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Ces Jul 11
Mundane concerns stifle
the soul that hungers for the infinite
Practicality subverts the mind
as it questions and wrestles with
this existential enigma...

Bound by the curse of productivity
and the insatiable drive for accumulation
Libidinal, perverse thoughts
drive the working man

to this, to that...

he is a puppet pulled by invisible strings:
the corporate, bureaucratic masters
calling the shots
laughing control freaks...
the world is theirs for the taking
and the worker-slave raises his hands
a sense of triumph
as the crumbs fall down

We live in a Kafkaesque era
merrily languishing
in this willful dementia.
Jay M May 29
They lie in deep slumbers
Under the covers
Safe and sound
Dreaming of things far beyond the ground

Waking up in the morning
Getting dressed and ready for work
Just for that little paycheck, listen to the warning
Brew and drink the coffee, let it give a little perk

Get on the uniform
Drive off to work
Park and run in
Join in the swarm
Of phone calls and shuffling papers
Or loud machines and swift feet
All dreaming of the same thing;

Something better
Something that pays more
To live a better life
To give their husbands, wives,
And children all better lives

To be greater than this
To do better than their current hand
Earn themselves something better
For themselves
Or their families
To just enter some kind of bliss

Take a stand, give them a hand
As they reach from the ground
Building their way up to the clouds
To be where they dream to be
In the sky - in their dream sky.

- Jay M
May 29th, 2020
The purpose of this poem is to display the hard workers, starting out so small and working a job for a small paycheck, dreaming of earning more for a better life (whether it be for themselves, or their families).

I hope you enjoyed reading this piece- dream big, and reach for the stars! Not even the sky is the limit!
We are not heroes.
We are just people,
trying to survive.
You and I,
are not equals.
You work from home
while I...
I work to ensure
that I get to keep mine.
They call us essential,
because we provide
all the food and the things
that help keep you alive.
But I am resentful
that I don't get to decide,
What is more worthy,
my labor or life?
So don't call me a hero.
I am simply doing
what has to be done.
Don't call me a hero,
unless you plan to treat
and pay me like one.
Poetic T Apr 29
I'm a silently panicked individual,
on the outside  I'm calmer than
    the ocean on a windless tide.

But underneath I'm like a riptide of
trepidation,
             I wonder different scenarios.

What if's,
                when will I,
              why the hell are they
                                    not 6 feet away.

In my view, a cotton cloth isn't going
to stop anything, if a **** can get through,
                boxers, and Demin trousers.


How's a thin cloth going to stop it,
              P.s the rest of your face neck
hair is open for business.


Its absorbed, every breath, touch
cough, that travels much, much
further than you think.

With your vinyl gloves that spread more
than you realise..
             But what ever makes
                          you comfortable.. that's ok!!!

                             But don't touch anything
I want to pick up with your filthy hands.
Id rather trust unwashed digits to those
blue, white, finger puppets of falsehood.

I read the news, so many who help us,
          those in need thank goodness I'm
not one, not yet..
But they help the poorly,
                            the dying..
  I hate that word
                            DYING..
loneliness,
             of family unable morn you,
             to smile and wish you good journey.

You, we, them just die without a smile.
               a We Love You.
No they just gasp looking for comfort,
      but all they see is others gasping for
           just another day...

                      Flatline...…………………………………….
Chris Slade Mar 18
There’s an early morning toker on the beach.
Can’t go home. His dysfunctional family’s out of reach.
The puzzle’s finished, he’s just a left over piece that doesn’t fit.

He’s a jigsaw piece without a place to go.  A conundrum
for social services, nice charity workers, who fail to know
how a seeming misfit’s mind works and what makes him tick.

He can’t engage with team leaders, “stupid bleeders”. They make him sick.
He’s due back at six… got to be clean - no blow, no skunk, no beer.
He’ll blow numbers and he knows it and it’s clear

They won’t let him sleep in his own bed tomorrow night…
He’s persona non-grata ‘cos every time he’s out he skins up… It’s *****!
He hates the rehab in the hostel, but can’t cope on the outside.

Catch 22 at 20 it’s a cul de sac…Everything he does is wrong… It’s all utter cack
He says he’ll top himself… people can’t see the real him, says he’s not off the track.
He just needs love, warmth, support, reassurance, guidance, a family, a job… He don’t wanna go back.

Another day… cold and driving rain. There’s an early morning toker on the beach…
Actually he’s been there all night - his family’s out of reach. He’s still, not moving. His pupils have no shine.
“Alright mate… are you OK?” Oh **** - He’s sheet white, still not moving… Dial 999.
Ron Gavalik Dec 2019
When the proles see in reds,
the rich lose their heads.
Bathed in the blood of villains,
workers dance and laugh,
they **** and love.
****** are redeemed.
Books are embraced.
Drink is consumed.
The blue-green Earth,
after such a long abuse,
is finally reclaimed.
Proctor Ehrling Jul 2019
Shepherds, cobblers, carpenters and joiners of all creeds and worldly dreamers
You troubled souls, the brittle spirits drinking spirits cleaner
Taunted workers of yore, farmers gone and industries endowed
Disseminating futures, who's gonna build your ***** barrels now?
**** it, I'm going to work in a call center
Continuing clearing my notebooks. I think this one was supposed to be inspired by the death of coal industry and other types of jobs going extinct, but I am not sure anymore.
Masha Yurkevich May 2019


Hard workers
are only rewarded by

...


more hard work.


But I hope that it will all pay off in the end.
anotherken Jan 2019
Call it the most vile evil thing,
Call it what you want, it's still waiting,
Waiting to be put up once again.

The red flag of worker utopia,
The change for a capitalist dystopia.
What we need: a permanent revolution.

Where the term of rich and poor are free;
Here, we share our rewards equally!
Is it not the most ideal thing?

Coal is shovelled all as one,
Laziness is easily frowned upon.
Where people unite and work hard.

No more rich; no more poor.
Where we live by shovel and lure,
Where we die equal and pure.

In practice, yes, it may fail.
But in due time, we'll all follow the trail
To a utopia, filled with red and yellow.

Call me a fool, I may be a dull tool.
But I stand by my dreams, we'll start anew.
A permanent revolution for us all.
I believe in a permanent revolution.
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