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elle Jan 5
it seeps
under my fingernails into skin
doused in clean! the filth is killed!
then I spit at it.

Demands:

caress my brow in a palm, any warm pocket of flesh
a grandmother’s *****
the spine of a leaf
my dog’s velvet-soft triangle-shaped ear
anything that will let my grief get some rest

sorrow is heavy trash bag to haul

find me a bellhop or a sidewalk construction man
something with biceps and a hardened face. someone who can clean **** up.

please,
sweep
these shards could maim a bystander
         why force one to bleed such an unnecessary truth
wouldn't want to wreck these shiny floors

better to keep it hid, better tighten my lips around it
I mean,
how do -you- feel under these fluorescent lights?
who is studying who?

I understand now my circus of an existence was born
in a tight space
between the exhausted description of my histories
-the official ones- and

these secrets,
the juicy stuff
      
encrypted in me
Aa Harvey May 2018
Working 9 to 5


The constant rumble of the fans above my head,
That cool me down, so I don't feel too tired.
The crashing bangs, of heavy metal things,
As the machines continue to work,
To produce metal sheets.


The thunderous press machine,
Thumps another piece of metal,
As the production line keeps moving,
Full of different people.
Each of them standing, in their own specific spot;
Capable of breaking the chain,
If one of them is gone.


So just hang your metal onto the track;
The thing that made me quit before, but I came back.
And now here I am, stronger and wiser,
Better than before;
Now they've offered me the job full time.


But I know, I can do better than this,
For I wish to be a poet, an author and a lyricist.
I just keep looking at the clock,
Waiting for another minute to pass.
****!  I'm sure it's stopped;
I've surely been here longer than that.
No; it's just because,
I'm not using my head
And thinking to make time pass quicker
And not just waiting for it to be 10.


At last!  It's here, we all give a silent cheer,
Or a sigh of relief, that the day is done.
At last, now we can all go home.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Vierra Apr 2018
The world turns on a Shepard’s staff.
He, of whom the Shepard is, is a guide through the treachery and trickiness of the thick weeds.

The foothills have been passed and the plains of this earth is now the marked destination to rest. We eat there. Beware
the wolves

The sheep have been calm this journey, and it’s lax for the collie, our animal ally.
He is prepared at a beckoning and that is all that is required for herds safety. He comes and goes throughout the brush to scout and prepare reconnaissance. Again, a ally.

The sun moves slowly and eventually rests past the horizon. Twilight and on a clear night, spreckels of stardust show their face over the herd and friendlies. The wolves do not bother the fire tonight.

We rest with a relative ease.
We wake and begin the day.
Pedestal talk from sheep
George Krokos Dec 2017
A business is known by all the resources it deploys
how it treats its customers with the staff it employs.
_____
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Pauline Morris May 2016
My God has laws never ment to be breached
He loves to use tragedy to teach
He staff is always ready and in reach

You may think demons get to freely play
But he shows them the very way
He lets them use hurtful words to get us to sway

It's all just a ploy, to make us run
He leaves us under the gun
God just smiles, he's having fun
For when all is said and done
It will be to him we run
Terry Collett Feb 2016
I hid in the work shed
when I heard the male matron
calling my name
(the big ****)

I had a class jar
filled with earth
and  black ants
and watched them
make tunnels
and **** any who
were odd ones
or stragglers

and he called out my name
Benedict where are you?

I kept silence
stifling the urge to laugh
until he'd gone

then I sneaked out
and went a different way
and after an hour or so
he'd say
where have you been
I've been looking for you
everywhere?

and I said
o I was in such
and such a place

and he raised his
bushy eyebrows
like waking up
sleeping caterpillars
and said
but I looked there

and I said
o must have just
left then

and once
in the staff room
having morning
or afternoon tea
I'd have a copy
of Ezra Pound's Pisan Cantos
open and read
to myself

while others
(women) chatted
about this and that
like o that Mrs Biggins
she went a wet my shoes
or that Mr Gubbin
went and touched
my backside
as I went past

and I thought
how hard up does one
have to be
to do that
I mean her backside
of all backsides

although Mrs Bee
had a nice one
I guessed
imagining waking up
to it most mornings
like her husband
must have done

and Win said
where have you
been hiding out
that ****'s been
looking for you?

has he?
I said
well there's a thing

then I put away
the Ezra book
as the bell
(on the wall)
began to ring.
A YOUNG MAN AND A DAY IN THE LIFE OF IN 1978 IN A NURSING HOME.
Rhythm the knife
  hacks eternity into Meter,
  sharpens Itself into Phrase.

Our Song of the Severed Soul.

One wide-open
   mouth sings the bewildering
   majesty of Silence.

Signal drowning in the noise.

A ****** of Shrewd
   crows peck out the eyes
   of an out-of-tune reality.

This Geometry of eclipsed lines.

Free from the bonds
   of Melody, liberated
   from the Staff, awakened.

My Song the Quiet of Forests

Interstices where no discord
   mars the naked Truth,
   nor dulls the timbres of Self.

Here shall I shout my ineffable Gladness.

Where the ear of no listener
   may its fairness tickle,
   nor its Word turn astray.

*The winds of my Flute
blow sweetest.

— The End —