"occupations" poems
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation,
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles,
With lightsome laughter,
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.
4.9k
By Drake
Poem by Arcassin Burnham
You use call me on my,
You use to, you use to,
Yeah,
You use to call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
Call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
Ever since we crossed paths,
You,
Choosing occupations for yaself now,
Even when you told my *** to get out,
gunshot to my head I feel so stretched out,
Cause ever since we crossed paths,
You,
Started going out and being a *****
Never settled for less, I know you need more,
All these mood swings I never seen before,
You use to call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
Call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
Ever since we crossed paths,
You you you,
You felt like I left you on your own,
Its obvious that the love is gone,
I never felt like I could be wrong,
Ever since we crossed paths,
You,
You got exactly what you asked for,
Why you wanna go and just do that for,
Beautiful honest woman's what I took you for,
You use to call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
Call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
These days all I do is wondered
If you ever smashed my heart into little pieces
wondered
If you ever smashed my heart into little pieces
Wondered if I ever hurt you deeply,
You don't have to please me,
you could be mad at me,
You could be so mad at me,
No,
Don't you turn the tables,
Changing my area code,
All the delightfulness in you Don dried up and died,
Now I need someone to set the tone,
Yeah
You should just be yourself,
Right now your someone else,
You use to call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
Call me on my sprint phone,
Late night when you crave for us,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
And I know when that hotline bling,
Baby I'll save you the ring,
Ever since we crossed paths!
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
A beautiful head of hair offered her a drink.
She had to drive home.
High cheekbones and a leather jacket asked her to dance.
She was never a good dancer.
Tall and lean made eyes from across the room.
She turned away.
Friendly and endearing made small talk on the stool next to her.
Weather.
Music.
Occupations.
“So, are you… in a relationship?”
She looked down at her hands.
A white line against bronze skin seared with absence.
“No,” finally,”not anymore.”
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
The monk stands
in the shadow
of the cloisters,
said Benedict,
his arms folded
beneath his black habit,
his features unsmiling,
his stare out at the garth
and the clock tower
over the way.
I watch him,
feeling the sun's warmth
where the shadows aren't;
the flowers in the flower beds
are in full bloom,
the afternoon air
throws birds into the sky
to set free and fly.
Other monks
gather in the garth
after the office of None;
Patrick wheels out the trolley
with tea, coffee and cake;
we stand and talk
in the brief recreational break;
white clouds drift by,
birds take wing above
in the afternoon sky.
One talks to me of his book
on the abbey, the history
from its origins in France
until exiled here.
There is the bell
for the end of the break
and on we go
to our occupations
in our rooms or church;
I attend the Latin class
with George and Gareth,
our novice master aids us
in our studies, we learn
the holy sounds
of the Latin phrase and chants.
I love the office of Compline:
the chanting in the half-dark,
the evening light
through high windows,
the utter separation
from the outer world
and our communion with God
in prayer and chant and song,
and our hymn to Sancta Maria,
and the final bell,
and the prayers on wing and air,
and I stand momentarily
silent there.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Persistent places
Sequent occupations of the landscape diachronically
Consisting of Action, Search, and Awareness Spaces
Action Spaces
The foci of people comprehensively
Interacting with their place
Search Spaces
Where people go
To fulfill specific needs
Awareness Spaces
Those places people are aware of
But do not interact directly
These spaces that appear as palimsests
Accumulated layers of action, search and awareness
Comprehending persistent places is to understand the past
r 30Oct2013
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Imagine the first rumor. The first grunt of gossip
The first finger-point of prejudice. It was probably
like noticing the sunset for the first-time. How it
stretched out across the entire scope of your vision,
peeled back into a city that wasn’t the one you were in,
like an orange peel, one skin at a time. Eventually,
the world rounded, the ice melted, homo-sapiens
grew taller. Our voices deepened, bodies thickened.
We learned to survive the cold, the floods,
the irrational wars, and crescent-mooned nights
underneath tinned roofs. Then came the enlightenment,
the evolution of speech. The first cousin of Germanic
languages; the second cousin of Romantic languages.
And then the first rumor. The first appraisal of good
or bad actions of people hardly known. I imagine
my ancestors, 1.9 million years ago, grunting
with raised brow in her partner’s direction. Pointing
at two men crouching behind a large, fallen boulder.
Pointing at a man who belongs to her neighbor,
crawling out of a cave that doesn’t belong to him.
They are probably turning over in their bone-filled
graves as I think of what to say next, laughing at how
far we haven’t come from the ghouls of gossip,
discussing how out of all the occupations in this world:
bricklayer, lawyer, educator, their descendant chose
this noble profession, this calling up of events.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 7:00 AM UTC
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,
That is known as the Children’s Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
They whisper, and then a silence;
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Biship of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever, and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
2.2k
We differ in our bodies.
We differ in our shapes, our sizes.
We differ in our race, our religion.
We differ in our color, our language.
We differ in our qualifications, our occupations.
We are different.
We differ by all means.
Yet we are all the same.
We smile alike, breathe alike and feel alike.
Our hearts beat in the same rhythm.
Our beauty lies skin deep.
We differ in everything yet we are all the same.
Bonded by the same emotions, born out of love.
Our strength infinite, our souls unburned.
We are capable of love, war and everything in between.
So stand united, cease every **** day.
Together let’s show the world how to make each day Our day.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
Postman
and poet?
love letters in mail
Accountant
and poet?
precision, detail
Archeologist
and poet?
sifting for feelings
Electrician
and poet?
a jolt
leaving one reeling
architect
and poet?
drafting with words
Zookeeper
and poet?
singing of birds
Bus driver
and poet?
observing life's roadways
Minister
and poet?
perhaps how he prays
Lawyer
and poet?
though about win or lose
her poetry just might amuse
Economist
and poet?
Aren't we all that?
though we wear different hats
distilling things downwards
saving on words
whoever you are
whatever you choose
listen, observe
welcome your Muse!
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
defeat is only an objective.
as I lead I gain prospective
haters hate through being deceptive
the envy spreads like sheets infective
while they creep
playing detective
wolve in sheep
until their accepted
their reasoning is subjective
I just wait until they reach
then disconnected their connective
I'm a beast, I can't be infected
work off pure instinct
raw fear instantly detected
human nature,
to be expected
my only actions
moving forward is corrective
i exceed all expectations
with standing ovations,
use to bring power to foreign nations
outworking occupations
make so much sense
i get paid vacations
my buildings, block foundations
I empowered nations for generations
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
I always held deep reverence
For people in three occupations
Farming, medicine, and defense
For the reasons appealing
*Farmers feeding
Doctors healing
Defense shielding*
Seasonable occasion
To sing about defense
Today these lion hearts
Will be my subject to pen
We may critique our nation
For it slithering move
But one team deserves
Applaud for being resolute
Team defense
For formidable reasons
They fight for us selflessly
Irrespective of seasons
I reminisce my visit
To Wagha border once
It's elating to see
Armed forces lacing
Our pride in balance
Forgetting all bitter
Citizens fervently cry
Jai Hind
Unanimous voice in reflex
Don’t know why
Joining defense is a willful step
A malice can never serve
Day in day out these brave men
Hold our pride in suave
Salute to these people
Who for us
Sacrifice their lives everyday
These true resolutes
Uphold our independence
In every possible way
Second by second
Minute by minute
Month by month
Year by year
And will in
Years to come
For this
Bharti’s
Salute to them!
Bharti
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
It began with a question
the question was in the holy bible:
"Let us make them in our image"
the question became the answer
who are they and what are we?
And whose image is it?
And to the stars I went and back into the oceans
all the while I was losing people
close family and friends
they were dying while I was flying
How life can be unfair, when we lose people and death cheers
These images of us transcending
The image itself Reminiscing about the beginning, the nostalgic tears flowing
Remembering the dysfunctional Creation family
Where brothers fought, a mother caught - in between - the father sad
and evil born thereby polarities - negative and positive
Worlds fell And an Empire rose, of deformed and malevolent souls
In death do we find home?
