (or midnight, whichever came first) sat on the page.
I remember when there was no concept of a chore, or bore.
But these are just memories...
Who am I now?
Someone unhappy, that's for sure!

I'm trying to do something about it, so I hope I can keep doing what I'm doing (had a list or goals here, but it's wayy too long).

Anyway...

Enjoy!

DEW
four decades of professional life
    considered with benevolence
(how else …?)
have altogether
not turned out so badly
even though no party politics
helped me climb the ladder
of not so easy scholarly achievement

often in the beginning I discovered
that my politeness was mistaken
for simplicity

and so I had to learn a bit about
   how I could stand my ground
to kick the shins of those who thought
    they could step on my toes with cool impunity

until they noticed that they were mistaken

over the years I found my ways to garner
    not everybody’s love
    but their respect and recognition
    
which is what we all mostly need

     eventually
Just reminiscing
Eugene Aug 2016
Sa probinsiyang kinalakihan ko,
Bata man o matanda ay nagtatrabaho.
Sa lugar kung saan marami ang tanim na tubo,
Lahat ay maagang gumigising at nagbabanat ng buto.

Sa malawak na lupain sinimulan nilang magtanim,
Mula umaga, tanghali, at hanggang pagsapit ng dilim.
Hindi inaalintana ang init, sakit, at hapdi na kinikimkim,
Maitawid lamang sa gutom ang pamilyang pinatitikim.

Kahit kapiranggot man ang kanilang kinikita,
O minsan wala talagang may madudukot sa bulsa,
Ngiti sa kanilang labi'y hindi mawala-wala,
Pagka't pamilya ay tunay na mahalaga sa kanila.

Puso ko'y nahahabag, nalulungkot, at nagsusumamo,
Sanay mapansin sila ng mga tao sa gobyerno,
Dagdagan sana nila ang kita ng mga manggagawang sinsero,
Sa pagtatrabaho nang buong puso at may totoong prinsipyo.

Magsasaka man sila, ****, haciendero, o barbero,
Pantay-pantay sana ang pagtingin natin sa mga ito.
Kung wala sila, paano ang bansa natin aasenso?
Manggagawa po sila, nilikha ng Diyos bilang tao.


Nawa'y mapakinggan bawat nilang gusto,
Itaas ang kita ng manggagawang Pilipino.
Kumilos na sana ang ating gobyerno,
Huwag nilang hayaang sila'y magpakalayo-layo.
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
A CV's like a baby, it has to
first sit before it crawls and
then it stands before it walks...
step by step till it's grown
and too fat for its
bearer to carry.
Some skip a stage,
but such a miracle's
rare even in the
professional
and business
world.
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