"workdays" poems
*The total number of days between Thursday, June 17th, 1993 and Wednesday, June 17th, 2015 is 8,035 days .
This is equal to 22 years,excluding the end date, so it's accurate if I am measuring my age in terms of days, or the total days between my birth date and my birthday. But if for the duration between my birth date and my birthday, today,then it is actually 8,036 days.
In terms of workdays and weekends, there are 5,739 weekdays and 2,296 weekend days.
If I include today Jun 17, 2015 which is a Wednesday, then there would be
5,740 weekdays and 2,296 weekend days including both the starting Thursday and the ending Wednesday.
8,035 days is equal to 1,147 weeks and 6 days .
The total time span from 1993-06-17 to 2015-06-17 is 192,840 hours.
This is equivalent to 11,570,400 minutes
Further more 8,035 days are also equal to 694,224,000 seconds.
The nano seconds, the micro seconds, the minutes, the hours and the days have flowed by like water along a river, years have dissolved in thin air, going just before I seize the moments,such moments have escaped my grasp with the sands of time but there are things that in changing remain constant, the memories, the love, the sadness, the heartbreaks, the football team, the journey through and through and most importantly you my family and friends. I have this special day every year which I always use to thank all of you for bearing with me ,while I grew from that little boy whose loose shoe brought down the wall clock in primary seven while he was kicking chalk and consequently cried his way home contemplating the explanation for what had happened,to the young man dreaming of becoming a re-known Author and poet. From the lad who had to cram words to throw vibes, to one who hopes his words shall be used someday to tear down fortresses and conquer hearts.
Thank you all, I'm so lucky to have you and will always try to keep you all around as long as try can. Love you :) xxxxxxxxxx*
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
**Mostly after seven, she trudges back from work,
like a ship badly wrecked, towed in to the dock,
"Perhaps dismantling is the only option left"
she bitterly muses, waiting for him with a glass of wine.
"Getting out of the office" he laments over the phone,
"is crossing a wire fence with electrical charge"
work never ceases, nor day and night, clearly demarcated,
avarice of the corporate is sticky dark tar of night,
spreading beyond the borders; like workdays it extends.
Become difficult to keep head above the waters,
swelling every moment.
One works like mad, as if there is no tomorrow worth the wait,
and it goes on till the moment one arrives at the dead end.
The more one works like a dog, the faster ends up
as a dog in the manger, but who cares?
Yen to make profit touches the sky,it's demands insane,
the urge to **** comes, when pressure mounts
and deadline comes close; during a presentation late night,
he watches with insatiable urge, two ***** eyes
go down and **** his tender erogenous spots
that's when mind in slumber shakes the body to its roots,
"She'll be at the end of her tether" a thought goes home and recoils.
Life is a flashy party, jaunts to strange lands are the ***** high,
children, not even in thoughts, the time to count ***** are far,
when the latest model car arrives, the neighbors are in awe,
but soon, the vacations become a pain in the ***
conversation with her becomes labored, mostly nods and grunts
"What's wrong with you?"both shout at each other at once,
that makes them laugh out loud, child like they are in fact,
what a predicament is this, laughter and sob are no different!
A dangerously close shave life is; full of nicks and cuts,
quick fix ***** and walks on the brink are routine.
When he gets in the room she sleeps alone,
she tells someone over the phone aloud:
"I am badly ****** again and again, literally I mean"
life of a nerd and a techie, celebrated pair, envied by others
has this as the foot note, after rows and rows of success.
"Why me?" they both in their lonely beds in adjacent rooms
Yell to the Gods at the top seats, staring at the white ceiling.**
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
I.
Coffee, with some cream—
Why not drink it this morning,
Like all fall mornings?
II.
Don’t pull off the sheets!
Our white legs will be exposed
And we could be cold.
III.
On Sunday morning
I feel the workdays looming
In my tensed, clenched chest.
IV.
Wake in aching light.
Groggy and still, electric
From the heat of dreams.
V.
Hardboiled eggshell flakes
Litter a clean saucer, flecked
With pale morning light.
VI.
Local headline reads:
‘Vile window graffiti taints
Pharmacy’s image.’
VII.
It’s raining; the sight
Of puddles in the grass meets
The smells of bacon.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
You forget me so easily.
I don't exist in the plains of busy workdays,
I am lost when your cellphone begins it's cheerful singing,
the overlooked missing page in a thousand pages needed signing
It's as if i don't exist at all.
I barely cross your mind in front of your friends
I blur so easily in the corner of your eye you refuse to see
I fade; a shadow in your immaculate spotlight
To catch your attention means a nuclear bomb, a WWIII
It's not enough That I give you everything, all I am
Despite all that, It compares in comparison to see you SHINE
I all pays off when I see you smile just for me.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
An earnest, sad face standing before me
guitar in hand, at last
I hear the words of a song
written one year before, but never sung
whose score on pages had been let go
to be caught up in the wind
and played almost imperceptibly
in the rustling and swooning of tree tops
Had he said these words to me
I would have known
I would not have been buried
beneath a doubt so heavy
that I was unable to sit upright
fears and insecurities sowing seeds of destruction
aware that all our laughs and smiles
were nervously reaching, like wandering vines
grasping for a place to climb and grow
Leaving meant his feelings could not bind him
so music and lyrics were given
although he burst into tears
and could not finish its entirety
lips tremors speaking “this is not goodbye”
But I knew it was
and I was stunned. Paralyzed. In disbelief
standing barefoot in my driveway
watching his sobbing face through the windshield
without enough sorrow to make him stay
I honestly thought he could not go without me
But I was wrong, I was left
numb, a walking zombie
hearing myself speak
feeling my face smile
moving about as if I were still alive
through the changing of seasons, workdays and holidays
until gradually I belonged to my body again
For years, this remembrance hemorrhaged
with tears from a cancer ridden heart
But now I exist
on the other side
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Write in stanzas. Think in stanzas.
Speak in stanzas. **** your routine.
Sleep less. Go to work drunk.
Yell at inanimate objects. Yell with
inanimate objects. Fly your mother to
San Francisco (coach) and watch the
house for her, the dogs, the child, the
drunk. She is your mother.
You do not like your job. Spend
your days beneath an apple tree and
spend your workdays eating apples
in any given weather. Lie on the floor
of your bedroom belly-flat and smell
the carpet beneath you, all dead flakes
of skin and dog fur, sinew strand of
hair, black dots—tar or shoe-gum or
something other.
Think on your place. Reach to the left,
your side table with glass of water and
lampshade. Feel the hilt, small knife for
your pocket, small pocket. Free the blade,
feel the grooves, gold and blacked-brushed
blade you bought with a flask, a set, two
tiny commodities that may serve you well
in the wild or a shopping mall, what ever
little evils exist away from your bedroom
with its television and soft blankets, slow
mortal shuffle and modicum.
Stop and breathe. Feel the heart in its
always-patter. Know it will stop.
Not fret, no, only knowing.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
Thursday at noon
hit the road
done for the week
lighten my load
Cold beers calling
out my name
party all weekend
call up the gang
BBQ brisket and ********
maybe fishing, or hit the dance hall
country music, turned way up loud
waiting on my woman, I make the call
I'm out till Tuesday
and that's ok
need a break from workdays
settle the mind and the soul
forget work and lets go play
All day Friday at the lake
****** Mary's mixed and ready
drop the boat in
and run it steady
Skiing and laughing
with some friends
watching the sun set
in the end
I'm out till Tuesday
and that's ok
need a break from workdays
settle the mind and the soul
forget work and lets go play
Saturday headed to the mountain
hunt some sheds, do some hiking
the air is clear and its cool
all of this is too my liking
Gather wood, for a fire tonight
to keep us warm as temperatures drop
jack and coke in my cup
listen to the fire pop
I'm out till Tuesday
and that's ok
need a break from workdays
settle the mind and the soul
forget work and lets go play
Sunday morning, driving home
taking our time, all alone
shady spot, all secluded
for work, time, I'll now atone
Blanket down, made of fleece
in the woods, afternoon delight,
no one sees
though the sun shines bright
I'm out till Tuesday
and that's ok
need a break from workdays
settle the mind and the soul
forget work and lets go play
Monday comes, back home again
mow the grass, take out the trash
fix the sink that, began to leak
this long weekend has been a dash
Monday night, on the couch
football game, as steaks grill
a long deep kiss, from my wife
long weekend ending thrill
I'm out till Tuesday
and that's ok
need a break from workdays
settle the mind and the soul
forget work and we did play
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
In the light, I see the faces of people,
And most are happy.
The smiling mouths, the twinkling eyes,
The joyful expressions.
People in the light can breathe freely,
Carelessly, and easily say that
Everything’s fine.
In the light, I see the normal, everyday
Procedures that comprise the world around us,
The world that we always see in the light.
I see the 9-5 workdays, smell the coffee brewing,
Hear the sweet goodnights and feel the fulfilling sleep.
In the light, no one thinks.
No one is concerned in the light,
Everything is expected, natural, normal, the usual.
Everything’s fine.
But in the dark, I see the faces of people,
And they are tragically beautiful in their chaos,
Because in the dark they can let it go.
In the dark, no one is watching, and no one is pretending.
People in the dark think, people in the dark
Can easily say that everything is tainted,
Stained by human corruption.
In the dark, breathing is difficult,
And trying to calm your trembling takes
Superhuman strength.
The ache seeps through your bones, muscles, and nerves,
But you know the light is coming, where you
Don’t have to think and you can breathe.
But are you real in the light?
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
The result of my previous work
you’ve read is not something
that has just flowed down a
current of creativity, dont be fooled,
the amount of wasted words wilted,
stuck to wine stained cedar desks and
lost in distraction of cigarette smoke
and the blood of a workdays fist,
the open windows
on a computer of
unfinished work
is only proof that I can see
a reflection in the screen
when it’s turned on too,
the lament of the mouse
and “don’t save” turns the clicking
into grinding teeth,
oh, yes..
sometimes I can write a piece in minutes,
but other times, I’m either rekindling a
relationship of drywall and knuckle,
pouring drinks,
lighting cigarettes,
answering phone
calls, coughing through
fields of wet cement
in my throat,
or staring at the paper as
a mirror in a casket,
when I sit down and write
with cigarettes and drinks
the outside world doesn’t exist
but at the same time
reality has never
existed as much as it has
at that moment.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
how many times over have i realized that you think Halloween is more exciting than my birthday?
(both are on workdays, don't act like you're too busy because have you even had a job in the past few months?)
how many times over have i realized that we honestly aren't as close as we used to be, anymore?
(yeah you'll pin me to the door and hug me but what does that mean? hugs weren't ever a solid representation of anything we felt.)
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
Better than what I got there
is every single thing or thought that I can
from here touch or recall right now with
a no other way kind of freedom called
Memory. You know what I mean.
When you touch a thing only for the reason
you want to retouch a whole situation metonymicly,
when you want to remember a moment only to remind
you that that moment happend and you find yourself
around old calenders where the workdays do not
match your current deadlines, it's memory I know
you know what I'm trying to say right now. Again.
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
I know a man who locks himself inside
His head, his conversations, tucked away
Behind a maze of cheer. Each day, he's lied
A thousand times. He clocks out for the day
And, free but weary, sheds the mask for sleep.
I start the day with coffee, bitter, black,
Which suits my mood just fine. I earn my keep,
then turn around and give until I lack.
The coffee doesn't last, and by the end
I've found myself a stronger, harder drink.
I watch him bottle workdays up, my friend,
And brew himself instead. I'd like to think
We both get by. That doesn't do much good.
This place devours us and drinks our blood.
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
I am from family.
Mom, Dad, sister, dogs.
And a sister God forgot to add
To my blood family.
I am from words.
My own, scribbled on a loose-leaf page.
Others’, neatly bound together.
Some written and recited,
Some belonging to a friend, and me
Secrets and fights stored in a forgotten back drawer.
I am from a cul-de-sac.
A place where we fell and bruised ourselves.
A place where we did stupid things.
A place where childhood lived.
I am from silver and gold.
A cross that hangs around my neck-
If I remember.
Sometimes I forget,
And it takes a hand over a house to remind me.
I am from fire.
I am from the fear,
That only those who’ve sat in a Wal-Mart parking lot,
And heard the words
“Don’t go home,. It’s not going to be there.”
Can understand.
I am from what was supposed to be,
From what never happened.
From what wasn’t meant to be.
I am from warm quilts,
Bedtime hugs
And ‘I love you’s.
I am from a second family.
A family that does not share last names,
Homes,
Or DNA.
But we are a family nonetheless.
I am from workdays with Daddy.
I am from afternoons with Mom.
I am from words filled with venom,
Meant to annoy,
That we never even meant.
I am from good times.
I am from bad times.
I am from me.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
Quite the start to the weekend
There it goes, watch it ends
These pages are made of dust
What is half read is still unread
Tree of paper leaving glue trail
In search of the perfect bookmark
I found a place for receipts to recuperate
I locked eyes with Jupiter
On a wooden coffee table
The great counterclockwise storm
Ticking away with each drop
Disaster, sky without a star
Heaven receives blessings,
On slow workdays
When martyrs are lucky enough to live
We swore by that which divides day and night,
and fails to conquer either
That Faith must not pass the gate
Until they call for prayer
Until the square of crossroads is clear
Sometimes I feel like a disbeliever in Jerusalem
Prayers manifest duality as one
So shoulders can shrug in unison
Banal attempts to restore faith
Outrage is out of reach
The mind sets red-tape traps,
We call that mindless assertions
In the climate of trumpets and megaphones
Nothing escapes poltics
Vicious cyclones of “Breaking News" cycles
"I see pictures of children in faraway places that wreck me for a day"
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
I am more free now than I've ever been.
Money, time, the horizon stretches out.
But.
If I had wings,
It would feel like they were set on fire.
More than clipped.
I'm not thrashing. Like
A cut bird would be.
I'm frozen here.
The air is bubbling and I can't breathe.
There's barely bone left to walk on.
I could maybe stumble. Get a job
Daze through workdays.
But my head is frozen. Thwacks from
Bats. Shrieking cracks coming through.
I can't think Everything is so
Blurry.
The thwacks aren't rescuers.
They're not breaking me out . They're
Waves crashing on me. Adding to the
Ice.
Every piece of mail,
"Have not met our
Academic Standards."
And I am deeper in the sea.
They're so many whistles to go up.
Friendly porpoises saying I can still go
Up.
But the waves are pulling me
Down
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
I think of us beside each other,
our hands weaved carelessly,
or how you hug my arm near,
and bury your face and inhale heavily.
The crowded paths through the mall
gave our feet room to be sprightly,
or the small frame you adorn
lugging my weight through the alleys.
Our hectic workdays pressure high,
but topple by our grit for the weekends.
For in those few hours that slip by,
we recall again our source of strength.
I remember how your lips purse,
how your arms reach past my face -
how your nose seeks and finds mine,
and how your voice holds my gaze.
And how our arms latch like vines,
as we stretch on sheets with minds undressed,
while we bask in each and every line,
and take to realms our words suggest.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
No matter what they can say, I am a superstar.
I was trying so many workdays to be where I am.
I was praying every day to be where I am.
No matter what they can say, I am a superstar.
No side deal with the devil, indeed I am a superstar.
No one knows where I was, let them think I claim.
From negative million to zero that what I claim.
Yes, I am, I am, I am a superstar.
No side deals with the devil, prayer, and working hard.
God gave me time to work hard, God takes care of my health.
I am doing fine with my God, I won’t work for the devil.
Indeed I am a superstar, through prayer and working hard.
Indeed I am an unrecognized legend from birth.
I am a superstar, no side deal with the devil.
-Written by: The Senior
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 2:41 AM UTC
Out rose the Sun and Out went the Darkness.
Heating the morning moisture off of the surroundings.
Heating up the cold which was brought fourth by the Night.
Sun rays awoke me as they warmed my tired and cold body.
The sight of which charged my batteries and warmed my soul.
The days bring forth a new frontier.
A newer time in which to try new things.
A fresh time in which old tricks are tried in a newer way.
Workers zip to and from their shops to start their workdays.
Students Arise with Breakfast to Start a newer day of school.
The daytime heals wounds through the warmth of the sun.
Refreshing the spirit and mind through fresh and warm winds.
Bringing forth moments.... that reset days to a newer opportunity.
Days enlighten me and inspire me through the breathtaking scene of a sun rise.
The warm winds wake and refresh me to a more wakeful state of mind.
Days remind me of a new chance in which to make a difference in mine, and others people's lives.
The Nighttime chills down the land and darkens out the bright sunlight to signal the time for sleep and more relaxed feelings.
The stars mark their boundaries , above us, in their positions in the vast area of space.
To entertain and provide us with a message from their constellations.
The Moon shines it's pale white light to light our way down darkened ways. As the surface of it shares a "Man in the moon" and "The Sea of Tranquility."
Creating a beacon to summon all nocturnal animals out of their daytime slumbering.
Balance is between night and day.
One cannot exist without the other.
In symbiance, they share portions of the days with each other.
Welcoming unique and wonderful nature activities.
Balancing energies that feed us with much needed elements that fuel the body and strengthen the mind.
As the Man in the Moon says "Hello" to brother "Sunshine....."
both exchange their duties and rest until their next day on the job.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
They'll arise, the people I knew.
Most will get a coffee.
Others may light up a cigarette.
They'll ponder the day ahead.
Their jobs, their kids, their lovers.
Grabbing their phones.
They'll check their messages.
Assuring themselves they have everything they need.
They'll begin their commutes.
Destinations known awaiting.
Acknowledging their coworkers.
They begin their work.
Perhaps lunch for some.
Thinking about their new favorite shows.
Eventually closing out their workdays.
They may make a stop or two on the way home.
Walking into their front doors with dinner on their minds.
Three or four of them may pour a drink.
Discussing their days events with their families.
Netflix will help them while away the evening and escort them into the night.
Others will make love, some will drag on butts while staring out into the night.
Eventually they'll all retire to their beds for the night.
Maybe one of them will think of me.
This being the day after I died.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 6:57 AM UTC