#professions
Painters strive for the perfect stroke
Comedians look for the perfect joke
Writers seek to engage or provoke
**** stars strain for the perfect poke
Students grind, hoping they won’t choke
Trump derides his conviction as a hoax
Yachtsmen yearn for the perfect boat
Social climbers aspire to be bespoke
Politicians pretend to be regular folk
Workers yearn to throw off their yoke
Golfers train for a consistent stroke
Flyers pray their Boeing isn’t broke
Stoners want the ultimate ****
A smile is what I want to provoke
.
.
A song for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Jun 3, 2024
Jun 3, 2024 at 8:04 AM UTC
strange professions and true confessions from a lockdown town (4/17/20)
————————————————————————————-————-
not a great idea,
in the not-yet-dawn,
to write
a poem entitled
strange professions,
true confessions
dried stains of prior leakings
upon old ‘n yellowed linoleum,
no need for more friends,
for sure, for sure,
that’s the smart play
you see! right there
I’m professing age
old wisdom,
confessing my sorry face is
well acquainted with
floor coverings,
where even the
soles of my shoes
won’t admit they been polluted,
having stepped in rooms
of low and ill repute,
those them there,
right in here
poetry writing sites
where there ain’t no
guideposts, reminding
what’s in the heart
pretend stays in Vegas,
but what the heck,
since I’m here already,
might as well,
ready go and spill,
things you don’t
need to know but...
help the time pass
in this lockdown town,
where total silence is
the loudest sound around
wine, empty beery bottles,
bad rhymes give me up,
just before I start a hey look!
it’s a brand new
sunny rain afternoon
the governor pronounced
we all gotta be masked,
24/7 inside and out,
the women complain that it
musses hair, the men say,
who me? nah, got
nothing to say about that,
We, don’t make no con-cessions...
when you can’t see
my lips moving, or my
one good eye be winking,
means it’s likely that I’m lying
they say, I’m going
stir crazy,
not me says he,
unlike some guy who
wanted to blow up the
Alice-in Wonderland statue in
Central Park, hell,
u could look it up!
guess I coulda call this
here epistle, official “Lockdown Blues,”
but I jes heard gotta stay inside
till June Seventeen
that’s the good news,
plenty o’time to set
my affairs in order,
burn the poems nobody
needs seeing, those them
there with weirdness galore,
say no more,
you can whine, it’s fine,
no caring, no hearing,
past way the point,
where running or returning
is an option viable for nut jobs
them, with strange professions
and true confessions...
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:56 PM UTC
I have nothing against the person,
But the profession can be irksome.
You may get argumentative,
But that’s part of the dance:
To step on some toes.
So, I leave you to choose,
And add some of your own.
o Dentist
o Teacher (for the disenchanted/entitled)
o Oncologists
o Auto Mechanic
o Clerics
o Lawyers
o Funeral Persona
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
We could be flying
but instead are on the ground
We were created for more
but instead, we listen to lies
God chose us
but we look everywhere except to Him
We are called children of God
There is a greater purpose
He defines it
Living for God
Changing lives through God's glory
Take my profession and Go
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC