"occupational" poems
Flirting with dreams
and myths
a fling with Aphrodite
so **** in a bikini
lying on the sand
with ivory skin
finely formed arms
swelling *******
slender waist
navel
sumptuous buttocks
flaring hips
and convex belly
comely thighs on either side
with calves and feet
perfectly poised
the purity of ******
for all eternity.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
Born screaming small into this world-
Living I am.
Occupational therapy twixt birth and death-
What was I before?
What will I be next?
What am I now?
Cruel answer carried in the jesting mind
of a careless God
I will not bend and grovel
When I die. If He says my sins are myriad
I will ask why He made me so imperfect
And he will say 'My chisels were blunt'
I will say 'Then why did you make so
many of me'.
3.4k
When words fail and the song dies in your soul
The soft cushion weighs heavy, threadbare, when
Dust invites the attic attack to the last memory stroll
A fretful protest march accompanying the wood grained heart
You noticed the space in short supply, with tight breath, the
Expert bargaining skills have begun, bypassing
The weak hearts, those that are still journeying
Their healing held up in tight palms of moistoned skin
And the slide into another day begins, dreadfully
With arched pain barriers drumming their morning
Beat. Occupational hazard was on the rampage
Cracking skull caps from their skinned residence
I shone a light into the acute grey tone of those
Hearts, those whose shapes lost conviction as the light
Shot arrowed tongues from the deaf interiors of wise men
Out on the town of feeble failings, they held nothing as their companion
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
you're my lens refraction, my solar flare
my beautiful occupation with long dark hair
because I've got you under my skin, deep
in my heart, you occupy my ventricles
even as we're apart
your forehead to mine we have been,
sharing an energy more palpable
than reality itself
nothing
nobody
can take that from us
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
Semi-
——-
Something new, in our years of partnership,
during
the early morning semi’s, the half awake, yet
mostly asleep, passageway from rest to wake,
as per usual, I am awake before her, to write,
to think, to read, to do my variety of early morn
chores, but today, her semi is populated by a
new concern, an alert, mind programmed, silent,
no chirp, no beep, just human punctual new instinct,
let us
check if my man is alive and breathing, rub his
thankfully copious-headed hair & air supply,
rub-a-dub,
once, repeat twice, thrice, sense his beating brain,
confirming the night passage, always dangerous,
completed safely, for she feels my warmth, hears
my eyes-crinkle smiling, and ascertains, the
continuation of my existence and the statistical
probability, (her occupational hazard and habit)
that when
she crosses fulsome into the living day,
awakensgladly, that her not-too-hot-black
coffee, will be
mister milkman delivered on schedule with
a bedside delivery like clockwork-blonde, with a
half sheet of enwrapping paper towel within some
morning fruit, to ensure that her coffee will have some company…
while she dances a beloved tango in her semi-,
I am:
*in my only~pretending post-tense,
semi complimentary state,
mentally scrambling scribbling half a dozen
eggs of new poem ideas, mad pursuing these
very words, my way of saying good morning girl,
my beating heart muscling me to be sure I-remain,
in the good company of the Oompa-Loompas,
and yours too*!
Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 7:44 AM UTC
I sit at a piano
and at the right hand side of the orchestra
or maybe the left
I'm not sure
You sit there too
you sit on your high horse
Mr. 2nd chair
oh i beckon in the good days when
When you play your violin
Like a Stradivarius
And fill the practice room
Like a concert hall.
And i sit and listen
like a desperate girl
mourning the moaning
of cellos
and the loss of a good friend
maybe more.
I still sit on the right side
of the orchestra
with a hollow piece of wood
raised to my neck
where i want you to kiss me
and i drag bow across string
and make noise
and make music.
i refuse to believe
that this was a coincidence
but we are musicians
it's an occupational hazard.
maybe...
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
At the moment, I am fine
I am part of a rich family
But more importantly, a loving family
I have a decent job
And a stable career
Most of all
I have a few close friends
Whom I can count on, anytime
So, you can say
That my life is pretty much sorted
Except, of course, for a bit of work stress
Which is one of the occupational hazards
Of being a recruiter
So, is there anything missing?
Surprisingly, the answer is yes
Romance
What wouldn't I give
To fall in love?
My heart yearns for that chance
To meet a special someone
Who has the potential
To change my life
In ways that I would least expect
It can be anyone
A friend
A colleague
Someone in my poetry circle
Or for that matter, comedy circle
A friend of a relative
A friend of a friend
Or even a total stranger
Of course, the last option is rather unlikely
Anyway, the point is
I would love the chance
To share my thoughts and feelings
My beliefs and ideas
My darkest secrets
And most importantly
My love and affection
With that special woman
Of course, only if she is okay with it
Because, true love works both ways
Well, it's not like I haven't fallen in love before
In fact, it has happened to me twice
But on both occasions
My love wasn't reciprocated
Therefore, what wouldn't I give
To fall in love once more?
I am keeping my fingers crossed
That it will turn out to be a case of "third time lucky"
Assuming, of course, that it happens in the first place
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
A heart that’s filled up like being buried alive |
“Occupational hazards” that slowly poison you |
Bruises getting sourer than
an astronaut’s vertigo |
Bruises are left to be unhealed |
Sorry, Doctor! Your medicine isn’t working
Looking so sipped off and drained
Devoid of any humanity’s stain
Thinking of drowning down
the system that’s already dead and down |
We haven’t heard from them longtime and again |
But please let me take a more cautious,
loyal approach to you all over again |
A slow poisoning of carbide, formalin
to finally having pure, clean cyanidical mayhem… |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
Peace with myself at last |
Peace with myself at last |
This is my final epitaph | my choking heartache |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more surprises please |
But still what a wonderful feelings I had I remember now |
Such a wonderful heavenly bliss it was |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
When I'm with my baby
I know I'll always have a job
She keeps my life so busy
I'm never nodding off
Occupational hazard
Is what my baby breeds
I feel like Merle...always Haggard
If you know what I mean
Some days she is a walk in space
Guess that makes me an Astronaut
Other days a Florist
As I arrange her Forget Me Nots
I've even been a Farmer
When she leaves me standing out in left field
Also working in the Dairy
As she cries over spilt milk
This girls is definitely a workout
So add Body Builder to my resume
And some of the things I've found out
I'd put the NSA to shame
Don't forget Taxi Driver
As she runs me all over town
Also Professional Mover
With my heart continually moving South
I've become a top notch Surgeon
The times that my hearts removed
And a teacher of higher education
When each lesson learned is new
Yes, when I'm with my baby
I know I'll always have a job
As she keeps my life so busy
No way am I nodding off
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
As a compendium
of somber faces
become a dentist's
occupational hazard,
so with death.
Trying to die with
the dying, the very
lifeblood of suicidal
tendency.
Only, the dentist is
successful--and death
is forced to say: open
up wide.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
I had cut my fingernails, to prevent a occupational hazard
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
So you got robbed. Don't think of yourself as a victim. Look at it as an expression of the robber's occupational and social deficits. Don't let it traumatize you for life. After all, can you compare it to being murdered? We need to have some appreciation for scale here. We don't want to go back to the Victorian notion that people are fragile flowers who can't handle having a gun pointed at them and losing a few dollars. That's a form of condescension, after all.
You're complaining about a burglary? Some men see a mere doorknob lock as a flirtation. And surely we don't want to see the end of flirtations and seductions! Must we all now install deadbolts and security systems? What's next--chastity belts? What happened to joie de vivre and devil-may-care?
So a drunk driver hit your car. Do you really want to have him arrested? It was a misunderstanding; he didn't realize that four cocktails and driving are technically illegal. And should they be? Do we want to criminalize ordinary reckless behavior? Haven't we all done something a bit foolish or clumsy in our younger days? Do we want a society in which everyone has to be careful what they do, all the time? A society in which people must count their drinks before getting behind the wheel? We are moving away from the ideals of a liberal democracy and toward totalitarianism!
So you were murdered. You can look at is as an opportunity to learn more about what happens after death. Your career was ended and your earthly form deteriorated, but that's not the end of the world. Now you live as a memory, and people appreciate you more. What doesn't **** you makes you stronger, and what kills you enshrines. There is honor in being dead. It is time we brought back the old virtues!
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
I sat down after being told,
by the old hungry *****
Not to worry but there was,
a better spot then this one,
Of course,
The pedistals that sit outside,
occupational windows,
That familiar unknown feeling,
O That town they call Dinky,
There sat a confusing aura,
the pious religious freak said aura,
he talked and gave change,
yet the skull girl,
you could tell,
didn't want any of it,
The scene was joined by Tank,
His armada pockets full,
towering and proclaiming,
fits of oratory rage,
them ******** in Washington.
He saw us and scared the poor muertos,
The friends she was waiting for came and fled with them,
I lumbered after her under duress to myself,
breaking Tank's train of thought
I'm sure,
To tell her sincere,
There are normal people here,
To which her friend said after
they'd gained distance,
" You must have a target on your back or something!"
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
The men behind the mask,
that Is my face
have required that I give everyone here
a small update
see not everything I write
Is a result of my own imagination
sometimes I just use the people residing up here
For some measure of inspiration,
NA is me normally and naturally,
it's no longer a character or a concept
but just me on reality.
now I've got to let him out of His Cage.
ALRIGHT JIM YOU CAN COME OUT TO PLAY
Hello I'm Jim I'm sure we haven't met I often use hip-hop to tell of our struggles and Regrets I expect that you'll guess that I was behind the freestyles that were posted here once upon a time but then that's how I rhyme internal and external my microphone skills are ****** like the infernal souls of the restless and the wicked I'll spit ballistics abd the evidence will support that you risked it by battling with me
Next up?
I believe that's me..
OrionThaReject light up the Mic for the symphony
OrionThaReject is my name
being seriously depressed is my game,
I'm usually the sad writings
that pop up on this page
along with loneliness, depression,
and occupational rage
I'm engaged to my tears as they were more faithful than most
so if you like darkness, I hope to me you'll Play host
Well there you have it dear reader
you've met my constructs that are about impossible to destroy without holy water and Ether
anyway, reading my work you should be able to tell who's who
Because the inside of my brain is more messed up than the San Diego zoo
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
Like a breath of fresh air -
A zephyr, young and fair;
Raven haired, but dyed for flair;
Intense eyes - piercing, bovine stare.
Refreshing intelligence, with wit to match;
Nubile and sensual - Oh, what a catch!
But alas! for this old fool,
All his charms make him appear such a tool!
Sly remarks and innuendo abound;
Even though she's amused, she must be bound
To think, while flattered, that this ****
Is an occupational hazard of a hospitality job.
So this fool shall be content to make her smile
And suppress his profound feelings for the while,
Until the beautiful, youthful flower blossoms, ripe
To be plucked by one with a romantic stripe
And if it be not he who pens this tripe
Then he should be happy and not snipe.
Realising, though broken hearted, that he
Should never have competed for the heart of she
That is destined for success in whatever field she applies
Her dazzling charms and wily smarts, while he cries
For the Valentine he failed to impress
With his basal humour and flirtatious address.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
This is a story of man who defied all odds, and his name was Henry Fredrick. Henry rides the train every morning on his daily commute to the city, which is where he works. He is a repairman for Azrael Medical Center, a local hospital. Henry is a single man who lives alone and does not like to keep company very often. As said before, he takes the train from his residence located in the outskirts of the town. He seldom makes friends, but the friends he does have keep in good rapport with him. T’was the first week of April in the year 1987, that he departed like any other day when suddenly the train derailed. He was tossed about from roof to floor, and this vicious cycle continued until he was left lying on top of someone else’s luggage. Henry laid there for quite some time fearing no one would know where to look, and he began to think what he could have done better in his life. The only thought he had was of his death. Trying to rid himself of this misery he began to ask why he did not simply buy a car and take that to work instead of the train. The train was so close and inviting to Henry because he could spend time alone to think before having to deal with the occupational world. A few hours were spent and he finally attempted to move his carcass so that he could perhaps be found. He struggled to crawl up to the door, the only escape route. That’s when the feeling hit him, like someone was watching him or planning his demise. Henry frantically looked around but saw no one. He began to yell for help when someone or something showed up. The two of their eyes met and instantaneously the two of them became preoccupied with the other. As Henry began to widen his gaze from those engulfing red eyes, he notices that indeed that thing that was watching him was a dog. The dog grabbed onto Henry’s shirt puling him from the wreckage. The dog seemed to have supernatural strength and Henry felt as if he was floating on air being carried on the shoulders of some strange beast, but was most likely due to the fact that he lost basically all of his blood. The dog dragged Henry’s broken body to the street, and that is where Henry blacked out.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Addiction to you
Seems to be a common ailment
I know I'm not the only one
Who is afflicted with you
And I accept this
It is an occupational risk
To be with you
Knowing you have others
And that we're not quite serious
That you're not committed
Even if I want you to be
And it's not your fault
If you hurt me
Because I know what I'm getting into
And have decided to enjoy the risk
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
how to build a better poet...
take away the utensils,
the pen and paper, the computer tablet,
the recording devices that inhibit the
free flowing alliteration of formation...
dispatch the poet to within from without,
kiss cheeks with the surety of uncertainty,
whisper whiskers of doubt will be his fearful, occupational, life long companion,
hazard, best friend...boon of indecision
let the composition begin instantaneous,
with every glance, every chance,
an overheard snippet, an introductory shot,
the writing birthing in the mind's canals,
stored for seconds, or as long as desired
give him secreted love, take it roughly away,
let him rage, then quietly sage on
vicissitudes know as incurable,
yet poet soldiers on, role playing
a solutions seeker, a healer treating us with
decisive words about everyday indecision
beg from the poet,
to release us from our self-sequestration,
employing visionary words,
untested formulations, new combinations
as per request,
poets's eyes unclouded should; could?
raise the dead, forecast blue moons,
make us walk on hazel word horizon waters,
infect our reddish defects with reflections that effect our flesh's affections,
the breathe need continuum burn/soothe,
faster harder slower softer, always irregular...
force the poet to unceasingly seer and see,
give no rest, allow no desist, poet resist, vaingloriously disingenuous talking tongues,
distracting with ancient lore resurrected,
newly spun silken verbs...
make memorized color palettes his food,
give drink of animals, plants, star names,
visions of fields resplendent with poppies,
visions of eternities in sidewalk cracks,
dividing high wire lines connecting
his words will rise skywards,
in alpha bet pieces, returning molecules
from where they were given,
and from they will in rain-droplets,
come back again
you have not lost poet's accomplishments,
you have built a better poet
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
No, please, not again,
Not the ******* Block,
Think I’m about to cry,
A grown man, weeping,
So unreal, sad, even.
An occupational hazard,
Finding the Block, lurking,
The unforgiving, ******* Block,
Visited by all worth their salt,
Dreaded by writers, loathed.
An empty well, bone dry,
The Block, mocking, malicious,
Laughing in the shadows,
Shifting within deeper shadows,
Growing, so very strong.
It cannot be mastered,
Not now, not ever,
Now you know it exists,
Grasp the pen, tap keys,
You must fight!
Ignore the jeering,
Conquer fears first;
Then, try writing, just write,
Summon courage, dry your eyes,
Then slay the ******* Block.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
miniscule cracks
lining the ceiling of your bedroom
chart out the abuse of
occupants who took
for granted the
memories spilling over
molded window sills
but the cracks lining
each chamber of my
heart
chart out the abuse
of you
an occupant who was
far too familiar
with the way this
house twists and turns
even when vacancy
was no longer a
grungy sign swinging
from rusted chains
but a cry for help
-DDF
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC
have a look:
the [a-ha-ha-ha] platform is packed with
commuters
dressed in
occupational colors
the commuters are not used
to smile regularly by the end
of a long day
[a-ha-ha-ha-aaa]
therefore
have a closer look:
between the commuters you
see
loosely
some guys carrying
transparent [hr-ha-a] chunks filled with
*****
somebody asks
about the fluid
now people have a
reason to laugh
hr-ahem-hrr-ahem-hrrr-i-don't-ha-want-ha-ha-ha-that
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
Meteors compared to falling stars,
the fire flung by pacific angels
against evil spirits when they
approach creation and
annihilation covered by smoke
to near the gates of Heaven;
The casuistic piffle of laughter
and fears the mussiness of
demons detached from
Gods creation according
to their newly venal
violent nature; devotees
for material benefit.
The enjoyers of sacrifice,
the renaissance passion
of faithfullness- the highest
occupational work as chosen
souls of the book of faith
made of eternity are
drawn like water from a well;
verities senescence, fidelities
essence of everything
troth superior to renunciation
via hermetic knowledge and
sense control onus of
life's attachment.
ELEETE J MUIR
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC