| Poem: Submit | Random | Best | Worst | Recent | Comments |
|
Work (Free verse) by poetandknowit She eases me to her breasts
as a mother would a wounded child.
This has been one of those days
and it's about work, always about
being employed and that slip
that comes around when your time
runs out and the last paycheck
that dwindles more each day
because of the phone service
and support the daughter and
former wife need to get by, and
about the change gathered from
the penny jar and coat pockets
just to buy cigarettes and have
bus money to travel twelve blocks
on a freezing night to eat a warm
meal from a woman who disappeared
four months prior with a man
driving a red truck, after a year or so
of things not working out.
Against her the hollow resonation
of something long faded, a body
whose rhythmic dance once
swayed easy with my touch,
even when the rent was late and
we sat nights laughing crazy in the dark.
Then it was about work and being
under qualified, always about that
fifty cent annual raise and
skipping time on the coffee break,
and it's about leaving this woman
just after midnight when the last whistle
shocks the cold with a metallic moan.
Up the ladder:
Same old rancour (a yellow stream of consciousness)
Down the ladder:
she was a garden of roses
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.1666665
Posted: August 26, 2002 12:20 PM PDT; Last modified: August 26, 2002 12:20 PM PDTWeighted score: 6.1666665 Overall Rank: 1040 The following users have marked this poem on their favorites list:
Comments:
[10]
god'swife @ 209.179.137.233
|
26-Aug-02/2:35 PM
|
Reply
The working class hero. My very favorite. I'm in love with the sound of it, and I think it's so easy to relate to. Lines 10 & 11 have some kind of grammatical confusion to them but I can't pin it down.Swayed easy with my touch... Sat nights laughing crazy in the dark..... 10
that's fucking blue collar brilliance p&k, you get the Bacchian swagger of the week recipe here comes the love baby
(Bachus's favorite soup) Kotosoupa Avgolemono: (Greek traditional Chicken and rice soup) What you need: 1 stewing chicken, 6 c.broth, 1 c. rice, 3 eggs, seperated, juice of one lemon(my favorite aspect, <stoner short cut add lemon juice to campel's chicken noodle w/rice>), salt & pepper to taste. Boil chicken until cooked. remove chicken and let cool. boil 6 cups of broth and add one cup of rice. add salt & p to taste. When rice is cooked, lower heat to simmer. put 3 egg whites in mixing bowl and beat until stiff. then add the yolks, then add juice of one lemon slowly; beating well. then add the yolks, then add juice of one lemon slowly; beating well. then add the broth, a littla at a time, beating well, until most of the broth is used. Pour this mixture back into pot, stirring well. Pieces of chicken may now be added to soup if desired. "That all-softening overpowering knell, the tocsin of the soul-the dinner bell." Lord Byron (enjoy the recipe friend, and the poem was great and bountiful, like this soup! 9/10! t
i aged while reading this. this poem has a keen edge.
one of the best things on this site. 11.
This is one tasty ditty; a pleasure to read. I appreciate the stream of consciousness style sans meandering. Blue and tight! 9/10
"the last paycheck
that dwindles more each day because of the phone service and support the daughter and former wife need to get by." I think it's brilliant. It has a great rhythm! Never thought the woes of paying bills could sound so purty. =)
Ok truce, this was seriously good. You are quite right, my efforts are pathetic compared to others here and this one of yours. I will try to redeem myself.-10/10
very good, i really enjoyed reading it.
You understand the pain of the day, the pleasure of the night. Its only friday and I can feel the monday morning blues
all right i guess not my style tho needs more abstract i think
Mate .....Its not a poem,but a piece of prose .You have arranged lines & sreamed thoughts to fit a form. Ideas images are not encouraged. It has plenty of potential but no challenge.
Mate...My favorite aspect of this site is when fellow writers come on board and say something that cleary is poetry actually isn't poetry. Like you have all the strict definitions crumbled up in your pocket. Must we continue to make statements that show our preposterous knowledge of poetry? If you need me to explain why this is poetry to you I will be more than happy too.
I keep getting stuck on the "and, and, and." Is this deliberate? The rhythm is very forced. Still, I love it after "Against her the hollow resonation..." It seems to find the flow here that it was lacking in the first part. The cadence of it all brings to my mind the image of a train roaring through the night, rattling on its tracks ("hollow resonation", "rhythmic dance", "swayed easy", "skipping", and, of course, "the last whistle." Those last two lines are beautiful, pure art. I could give you a 20 for them.
Rambling and innocuous, in love with himself or herself and smug.
aren't all of our left feet sometimes.
Change your name to IFUCKINGSUCK. This reads like a pathetic proxy for a 2pac rap, mixed with some piss and shit you found lying in your stack of unpublished poems. If you pride yourself on this consider going through puberty, growing a pair, then writing about something that isn't bromidic. Oh, and get rid of the shit you use for fountain pens and the stale piss you use for ink. Thanks bitch,
Love ErgoErgun
Deeply evoking. Great.
round and round, where we stop nobody knows.oh yeah... at a brief confessional, but look again is it really? yes. but notice how well it's blended into the magic plum sauce.o
223 view(s)
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
