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Raghu Menon Oct 2015
The Flower Sellers
Rushing with their bundles

The Milk Vendors
Cycling with their milk cans

The Newspaper boys
Sorting out their packets

The Morning walkers
Warming up and stretching

The Chai-walas
Pouring out their teas

The scarfed mill workers
Speeding for their shifts

The vegetable vendors
Carrying their head loads

The Suprabhatham
Flowing from a distant house

The night shift workers
Returning home.

The Municipality workers
Cleaning the streets..

*The city is waking up
Or did it ever sleep?
Chai- Tea, Suprabhatham - Hindu religious hymn sung in morning
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
The two hundred pound waitress
Was smoking and patting
At her nearly two-foot-high hair.
The cook was scrubbing
The scunge off the griddle
Old Zeke was drunk in a chair.
A lonely song was playing
For the twenty third time.
The jukebox was just that old.
Young Biff was mopping
In the light of a weak bulb
He knew the water had gone cold.
Still he scrubbed at the colorless
Old linoleum floor, sulking
One more job to get through.
When the door to the café
Quite suddenly opened
And paper and napkins flew.

It was Biff's friend from school,
Most folk thought him a fool,
Jokey Jerry, his Dad and a girl.
His whole mind was taken
By the sight of the vision.
The most beautiful girl in the world.
When they sat at the counter,
Biff washed his hands
And hurried the waitress away.
He put a menu between them,
Between Jerry and the girl,
Asked what she would have today.

She laughed into her hand
And fluttered her lashes.
They were just for a moment alone.
Then his friend asked Biff
"Gimme change all in quarters
And where is the john and the phone?"
So, now with the mood broken
All too abruptly
He took all their orders and blushed.
He offered her some pie
That was made by his mother
Told her she must taste the crust.
The cook began to fry
The food they had ordered
As Biff gazed into her brown eyes.
His friend, the girl's brother
Sneaking behind them
Set fire to Biff's apron ties.
When the smoke rose enough
That somebody noticed
The girl let out a small sound.
Biff began to flail
At his smoldering backside
And wailed as he ran all around.

Quickly circling the room,
He stepped into his bucket,
Which went along with him as he ran.
Then bounced off the leg of
A customer's chair and they fell,
Hamburger, the chair and the man.
The patty flew out
And landed on the waitress
Who screamed and jumped to her feet.
And elbowed the cook
Who was cleaning her glasses
Which then fell into the hot grease.
She shrieked as she reached
For the tongs to retrieve them
And woke up the drunk by the door.
Zeke began to sing,
"Alouette", out of tune.
And "Hallelujah, praise the Lord!"

Oh his journey around the café
Raising all kinds of havoc
Biff found himself by the windows.
Somehow set fire to Hazel's
New book-ordered curtains.
Jerry's Dad yelled, "Thar she blows!"
Thinking rather quickly
Since he was nearest the danger,
Dad threw his iced-tea at the flames.
And most of the canary yellow
Took-two-weeks-to-get-them
Café curtains with the drawbacks were saved.

Biff was still standing,
The bucket on his foot,
So he bent to pull it away.
Around the corner came Lem,
A very large fellow
Who didn't see Biff in his way.
He sent Biff careening
Through the checkered-cloth tables
To end in the corner, in the dirt.
The shreds of his dignity
Were scattered around him
As tattered as his ruined pants and shirt.
But the beautiful ladylike,
Lovely sister of Jerry
Dared anyone else to make fun.
She took Biff's hand
And smiling, she told him.
"Darlin', this is how legends are begun."
Skylar May 2015
The bricks of the human world are dying.

Others are being born as we speak,
But others still are dying
And the world is dying and changing with them.

Some are dying in bleachy hospital rooms
With blood-smeared hands,
But others are not.

The world is dying in fields
With a back lain-upon by fresh harvest,
Hands caked in loam
And a face creased by sun.

The world is dying in factories,
Gazing its brains out through the smog
And over clamorous machinery,
Bleeding tears into cheap t-shirts.

The world is dying in offices,
Dreams pulled out and splayed about
Like a salmon's innards
Upon the printer-paper butcher board.

The world is dying at sea,
With salt-crusted hair
And burning, split calluses,
Beety droplets staining the passive blue.

The world dies in death:
In rusty mill bones
And hollow farms
Rented out to memories.

The world is dying,
And where is the ceremony?
Where is the procession?
Where is the twenty-one gun salute?

The world goes into many graves
Packaged in a homemade box,
With Duty fulfilled
And not a single note of "Taps".
showyoulove Apr 2015
Prayer of St. Joseph

Dear St. Joseph most chaste spouse of the Blessed ****** Mary and earthly father to our Lord Jesus let your soft and strong spirit be upon us this day. You were a quiet and reflective man. You were humble and modest. In a world that in this day does not place a high value on such virtues that you portray, we look to you St. Joseph as a shining example of what fatherhood and manliness can truly be. You were a carpenter, a builder, a worker. Yours were strong hands; rough and calloused from work, but they were also gentle and loving hands. Surely each piece you built was a work of love and crafted with great care. The hugs you must have given Jesus were so strong and gentle. You taught your son how to build as well. It is of little wonder then that the cross he would suffer and die on would become a great bridge connecting us to each other and to your son in heaven. Yours were warm loving eyes. Eyes full of sadness, pain, and incredible joy. Was there a time when it was revealed to you what your son must endure? I can’t image what that would’ve felt like knowing what was going to happen, desperately wanting it not to, and still knowing it was God’s will. Even with all of that you said “Yes Lord. Okay. Let your will be done. I trust in you”. I only hope we might have the smallest bit of the faith, the peace, and the quiet strength that you had. Be with us St. Joseph that we might learn how to better love, better serve, and better protect the sanctity of marriage and of the family. Be with us St. Joseph in our jobs that we may remain humble in the good work that we do. Let all the work that we do, be done with great love. Bless us St. Joseph and especially those that work with their hands. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our eyes so that we may see and love others in a more profound light and that our vision would not be clouded by pain and sadness. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our minds and our hearts that we might have the grace and strength to be pure and chaste as you were. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our souls that we might obtain some of the peace, the quiet strength, the faith to say “Yes” to your son and “No” to the wiles of this Earth. Bless us oh Most Holy St. Joseph that one day we may come to know you and be with you and the Holy Family in Heaven for all eternity.

Amen
svdgrl Sep 2014
If you must know
why I kicked your stupid
"MEN WORKING AHEAD" sign
into the street,
This WOMAN WALKING BEHIND
is not for you to comment on.
james lian Aug 2014
Three men on a platform,
one wipes the sun,
another washes the clouds,
the third one rinses the sky.
I wonder if they will stay there,
When it's night time.

When I come back,
one wipes the sun,
another washes the stars,
the third one rinses the milky way.
showyoulove Jul 2014
Lord, guide my hands to do your will. Fill my mind with your wisdom, my soul with your perfect peace, and my heart with your eternal love. Let my life and all that I do be an offering: pleasing to you and a blessing unto others. Send your Holy Spirit upon me to fill me and to seep into every fiber of my being. Help me to open myself more fully so that I might be able to listen and respond. Help me to surrender my will and my control so I can more readily serve you and my fellow man.

— The End —