Or do we gravitate where we focus our consciousness?
ooh-wee! How can we trust then
with a world not promising of peace-men
The beloved being the scornful
wishing you evil and failure
the one you'd die for behind the trigger
how far does it stretch then?
Do we forgive ourselves when we die? Can we inform the living of the world's lies?
Do we get swomped in occupations; possessing mediums and manipulating situations
But here have we the living, live, funny how live is an anagram for evil
so alive would then be "for evil"
trapped in space, time, matter, religion, bodies and uniforms of the system
How can we know that the dead have gone to a better place
Death a strange thing, if you're alive and you're conscious - it's the same thing
the borders of trust wear thin
as you get betrayed by your loved one
you lose the dead and the living
you learn to appreciate those who love you
you learn to see beyond and psychic you become
you see the traces of one's soul
you acknowledge those you can trust... And you stop losing people as your loved ones become everyone.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
Disregarded, no thanks.
I no longer fall for the pranks.
I withdraw my cash from the bank.
On a scale of one to ten how do I rank?
Poverty stenches & stank.
Stale & untrusted.
Broken, abandoned, & undusted.
Defeated, hobbled, & now rusted.
Felonies & misdeameanors busted.
Lawbreakers, corruded & crusted.
Marry a man with a job & a van.
Who does all that he can.
My secret wish on a shooting star.
To stop getting drunk at the bar.
A walk to his momma's house isn't far.
Work ethics get my kiss.
Employment was my wish.
Success is our bliss.
Like jawbreakers dangerous & senseless.
Civilization settlers & makers.
Pioneers, homemakers, waiters, bakers, & Quakers.
The towns folk are usually broke.
Different walks of life is no joke.
Occupations & professions of a wife.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Words bolt out but no ears hear,
Bending vowels of drained attention.
She smiles in racing blossom intervals,
the atmospheres of bending bludgeons.
But still I am in love with her, fool me.
He who talks without lips moving.
See the juvenile mouth extrapolating
to judgements faulting into aching.
I wonder, well sometimes I do think,
what fashionable jungle I'm to be?
After all, she finds life too busy
to wonder long about such as me.
Immobile with soundless ambition,
the rocks grow but not in splendour.
So this is how it must convert to action,
that she succeeds where I blunder.
Oh well, so that is how it will coexist,
with words drained and solitary existing.
"Be robust" I murmur to myself, with
heart closed and cognizance brooding.
"Goodbye, my former fellow traveller!".
I am off to request novel occupations.
You your way, and I, unhappily waving.
Exhalations the only sound which cheapens.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
We'll never move forward as a society as long as our children are left to die from abuse , sold for *** like a piece of meat , bullied by their peers and killed on our streets ..
Depression misdiagnosed by primary physicians and medicines that only help half of the affected , high suicide rates amongst our young civilians and soldiers alike , addiction rates that continue to spike .. When the nails rain down again we'll most certainly be caught off guard , zealots hung by their thumbs and water boarded will lead the charge .
Martyrs in shackles will fan the flames at the base of the tower once again ..
Woefully few ambulances will be available to minister to the dying , not enough heroes to answer their cries , political parties will begin their denial , those that remain will swear revenge against "the Cowards .."
A faith will be declared illegal and guilty , this time the Eagle will have zero pity ..
She will pursue the same mistakes of previous nations , attempt to firebomb the very soul of a civilization . The Crescent Moon has endured many military occupations , defended a long list of potential aggressors , their bones lie in antiquity , across her deserts and within her cities while the Lion , Eagle and the Bear scar another generation who will in turn castigate her enemies silver cities with relentless terroristic abominations ..
I witnessed the carnage in a dream , hate bursting at the seams , flowing like a river down city streets , sweeping the innocents into the storm sewer , oblivious to their screams .
We worry so much about nuclear weapons as we wipe each other out with pipe bombs and pistols , we fear chemical weapons while drugs are destroying our nation ..
I wonder how far the funds for one missile would go towards treating children with cancer ? The cost of one grenade could feed a homeless man freezing on the street .. The price of one Humvee could provide shelter for the forgotten society tonight in this misguided nation of ours ..
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
You rigged my heart
and robbed my soul
you stole my purity
and denied me home
I have nothing now
just my empty chastity vows
I wish to see you no more
it is not the sight of you I abhor
it's your tendency to provoke war...
My inconsistency to pay attention
my reluctance to play your games
your loose ways with men, you know their names.
Your lies and secret life
Your senseless hope to make me alibi
when the judges of love come
to question how well romance you've sung
I draw the dirt you breathe from your lungs
Twisting it in my throat, swallowing bubbles of surrender
The fresh air of freedom and care at its tender
On the return showering you with brewed saliva
Where the tiny sparks that swim turn into divers
Searching for the jewel of purity
extinguishing doubt in your trembling knees
Parading the sound of an awakened leaf
Played by the Autumn wind
Catapulted by the spring drizzle
The leaves and the wind then fiddle
And the dirt is gone, a brand new kiss born
all new vows sworn
Past occupations left and torn
And then we'd watch the evergreen from the surreal lawn.
If only... I was your lover alone.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
loss
and rainbows where two edges meet
orchestras of cellos (purposely out of tune)
shallow gasps manifested in rest notes between the spaces of off-key melodies
mosquito bites and your suggestion that my blood must be sweetest but I can't take you as a compliment;
this is not a time for threats, my darling, nor is it a time for deaths. it is not a time for spaceless thoughts nor for confessions with political motives under white garments of smiles and spices and seductive entices
the breath gets deeper even if only for a moment and then the gasp returns:
the window blinds my glasses
the windows blind the masses
the windowblinds conceal the sun from me which hides my sanity and peace behind the instruments and their voices but it is probably to be found in the rests where the bars meet each other at the edges, where the silences collide and burn as substances react to oxygen and oxidized carbon and I don't feel god and that is startling,
it is starting to sound like a long bar of rest notes
or a mind which deciphers like stars out of their constellations
out of their occupations
out of their spheres
like stars unaligned
like lies out of signs in the open blinding sun shining minds sparkling like water after a chemical synthetic process (like most of our bodies) and my condescending opinions on all who give in to fabrications and useless surgeries and drugs to feel
or to stop feeling, or to reverse the effects of
our sadness our misery our traumas and dramas
without seeing them face to face, eye to eye, because to turn around blindly is
so. much. easier.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
She asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up
I told her many things
Like a fire truck
Something large enough to put out the fires we create
Glasses
Shaping things up and making them look better
Let me be an iceberg
Built from breaking down and re freezing
There are other things I would like to be as well
Like a father
A husband
Or a man
I want to fill in the occupations my father
never grew up to be
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
*a poetic collaboration
with Elizabeth Squires,
(thank you for the privilege)*
high in the infinite skies,
above the clouds.
where no, naked eye can see
particles in the ozone layer,
bounce around.
in a manner, most carefree.
these minute, wee, little things,
e'er bobbing and moving,
so happily.
we on the ground,
would delight,
in their existence of joy.
but we're tied to the prosaic, daily grind working,
in our nine to five,
coalface coal mines.
with axe and pick,
we chip and hack away...
whilst our minds delight,
in front-lobal play.
of waxed wing-ed flight,
of acrobatic, aerobatic display.
whilst working,
in the cramped and dubious
spaces we inhabit....
we dream, of spaces, blue, boundless and arcing-wide, forgeting, forgoing, forgiving the mindless, daily grind...
we leap,
with fragile hope,
into fledgling flight....
up to the ozone,
up toward the light...
there, in the freedom,
of this spacious playground,
we're at no command,
of employer's tools,
of work.
on our faces, we'll wear
those effervescent, unfettered smirks
hopping in rambunctious
fun
in the ozone's air,
upon the weary brow of labor release, is found.
in it's mirthful atmosphere,
which eliminates, our obligations, to our bosses.
we then farewell,
with liberating tosses.
and so we soar
in insouciant grace, unfettered,reckless,feckless
freedom, sliced and pared, away across our wings
and faces,
joy ungaurded,
is this moment's prey
unbidden, unbound.
no longer hearing,
the sound of the grinding axe.... at play
we soar eagle high...
we soar to the sun's eye
but we are not made
for such undulterated bliss our wings of feather
and wax....
become, around us mist
and to the ground
we do spiral....
into our adult occupations,
where there is little time.
for us to be engrossed,
in exuberant glee.
we're shackled
and yoked to,
our heavy work day shrouds.
but our dreams of play,
with those ozone particles,
seem too impractical.
happy little vegemites
we'd be,
if our days were free.
take heart, our days off,
are nigh and on the lounge
we'll sigh,
a well earned sigh.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
The timeline of absence of me
Extends in the space that my heart
Languishes in hollow feelings.
I don’t feel presence of anything
And I do nothing but to exist,
Extending the countless seconds
That I don’t feel the word love
Burning my chest in a whirlwind of emotions.
I deeply breathe looking for answers
To questions I haven’t done
And that insist to long in the bed of my mind.
I fill my thoughts of banal occupations
Trying to mask the empty I am.
I insist, I persist in the resignation
To this uncomfortable way of being,
But wherever I go, I see a bit of me
Dissolve in to inactivity.
Words drains through the wall trying to find me,
But I don’t know where to put them
And I lose the verses, the stanzas, the poems.
The passions I once felt are dying
And the loneliness where I get
Don’t sustain enthusiasm in that something
Can really change.
And this is the way I live
In the deep need that solitude got me into.
I don’t run away from the verb to love
I just don’t know where else I can find it…
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
I'm angry and agitated and pent-up.
ignored and perhaps forgotten—or thought of as if to regret ending something perfectly fine.
people are talking downstairs, saying nothing.
I don't want to live.
I want to die, and die well to make sure I'm dead.
I want to die and not haunt anyone or be a dust-collecting memory in a display case of what once meant something.
I want to die. So. Hard. I'm angry that I took 16 breaths just now.
I want to die and not have a funeral because I don't want people to be in that awkward position.
I want to die and not disappear off the grid but actually lay ca-put in a grave; my soul rejoices or cries; i don't know.
Throwing tantrums because life’s curtain has been reluctant to close is looked down upon in society—apparently.
I'm tired of 'white' 'black' 'hot' ‘unattractive’ 'poor' 'rich'.
I hope everyone has a ****** day tomorrow.
I type this on an imagined-into-existence phone—that has no service—by a guy whose name also means 'occupations'.
I type it on a phone because an ******* is hogging the outdated pc with a new battery pack because that same ******* wore the chord out.
it's not that I don't know what to do with my life; I just want to die.
that's what I want to do.
die.
that's all.
But perhaps be in a focused band that plays pretty good music, first.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
A loving , weathered face in the morning clouds , faithful companion to my Summer occupations , a drink of cool spring water in the late afternoon hour , a studious Indigo Bunting chirping praise from the Sunflowers ...
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
To occupy is to take by force
To forcibly remove someone
To take up space
Claiming your territory
Or even your space
There have been many occupations in history
Most of them where done through force
Most of the people who were being occupied
Never really had a choice
If they wanted to be occupied or not
We as humans have a tendency
Of wanting to occupy
Of wanting to take over
Wanting to convert and destroy
Instead of trying to learn
Learning from each other
Sharing our resources and our ideas
Instead of trying to live in harmony with the land
With the animals
With the sea
With each other
We would rather subjugate and destroy
Until there is nothing left
We must think a lot less like occupiers
Trying to control our space
Trying to control each other
And trying to live in harmony and peace
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Corruptions was as old as this ancient province. As the population multiplied and new cities formed, organized crimes often followed. Many who lived in Guangxi went about their normal daily lives as they worked at various occupations, however, lives can have their secrets and evil lurked in the shadows. Many of the townspeople possessed slaves; slaves who had a high value that governed the economics of the law-breaking world. Human traffickers, along with drug lords, ruled this region. To keep their actions hidden, the crooks bribed the officials to look the other way.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC