"professionalism" poems
I notice the tiny pulse of frustration in the back of his neck
I notice the way that he sighs and slumps over
I notice how his elbows splay out so his face bobs lightly over his desk
A buoy dancing over a wave
I notice the way he glances at his friends before he answers
I notice the way he shapes his mouth into a grin before he speaks
I notice how his eyes squint a little when he laughs
I notice how they dull when he doesn’t want to listen
I notice how his shoulders hunch when refuses to hear
I notice the boredom in the lines of his back as he considers
I notice the way his leg jiggles as he bounces his foot lightly
The ever-present dichotomy of professionalism fighting immaturity
Of a thirst to learn, fighting against ignorance, justice calling
I notice this inner battle of boyish nonchalance and masculine defensiveness
I notice how his eyes dart lightly over his chosen comrades before he writes again
I notice the way he presses his forehead into his hand
As though he could pull ideas out
And read his thoughts printed back on his palm
I notice the consistent rubbing against his face with his fingers
Phalanges to stimulate the thought process
I notice the hesitation before his pen scratches the page
Piercing the paper with words he must call his own
I notice the claim of responsibility and the toll it takes on his physique
I notice the fatigue of struggling to create
To feel, to create, to feel, to feel
I notice, throughout all the time I’ve been noticing him
He has not noticed me once
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
If you grasp tight to your
individualism,
Give in to all the
romanticism,
Rid of any
materialism,
Confide within
professionalism,
Drop all acts of
favoritism,
Eject from any
vulgarism,
Open up to
socialism,
Advocate
activism,
Realize you are an
organism,
Forget about any
perfectionism,
And explore inside
transcendentalism,
You will look up into complete
mesmerism
of how all the stars are
symbolism
for the billion versions of
creationism
that you've ever lived,
and will live.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 8:57 PM UTC
Conflict resolution is like a field of mines where shrapnel explodes and uncertain footings pervade their way through the flesh of our workplace relationships.
Professionalism has crossed invisible boundaries beyond the realms of Saturn, don’t you think?
Please, will you consider having political interactions on the territory upon which I reside? You will then truly understand the mechanics of being.
I can correct you. But you must be willing.
Come on, babe! I dare you to venture outside of the box of predictability, because we can then truly arrive at a mutual understanding.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
In the face of persecution, one can drift away into dreamy fabrications of swishing and gorgeous hairstyles – jealous of the seagull as it dismounts the lofty perch of the streetlight and gracefully swoops away into the distance.
The moment of self-loathing and raging sabotage is nothing more than a serial false loyalty.
I validate your alphabet where there is simplicity within the intricate complexities, and where the yearling suckles the lactations of its mother.
Trauma has pre-natal connections where silent screams ripple throughout eternity. Therefore, calmly observe the stiff upper lip of deluded professionalism, and describe the realistic mirage before you. Participation in laughter is not always rooted in sincerity.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Remember how I'd smoke after school
outside your classroom window
watching you pack up your briefcase,
pulling your arms through your blazer sleeves?
Four cigarettes in a ring
between my thumb and fingertips,
an "okay" sign.
You preferred jean dresses with the hips cut out,
knee-high fishnet socks,
my hair wrapped curiously in bandana red
with my eyes outlined in black.
I stole condoms and Twinkies,
brought them to your apartment
after you'd call to unwrap me
like penny candy
on the mattress in the middle of your floor,
each tear in synch with the teeth
of your zipper releasing.
A green wrapper
and an empty trash can
next to my book bag.
You licked your fingers
after the last bite.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
And so this story goes forever
Being held to the ground for being clever
I don't know what these ******* even teach you
But you can't stand for yourself (it's true)
The world emanates the fear of our souls
Expressing what we feel disrupts their goal
Stricken to the bone, we tear our flesh
To show our opinion in a scarring mesh
They make us cover it all or be removed
For professionalism is dictated by what they approve
Hold your head high while you ******* can
Bills are passed to begin the eternal ban
Stripped of our freedoms
Naked and exposed
To invasion of comfort and artistry
I say **** you
And **** them too
For they have nothing to say against our cries of injustice
They know what they do is an expression of narcous
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
The view outside, looking in,
fills you with envy.
The feeling living it, working in,
fills you with strange uncertainty.
You heard of the stories,
the hand-me-down rumours.
You thought you were prepared,
ready to take on the world in your armour.
You get a taste of the flavours of the world,
yet drowned by the spices of your own.
It's not the world you're afraid of,
it's your own that wouldn't condone.
You know you wouldn't let it pin you down,
it's only as long as it last.
You'll walk out there,dressed with pride
and all that happened will surpass.
The world may make you feel small,from time to time
but the world wouldn't break you.
You take on the world with much professionalism
and you'll eventually grow away from new.
You'll constantly have your spices of surprises,
every time you wait in that room.
But these spices can only make you stronger,
remember, those girls you saw dressed with pride and well groomed.
You wanted that pride, to walk with that honour.
Your feet's in that shoe now, go, and take on the spices and the world.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:41 PM UTC
I couldn't believe the pathetic look you were giving me,
As if I was the one who needed saving.
Let me profess once and for all that I do not want your pity.
Once and for all, that you never realized what I needed from you.
Friends,
He shrugged at me when the fiery arrows came,
And he kept my secrets,
but only when I was present.
Friends,
I gave him my utmost devotion and he
dismissed it for the bat of pretty eyelashes
Friends!
He abandoned the sacredness of friendship
For the sake of professionalism.
It's "unprofessional"
to care for someone
Who sacrificed everything for you.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
The Corp, even life itself, is a test.
The Corp, life, a test of humanity,
a test of values, ethics and morals.
The Corp, life, a test to learn,
a test to live,
results to apply.
Pass the test, receive your reward,
your honor,
your pride and professionalism,
your character.
Take what you learn,
Experience, ...
... share.
( Dedicated to Mr Thomas Forbes. A great friend, a co-worker and former Marine, ... Semper Fi ) 1/15/2008, ... FAM © 2/20/2013
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
for Nave
Busyness makes one idiotic and forgetful. And we nearly sunk the night
didn’t we darling, leaning on the wrong swing.
(It is always the peach tree.) Katrina doing her Harpy on Fullblast thing
with such deftness and professionalism she leaves us no room to respond
to legs and offers of spread cheese. And poets cave in like lonely black holes
if they cannot response as fully as they have peaches in their coffers to do so,
or at least they think so and so do we so I escaped to shower, and tried to make
the water hot enough to round me straight again, but my skin still gets in the way.
I wanted to peel off everything and douse my soul straight in the hot and the lavender, questing
for a readiness beyond the pale, some state rare, and infinitely usuable.
It was only when, and this is true, when I decided to make a list of
why I love you that the water went in
and the lavender grew instantly between my toes. And Rosemarey Clooney
danced you in to me and you were a happy Papa at last, and we knew enough. And there
was finally room enough to
mambo home.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
i'd like to say that poetry could be my profession
but that would be like saying
that spewing my emotions and dark thoughts
across the shelves of a bookstore
is a profession.
i could never make someone clean that up.
(and still face them again)
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Work Ethic
Work requires professionalism,
at all times in all set of conditions.
let an earned knowledge and skills,
an asset to be utilized as maximal.
no regrets even if reward is scare,
go ahead do it for the love of work.
People around need not to be told,
everyone knows who perform well.
real professional does not brag,
seldom claims for recognition.
open-minded to a paradigm shift,
never pessimistic but often optimistic
at anything of value and substance.
let others rationalize to find reasons,
act on the issues with sound mind
no jesting around just do things right.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 3:53 AM UTC
Is this in reality …..
Has all it’s lost its ways!
Or it just a bucks of cents
And all your sense taken away!
So, I cry for the lost…
And for those I learned to love….
What a world of ¬ Professionalism
Taken out of the blues!
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Timothy the poet,
With words that speak professionalism
That I envy
His diverse
His sense
The words that flow from him
And the happiness that seems to spring off the page
And force itself down my throat
Until a smile cracks my lips
And my teeth show white
Because Timothy
Your poetry brings me joy.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Although I too have forgotten my lines
today's celluloid seems to be shedding its script
the raw talent confers a lack of oomph.
Only my projection screen follows perfection.
I'm caught in a nitrate web,
with partaken beauty firing
my basement dreams,
onward choices amongst Colleen Moore
and Blanche Sweet
testifies professionalism spoke eloquently without words
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Control
A dysfunctional mechanism
But held by robots
Emotionless
Is classified as "professionalism"
Justice
And relentless prejudice
Two words in synchronicity
That enforce the "Law"
But do help enforce corruption
Corrosion
Oxidising parts
The very oxygen that we breathe
Helps to end our heart
Water
Our oft-polluted oil
Helps keeps parts running smoothly
With which we argue and spoil
Errors
The reason we **** each other
And **** ourselves simply by living
Tell me, would you **** a close brother?
Perfectionism
An impossible goal computed into the code of humanity
It's impossible to obtain,
So stop trying and give up
Accept your flaws
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
Erasure & Found Poem from
"On Photography By Teju Cole in april 16th new york times magazine
--
You were The fast moving disaster of a tsunami
added to the slow motion disaster
of a nuclear calamity
Towns flooded
Infrastructure wrecked
Forests splintered
more than 15,000 people dead.
earthquake cut off
my external power supply
Floodwaters damaged my backup generators
Disabled it's cooling system
Overheating ensued
Fuel in three reactor cores melted
Releasing radiation
Everyone saw The water coming in
The roads swept away
Towns and harbors destroyed
Extensive documentary work
was undertaken by photographers
Of the ruins,
Debris,
Cleanup and relief operations
The gut-wrentching scale of destruction
The professionalism of the emergency crews
The fortitude of the survivers
The extreme uncertainty I feel
in our current political moment
helps me understand for the first time
the curious twinship
of mourning and premonition.
Information
about the tragedy
Sorrow for the suffering it caused
Gratitude for the work
that makes sorrow visible
Foreboding about the future.
An alert flashes
your phone
Something terrible has happened
Far away, a flood, an airstrike,
Soon, there's footage of people picking through wreckage
what used to be their homes
It is easy to pity them
Difficult to imagine this will be you
Suddenly bereft of a solid place in the world.
Listening to anything
that touches on the sublime
makes me apprehensive.
Like The silence that greets us
waking in the middle of the night
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
Professionalism
Intelectualism
Institutionalism
say they,
Yet I see a dishonesty;
a self with-held reality.
A cloak of convenience to cover
the frame of fragility, infancy.
Hostility, I shall avoid and thus comply
In this little white lie called policy.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
I have sat for many hours
Opening my soul to you
Listening with my heart
To your wisdom, wishing you were my mom
Now you are gone
And I am alone again
The pain is still hurting
But I can no longer listen to your voice
I didn’t want you to go
I wanted to be your child
Although I understand
You needed to retire to find a new life
The children inside my mind
Weep for you every day
I sit alone in my room
And allow their despair to wash over me
After all the years
Of telling you my heart
I can no longer reach out to you
And that hurts me to the core of my being
You could die
And I would never know
I could die
And you would not care when or why
I wish I could see
You just one more time
To tell you how I hurt
But I know you would never allow that
You told me once
I would not owe you anything
When we parted company
That I would be free to go my own way
Now that it you’ve gone
I must forward without you
I must remember what you taught me
But my soul is pain and so **** confused
You were the mother
I never had
It is like you’ve died
I’ll never see you or hear your wisdom again
I know I can say
All these things
Because you will not know
I would never impose upon your professionalism
I just wish
Oh God I wish
You were my real mom
Then you wouldn’t be out of reach forever
I have one more thing
I would like to say
Before I end this poem
I love you Paula, and I miss you very much
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
Something from past
Something of which still remains in the present
Somewhere in the past, something got clicked
Something positive happened
Something went right
Something for sure, definitely something
Its’ auspicious presence can still be felt in the present.
It’s always your action that speaks for itself
Action speaks louder than words
It’s not only your confidence, but also your faith in your work
It’s not only your attitude, but your trust in others
It’s not only about your professionalism, but also your expertise
It’s not all about you, but all about the way in which you work
It’s always your work, your deeds, something which always gets highlighted
Time and again, always
Your deeds, your qualities, not only in your work, but also in your life speak for what you are
It's your deeds and qualities in you as a person that make you stand apart from the rest.
Time and again it has been proved that you reap what you sow
Your deeds from the past since they are righteous they will support you all along the way
Your righteous deeds will always show you where is light in the dark.
It’s always better to be what you are
Does not matter even if you do small thing
All that matters is your actions must be positive
Not only in your thoughts, but also in your attitude, you must also be positive
Speak positively
Always do good instead of thinking negatively
Live your life on your own terms
Live life according to what you know, what you think and then plan your future accordingly.
Life is beautiful
Life has always remained beauitful
Life will always give you something, if you approach towards it in a positive way.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
*
*It is in my fall is your rise
It is in my dark is your light
It is in my lows is your high
It is in my small is your BIG
It is in my loss is your gain
It is in my night is your day
It is in my humiliation is your appreciation
It is in my descent is your rise
It is in my poverty is your wealth
It is in my begging is your charity
It is in my moon is your sun
It is in my clouds is your rain
It is in my internal is your eternal
It is in my stagnation is your flow
It is in my desert is your ocean
It is in my decrease is your increase
It is in my small is your large
It is in my hungry is your eating
It is in my cry is your laughter
It is in my absent is your presence
It is in my sleep is your dreamZ
It is in my heat is your cool
It is in my fire is your water
It is in my dusk is your dawn
It is in my blame is your forgiveness
It is in my sufferings is your help
It is in my last is your first
It is in my few is your many
It is in my slow is your fast
It is in my vulnerability is your empowerment
It is in my victim-hood is your assertiveness
It is in my earth is your sky
it is in my idiocy is your smartness
It is in my minus is your plus
It is in my foolishness is your cleverness
It is in my heart is your mind
It is in my despair is your hope
It is in my evening is your morning
It is in my end is your beginning
It is in my shrinkage is your expanse
It is in my silence is your talks
It is in my prisons is your freedom
It is in my solitude is your wander
It is in my unknown is your famous
It is in my sinking is your floating
It is in my ignorance is your education
It is in my demotion is your promotion
It is in my trivial is your importance
It is in my injustice is your justice
It is in my indignity is your human rights
It is in my leaving is my staying
It is in my being lonely is your friendships
It is in my sadness is your merry
It is in my dive is your soar
It is in my crawl is your flight
In is in my valley is your mountains
It is in my exploitation is your sustainability
It is in my rebel is your loyal duty
It is in my defeat is your success
It is in my scarce is your abundance
It is in my failure is your achievement
It is in my rejection is your acceptance
It is in my dislike - there is your adoration
It is in my retreat is your advancement
It is in my "against" the world is your "for" the world
It is in my dead is your alive
It is in my NO ONE is your everyone
It is my amateurishness is your professionalism
It is in my leaving is your arrival
It is in my slumber is your awakening
It is in my ugliness is your beauty
It is in my end is your beginning
It is in my end-note is your prelude
It is in my worst is your BEST
It is in my death is your birth
It is in my bitter is your sweet
It is in my blame is your praise
It is in cursing me is your blessing
It is in my timidness is your bold
It is in my being weak is your strength
It is my being at bottom is your being at top
It is in my idleness is your busyness
It is in my tears is your smiles
It is in my captivity is your LIBERTY
It is in my sad is your cheer
It is in my child is your adulthood
It is in my innocence is your maturity
It is in my adolescent is your aging
It is in my gulp of helplessness is your courage
It is in my spark is your lightning
It is in my destruction is your creativity
And over and above all what is said and written
It is LOVEz understanding and realization of YOURS
That WE are two bodies and ONE SOUL
OUR togetherness makes us YIN-YANG
It is in my veins is your blood
It is in my pulse is your breathe
It is in my womb is your cosmos
It is in my heart is your soul
It is in my LOVING you is YOU LOVING yourself
It is in my LOVERz is your BELOVEDz
It is in ME is YOU is me*
*
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
I couldn't give a **** what heat engines are.
My job is to tell a couple little snot noses to sit their ***** down and drink juice - it's easy and I love it. I couldn't give a **** about heat engines.
(I mean, aren't all engines hot anyway?)
But when I watch you kneeling in front of a whiteboard, drawing out diagrams for your coworker about what you're learning in physics, my heart jumps out of my ******* throat and slaps my computer screen like a raw steak. Not exactly a romantic metaphor I know, but it's accurate.
I never thought Expo pens could be **** I never thought math could be **** for ***** sake. But you do it somehow.
Everything about you drives me nuts. Looking at you gives me the biggest feelings I've ever felt, and I get scared I'm going to explode. Really. People say stuff like that, but it's true - it feels like I'm going to explode like some sort of adorable grenade.
I don't know what to do with myself. Ever.
Go to church - yeah.
Get my degree - sure.
Go to work - totally.
But with myself? I have no ******* clue.
For one, I don't think I can come hang out with you at work anymore. You have a certain amount of professionalism to maintain, and I am a threat to that - in the most violently affectionate way possible. I am so close to tackling you in a bear hug and spooning you right here in this classroom. I never considered how painful it is to love somebody. In the best ways and the worst ways.
Now you're sitting in the armchair next to me, the ****** little coffee maker filling the air between us. You talk with your friends and draw and type into your calculator and occasionally glance at me and every time you do anything, I . . . I can't. I can't even explain how it feels. You are the antidote and the virus to every part of me. Loving you has been the most exhilarating and most miserable experience of my life. Loving you has taught me how agony can be sweet. Loving you has changed my life and will continue to change my life.
I've lost interest in almost everything. School is school, work is work, books have become boring and friends have become obsolete. You feel the same way, and your Mom thinks you're depressed, but you're not. Neither of us are. We're so ready. We're so ready for something new.
I have never stared at someone so shamelessly in all my life. I could listen to you talk about heat engines for the rest of my life.
That's the plan, anyway.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC