#worker
H is for help! you know I'm alive
E for estranged, expressionistics
contrive
R eading rhymes- revise, review
reprise, recite- rethink and renue.
O verwhelming-
vertly, overdone-
bsessive...
o ntology~
Still, I'm the one.
I'm the hero, of the story-
Don't need to be saved.
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 8:57 PM UTC
A patriot, a service man
stood proud and let his
American flag fly.
Served his nations
when they called,
distinguished service
and honorably discharged.
A purple heart
with some PTSD,
told his family
the V.A. would
take good care of me.
The president and congressmen
upped the military budget by billions,
and as soon as that passed
went ahead and tried to get
servicemen’s health care cut.
Man, America doesn’t give a ****
about any of us.
Well, he pinched and saved
for most of his days,
struggling to get by.
Worked very hard
to finally start
a business that was
close to his heart.
Every year he barely managed
to make ends meet,
but was grateful to be
in this land of opportunity
where he could support his family
doing what he loved.
A virus closed almost
all of the businesses
in his neighborhood,cont.
so the government
said they would
bailout small businesses like his,
passed a billed
swore the promise
was fulfilled,
but he never saw a cent,
from the federal government,
cause almost all that aid
went to help out
major party donors.
Man, America doesn’t give a ****
about the man who runs
a small business.
One kid grew up
trying to live up
to his parent’s expectations;
Got a fast-food job
while he was in high school,
then worked his way through
to go to a good college.
Four years and student loans
got him out in the world
and on his own.
Got a decent job,
to pay down the debt,
but along the way he
became really sick,
and the health insurance
barely covered a fraction of it.
Now he is drowning
in an ocean of bills,
from disease that may still
**** him,
and his prescriptions
are practically poison.
It’s a cold hard fact
that this country lacks
real human decency.
Should have learned by now,
we are just the fatted cows
that are culled to feed corporate greed.
Man, America doesn’t give a ****
about you or me.
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
The inclination
Towards domestic superiority
Does not refund
Ideals lost at discarded gambles.
Stygian kin browser,
Rest abode,
No lark made your path.
Leave the tie bloodshed
At the desk (once)
Home torn
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 4:26 AM UTC
औरों को दे महल बनाकर
ख़ुद झोपड़ में रहता है
बात करें हम आज श्रमिक की
जिसकी व्यथा न कोई समझता है।
भर के आँखों में सपने
वो गाँव छोड़कर आता है
शहर की चकाचौंध भरी दुनिया में
ख़ुद को अनजाना पाता है
सारे दर्द समेट के अंदर
बाहर से मुस्कुराता है
बात करें हम आज श्रमिक की
जिसकी व्यथा न कोई समझता है।
जेठ की जलती गर्मी हो
या हो जाड़े की मार
मुश्किल भरे हालातों में भी
न माने कभी वो हार
चंद मज़दूरी की ख़ातिर
दिन रात वो मेहनत करता है
बात करें हम आज श्रमिक की
जिसकी व्यथा न कोई समझता है।
परिश्रम करता सबसे ज्यादा
फिर भी दुत्कारा जाता है
करोड़ों कमाने वाले मालिक से
ख़ुद समय पर पगार न पाता है
फिर भी करता न उफ़ कभी
चुप-चाप सब सहता जाता है
बात करें हम आज श्रमिक की
जिसकी व्यथा न कोई समझता है।
मजबूर हो गए आज श्रमिक
जब कोई मदद न करता है
वापस अपनों से मिलने
वो मीलों पैदल चलता है
पैर में पड़ गए मोटे छाले
फिर भी उसके कदम न हारे
देख के ऐसी हिम्मत उसकी
ख़ुद कहर भी दंग रह जाता है
बात करें हम आज श्रमिक की
जिसकी व्यथा न कोई समझता है।
www.youtube.com/miniPOETRY
Labor agony
Make others a palace
He lives in a hut
Talk about labor today
No one understands the agony ..
Dreams in all eyes
He leaves the village
In the dazzling world of the city
Finds himself a little unknown
Inside all the pain
Smiles from outside
Talk about labor today
No one understands the agony ..
Hot summer
Or be winter
Even in difficult conditions
Never believe that every
For the sake of a few wages
Day and night he works hard
Talk about labor today
No one understands the agony ..
Works hard the most
Is still rebuked
From a boss who earns crores
Do not pay on time
Never does oops ever
All is silent
Talk about labor today
No one understands the agony ..
Today the workers were forced
When no one helps
To go back to the village
He walks for miles
Thick ulcers in the leg
Still don't lose his steps
Seeing this courage
Amber also bends down
Talk about labor today
No one understands the agony of ...
Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
With the grunts and groans of a wakening morn,
A small ball of resentment, fire and scorn,
There are heavy bags haunting your face,
Time goes by on a clock but there is no race.
Days and moments mesh together,
For the dumb, oblivious, ignorant and clever,
Nothing is separate one by one,
Awaken, eat, sleep, done.
The ignorant march out in hordes and laugh,
At the cautious hidden behind masks and glass,
As the docile watch from somewhere in the middle,
Eat, work, sleep little.
Remembrance of the workers clad in cloth,
Their work deemed essential until very last cough,
Mindless sit on stones along the beach,
Whilst the sun cooks their skin, face and feet.
"I'll be ****** if I'm staying in!" someone shouts,
A reckless, stupid, ignorant lout,
Struts into the shop and buys a lazy spa,
Oh how productive, thoughtful and intelligent you are.
Then the workers travel home by train, car or bus,
Get through their front door and take their shoes off with a huff,
Sigh because tomorrow is yet another day,
Trying to persuade morons to simply stay away.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:14 PM UTC
I MOVE as prayer warrior
traveler from distant lands
to make things right
inside expansion of life.
Light enters cells with breath
as I’m readied to stand
on platform
of love.
I STAND as love warrior
to be instrumental in bringing
the world to higher vibrations
of harmony as ment to be.
Visions for peace and joy osculate,
as dreams integrate
into present time.
I stand. You stand.
We stand
committed to get this planet
realigned with our space brothers and sisters
with our sacred Mother Earth
with our birthrights inside freedom.
Time to celebrate
as we recall we are children of light
in this our changing world.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
She was a worker
After all she had demands
She didn’t like to ask for help
She didn’t need a man
Yet, she suffered every day
Longing for a hand
To guide her
And make her understand
Maybe, even be her biggest fan
Motivate her, man!
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC
Today I liberate my heart.
standing in breath to celebrate moment.
My heart races with excitement
merging with birds in flight.
Senses come alive,
as lies fall to the waste-side
and freedom is mine.
Today I activate crown on head
as charka pulsates to usher in wisdom
and expand consciousness.
Feet feel grounded with joy to dance
merging with sacred breath.
Senses are balanced taking in new energies
as freedom sings.
Today, I am living as an authentic human.
Moving with a reached out compassionate hand
And goal to live the path of a light-worker.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
How do I explain
To the person who is supposed
To help me with 'any problems'
That they are the problem?
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Placing my life on a bet
I lay on a motel bed
With heart pounding
And long loud emotional howling
That screams at the ****** inside me.
All throughout the act
I remain ‘inert’
While that pervert!
Gags and squirt.
Forcibly moaning
So as to earn a loaf of bread
for a family whose chieftain is dead.
This is the reason why I lay on bed.
Despite all this they make me culpable
Knowing very well with this I am feeding incapable.
If this is the law then answer me whether in true sense it is justifiable?
My only cry is my body has been taken for far too long
Does anybody want to take my heart along?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
i'm a hard worker
sensible
persistent
i've been a hard worker
almost all my life
i get good grades
and i get rewarded
but i feel as i advance
my hard work
will not pay off
and my hard work
will not be enough
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
Brown, peeling rubber soles on big feet
Crunch crunch, the gravel and glass goes underfoot
The overcast gloom of the early morning.
Depressed and downhearted buildings lining the streets.
Weeds encircling the gardens like a dragon looming over its prey.
Flowers hanging their heads, gravely.
Smudged faces, dark purple eyes, gaunt complexion, another restless night for these children.
Bruises up and down each leg.
Trodden, broken. “Not good enough” ringing in their ears.
Dreary faces, ripped uniforms.
The school building silhouetted against the grey, emotionless sky.
“Line up in rows, nice and neat”
They would hear this repeated for the rest of their lives.
A zebra crossing worn and battered.
Cigarettes passed from frail, wrinkled, hopeless hands.
Hooked on 4 a day at the age of 13
The wind groaned through the yard.
Somber faces, with wide eyes awaiting an education.
Pale arms and legs bristling in the playground.
Teachers thinking the sun has set on their dreams.
The corporations rubbing their hands, stamping their boots.
Another day at school now, but do they have a future?
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
It's about time that you see me
Tell me what you want
Spare no detail
Fail,
I'll deliver the wrong dish
It's about time that you look here
Tell me what you see
Rake up my flaws
Talk behind a nervous, naked back
How awfully kind of you
To eat and leave
Time goes pouring in a cup, all
my empty calories
Eyes go from the ivory wall
back to the ceiling
I want you to see the
imprint of pharmacies
You dismiss me
I want you to see the
horrible life I chose
Hear constant wishes to get right
Never the penetrating notes
Of the unrelenting love song
It's about time that you see me
Tell me what you want
Spare me no detail
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
Bright blue skies and country roads,
Dust trails billowing behind the distant rumble of a 4x4
Gravel crunching, stones skipping
Sweat on his forehead and barley in his mouth,
Broad-brim hat clapped on his head
Dusty jeans and boots,
Checked red shirt and plain sandy dirt
This is the image of Australians
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than contemplating,
jailbreak daily from your ribcage,
harbor kitchen spoons to feed your escapism.
hide the entrance
under stale white hotel sheets.
Born to be an actress
with no script, you ponder this
in every mirror.
In every mirror you inherit this vacant body,
enough money to live in a studio apartment
in Washington, Vegas or anywhere
men would pay for three phone plans,
calf-length black socks and pseudonyms.
A room at the Marriot to trade scars,
connect you again with your skin.
At a political dinner
roasted hog, blueberry pie,
gilded knifes protecting the spoons.
Dog mouths are wet for scraps.
They bark beneath the table,
"Unoccupied bodies, should start charging rent.
Have you considered being a *** worker?"
"...Oh come on,
you never even turn on the lights."
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 3:54 AM UTC
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.
Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
*Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.*
When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.
*"Have you considered being a *** worker?"*
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".*
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Good men are slaves
to a system
that has them
trying to stay strong,
trying to pay rent,
to feed moms,
and their children.
They do the wrong thing
because they need money
for food, cloths, shelter
for car insurance,
for maintenance, and
for medical emergencies.
So, the goodness,
We would like to see
gets buries out of
necessity.
Kind hands
become calloused tools
and the hardworking man
dies at the plant,
were other good men
are struggling the same
with some minor variations.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
He smokes. Lips pull thin white clouds of relief into his lungs but when he is done he will head back in to the dark den of machine men. There used to be better days. Now strange alchemy has turned his soft body hard, smooth skin wrinkled, white teeth cracked and yellow, and soul into a mutilated mess. The fence vibrates with his passing frustration as one foot cracks the corner. Would have been a ****** mess if not for the tight steel toed shoes, that add about half a pound a piece. His fatigue weighs so much more. A heaviness stops him at the door. It is like he is walking in a world of gravity set at twice the normal rate. Safety goggles, lunch lady hair net, and ear plugs have become his nighttime uniforms.
“Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.” He recites like Dustin Hoffman’s rain man.
The mechanical madness beckons him in with a thud da dud, thud da dud, thud da dud.
“At least it is a midnight shift and not a hot summer day shift.” He thinks as he shrugs off the last remnants of his reservations.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Weird yellow lines mark
the grey sparkling floor.
Lighter grey garage doors
roll open to export more
manufactured goods.
Plastic particulates
plaster the yellow painted
blocking fences that
keeps fumbling fools
from stumbling through.
Yellow metal monstrosities
powered by small black batteries
chase their own blue lights
seeming super sentient
with an electric consciousness.
They beep hard backing up
and plowing forward
with packed boxes of
clear plastic cups
coming from the factory floor.
Smokers come and go
in and out of
the glass double door
in a blur of blue hats
lunch lady hairnets
earplugs and safety glasses
ending the day
exhausted and underpaid.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
Do not buy for one second that donations from unions are an equal evil to donations from corporations.
Why demonize the collective efforts to own and regulate one's own labor?
Why respect those that call another's labor their own private property, to the extent they enforce this rule through the tax subsidized violence monopoly?
Never forget where we came from.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
It is a metallic mountainous monstrous beast
fed on the flesh of the subdued worker class.
Weary eyed figures form a line for work time.
Strangled masses stumble in starving for relaxation.
Tension tightens their tired bodies and stripped bolts.
Work men’s muscles stretched and torn to their limits
only allowed to recover on the weekends.
Red eyes and amp energy drinks don’t stop the draining.
Machine metal bites furiously smoking sore bodies.
Steam and heat cook the workers till they are tender,
and with one exhausted misstep flesh and bone
Are consumed; blood and gore paint the assembly line.
The whistle blows, production stops.
the hunger is sated, and the factory slumbers.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Corporations **** the core
Cuts the soul to ribbons
Takes all the labor
And pays back in paltry paychecks
That barely covers our debts
Whilst doling out pain and exhaustion
But the people are good
Hardworking and smiling
Straining to maintain
That spark of heart
That remains
While paying their bills
And feeding their family
The shift starts
And tired bodies
Stumble in
Factory already
Rumbling
Like last night’s thunder
People laughing and chatting
Lebanese dude calls me Habibie
Grinning and patting me on the back
Brown brother give me a knuckle bust
As he passes by with a playful gleam in his eyes
One guy doesn’t high five but bumps elbows
The Congo girls speak another language
Beautiful flowing and musically rhythmical
The Janitor sings Motown
In this factory town these are good people
The generators hum
The machine sings
Doing their thing
Hoses circulate water
Like life’s blood
Taking in the heat
And sending it away
Bringing back more cool water
That does the same
Cooling the loud and hot equipment
While the employees are stressed and sweating
Wearing muscle fatigue and sleep deprivation
Like it’s their second skin
The machines drums ch, ch, crack
Ch, ch crack like a musical number
While the workers hustle
A smoke break and a popsicle
Then back to work
A lunch break and a conversation
Then back to work
Last smoke break and a phone call
Then back to work
Leaving the factory body hurting
But still coming off
The assembly line a good person
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC