"earner" poems
•helping the kids with homework•
no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy
taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself
you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later
the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability
doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much
ain’t exactly his strong suit
sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,
i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes
“a home work”
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé
So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me
I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation
Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine
I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights
I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads
I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best
Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade
I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player
While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two
Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing
Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop
but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher
Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour?
Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each
Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job
So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner
But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets
The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash
with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers
Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar
She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law,
while drinkers whoop and punch the air
The bucket goes over my head
and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
L oves to play on the computer
A lways humorous
U nique in every way
R unning, jumping, tumbling at gym
E xceptionally bright
L earner
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
A father, keeping up with the pace
Mother, applying makeup and mace
Son, competing in most important race
Daughter, content in lover’s embrace
Manager, profit earner, best company man
Beautiful and glamorous, archetypal woman
Athlete, top scholar and paper boy
Sweet sixteen now, this beautiful toy
All, a sublime rhyme
Man, estranged from family
Woman, battered so fiercely
Drug overdose, happen so easily
In her girlfriend’s arms, so happily
Family monarch, reduced to slave
Precious, caring, loving, now so brave
The candidate for the top, fighting the grave
Beautiful, innocent, naive, in girlfriend’s arms, so safe
Where, did we go wrong?
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 4:02 AM UTC
When addiction runs deep,
Like the blood in our veins,
Its impossible to kick,
Unlikely to abstain.
For we are what we love,
And we love what we are;
It’s said that an apple,
From its tree won't roll far.
Her parents were junkies,
Generations gone by,
So deep in her blood,
It’d be cruel to deny.
I’ve found in resistance,
I beat my head on a brick,
So no longer at odds,
I embrace life as her fix.
“Honey, can you fix this?”
She says, smiling at the sale.
At the lamp I look closely,
It stands tired and frail;
It's brass tarnished dark,
Its wire is frayed.
In my head I say, “No," then,
“Sure babe,” someone else said.
Believing I’ve dodged one,
I breathe a sigh of relief;
We return to our Jeep, and
Drive away down the street.
Then I glance in the mirror,
And what do I see,
It’s that LAMP in my back seat,
Staring smugly at me.
*“This dresser will be cool,
In robin's-egg-blue;”*
Just describing the hue,
I see her almost drool.
*“Yeah, natural on top,
It's frame painted, then glazed...
You’re the best at glueing drawers!”*
She adds icing with praise.
*“Look, here’s a chair I found,
with pretty calico;
If you fix it's broken arm,
You’ll be my hero!
Cuz I am sure it will fetch,
Ten times what I've paid.”*
I’m a wage earner no longer,
She pays me in accolades.
That bowl with mustard yellow,
Picture frames of wood & plaster;
An old tin box, and this small broach,
A barrel chest with leather straps.
A jewelry box,
(A lover’s locket found inside)
Each purchase she makes,
Adds satisfaction, and pride.
Her addiction runs deep,
She’s my bargain-maker;
Not a corporate girl,
But she’s a mover and shaker.
Yes, she's my ******
And I am her fix;
Together we’re a duo,
"Can we peak in your attic?"
In my chair as I write this,
I feel something, turn and see;
And there pinned to the cushion,
Is a price tag poking me.
Now I’m nervous as a cat,
Wouldn’t want to fall asleep;
For fear I could wake up,
In the back of someone else's Jeep!
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
the oldest profession
doth bring much needed funds
housewives and mothers walking the streets
to supplement the household income
Mrs Jones is plying her female wares
in a motel suite somewhere
those extra dollars
shall pay the education fees
for her daughter Claire
as day to day living
isn't cheap
mothers and wives working the pavement
at any given time
the money they receive is a bonus
a nice little earner
a few bucks can be most helpful
as the family budget oft sinks in a well
these women don't haggle
with their clients too much
they give them what they want
and in return get what they need
a dime is a dime
it can be so useful
when the fortnightly paycheck
is so skint
the ladies of the night
aren't always in the game for the purposes of romping
they're lying on their backs
to fill the hole
in the domestic
piggy bank
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a Nyctophile
as I too love my collapsing sight
I too flicker in the bright.
Like an earner without his earning
The dark existence,
by the sphere that lurks, partially satiated
'See-Saw' a fodder for human poets
The other aspect, totally denied.
Skin is imbalanced
which showers mixed colors
Why not an equilibrium?
Vampires licking honeyed sanity
The sane too, join the party.
But, if he complies, they wouldn't
If she complies, they wouldn't
Fluctuations are eminent
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a dust stained file
as I too love my collapsing might
I too flicker in the bright.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC
They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.
You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.
Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.
His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.
When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.
To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
real page turner
real money earner
feed the kids
pay the bills
keep the wife
happy life?
white picket fence
my two cents,
its picturesque.
salt and pepper
go set the table
say your prayers
make your bed
clean the house
catch the mouse
two car garage
bi-weekly massage
clip your nails
cut your hair
tuck in your shirt
wash off the dirt
the american dream,
simply ins't for me
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
the military industrial complex
are making a killing
the arms trade
is a profitable business
billions are harvested
by the grey suited men
the war machine
supplies deadly payloads
collateral damage
always yields such a tidy sum
why interrupt or put paid
to a great earner
the balance sheet
must be in the black
production lines
busy filling orders
each day
the bullet
the bomb
the drone
sold to effectively obliterate
and take lives away
in corporate offices
the arms dealers
rub their hands
with glee
as they amass a bounty
from their lethal armories
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.
I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.
I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.
I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.
I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.
I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.
Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?
Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!
It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.
Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.
Yes, that’s the way to go;
I will give my best shot to my dreams
and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow
I will be contented and proud
to have taken that dip
and rescued me.
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 4:53 AM UTC
In God we trust but the economy went bust and we ain't got a crust of bread.
Got no lead in my pencil,no ink in my pen and I'm wondering when my memory's going to go.
and I'm getting slow,
I remember a time or it may recall me, when as a young man of twenty ,or two maybe three, I was wealthy and healthy and full of it all but then came the crash and I started to fall.
And I dropped,stopped being an earner, learnt to survive on week old stale pies and hand outs, the hand me down,the other side of life in any big town,
where you pay your trust to the temples of dust and the soup comes free,with a touch of religion on the crust of dry bread and sometime's I think that God must be dead.
We do as we do and we can't do no more and the poor will always be poured down the drain,thrown out of the door,not let in,begging on street corners,
don't they look thin!
They do as they do and they do it so well and they got us believing in a new branding of hell where the adverts pervert the minds of the young and that nothing good comes from it being homespun and the gun at your head is something to think of and, is God really dead?
Led to the queue and waiting in line for another strangulation,I am choking on time.
I want what's mine,give me my due
You own it all
for now.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.
I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.
I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.
I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.
I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.
I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.
Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?
Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!
It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.
Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.
Yes, that’s the way to go; I will give my best shot to my dreams and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow I will be contented and proud to have taken that dip and rescued me.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 1:27 AM UTC
I have tried for too long
to fit into your various segments
I have played the roles of
Christian
Passionate lover
Rebellious son
The perfect one-night stand
Intelligent workplace hero
Humble soccer talent
Competitive PC gamer
College graduate, master's holder
Friend with benefits
Big earner
*** addict in recovery
Devoted husband
Home updater
Fun party guy
Deep-thinking poet
Music-lover, dancer
I fit into none of the roles you have to offer.
I am a primate with a more sophisticated brain and a cleaner body. I declare this with reluctant disappointment.
An observer would see our race developing, bodies and populations increasing in complexity and order; patterns like cities, data flowing through fiber cables, and social constructs aligning like carbon atoms becoming a diamond.
But we will not reach the perfection of a lab-created stone.
We have significant inclusions,
The most glaring of which is purposelessness.
Is there anyone watching?
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
You think a movie camera follows you,
a film crew watching everything you do and so you play that lifetime role,
rolling down the blinds at number fifty one
you think the film is rolling on,
each scene a scene where you have been, each whisper that you hear is taped, replayed,
play it by ear you could be on an earner,
turn a page or two, do you think the audience is watching what you do?
do you undress behind the silver mirrored made in Hong Kong screen and have you seen the rushes yet?
I bet the editor has made the final cut, but you think they'll watch the film in which you star
if a movie camera really follows you.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
She told me of the horse that flew
The horse with a name that Egyptians knew
She told me of the hanging tree
With roots that cried and caressed the dew
She told me tales of a lightening storm
That flashed an Eskimo cold to warm
And in her eyes I saw other stories
Just as important as Dali's glories
Jane sat on a pine kitchen chair in the corner
of the room. In her left hand she held nineteen
ninety-nine, in her other, my eyes. I kissed her
on the cheek and asked her a question.
She told me of a white paper brick
That glided through air six foot thick
She told me of Christians that got wasted at lent
That prayed for the light through a gap in a tent
She told me of Magritte, ******* and Turner
And a boy in India selling organs as an earner
And in her eyes I saw other stories
As bright as the Ursa's universal glories
I asked Jane another question and she fused
It must have been the sixth time in a month
Gordon Fussey
Written by
Gordon Fussey
(M)
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
I do not see
beyond the might,
yet perceive
more than ought.
The craving of
a learned tale,
ability to carve out
an excuse to crave.
Hail to the conquerors!
Teller of greatness,
earner of sympathy,
foreteller of justice,
bearer of magnanimity.
We survive you.
Hail to the losers!
The day waits for you,
the night delights, passing
thoughts escape into
imagining immaterial
basis of deeds.
Soon, the distance between
falls near and
neither escapes surety.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
"Love of A Poetess " by Nadia umber Lodhi
You are love of a poetess, my beloved,
Reflects from my words ever,
Forget you never,
My passion increase ever,
My Love decrease never ,
You are love of a poetess, my beloved
You are the Magic of a words magician,
You are the business of a pain earner,
I shall write departure, loneliness and tears,
I shall describe fears,
And earn income.
You are love of a poetess , my beloved
I shall sell dreams, earn profit,
How can I gain loss,
No Never, my dear
I sold my heart, my dear
One and Only wealth I have.
————
Nadia umber lodhi,
Islamabad .
Pakistan.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC