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A New Collar On My Shirt

The soft chair time is over.
Safety videos and handouts are done.
OSHA ten hours has finished and
The PPE assigned.

There will be no swivel chairs on wheels,
No cubicle with ample desk space;
No roomy overhead bins;
No filing cabinet and pinboard walls;
No frequent wanderings for multiple
Bathroom breaks or cups of coffee.

A different color collar makes for a different world:
Hard and dirty; tough and safe;
Instant camaraderie, nicknames flowing as
I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of working –
Really working – a gratifying sense of a void filled
Underlying the happiness of this new experience.

The transition is hard, yes,
But it is good, too.
And I feel like the All-American guy
Sung of by Springsteen or Mellencamp.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

….

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He Sat At His Desk…

…surrounded by stacks of files and listening to the ever jolly holiday tunes on the radio. The files of people’™s lives meant nothing to him. He loathed his job. He despised the stupidity and slap-dashedness of colleagues and those who worked in the organizations that were used for other aspects of the process of which he was at the arse-end of.

And added to it all was the fact that today was payday, yet here he sat, looking at the computer monitor in front of him. The bank’s website showed him the truth, though there were occasions where even they would lie to him, drawing him deeper into the smothering feeling of poverty and self-loathing.

“Fifty-eight dollars and change”, he thought.

He clicked the “Log Out” button and hung his head, letting out a short, raspy, life-weary sigh.

His hands lifted and cupped his head. His wearisome, fatigued and stressed head. His throat now felt like someone was gently choking him, the same kind of throttling that he last experienced when his doctor checked his glands. His eyes felt like they were bulging dams, ready to release the salty streamlets of sorrow that his soul, or at least what was left of it, wanted to free for all eternity.

He raised his head and looked to the ceiling, all the while his hands stayed on his face; masks of impenetrable grief and anger. His hands slipped over his head and back to his face several time and a growl built up in him until it was released between the clenched teeth of societal censorship, issuing forth as a guttural hiss, barely perceptible by those around him.

His hand now fell to the desk, his right hand finding its way to the headphones lying there. He put them on, grabbed the mouse and clicked the button that set off the more favored Holiday tunes; the one of a dream dashed yet still held onto; the one of the reality of growing up. Despite their realistic and bleak words, they eased the melancholy.

“Something’ll work out. It always does”, he thought, remembering that Christmas meant a little extra cash, in the way of much appreciated presents from generous relatives.

His mood lifted.

They would just have to careful, that’s all. After all, they would usually have to stretch such a trifling amount to the next semi-monthly wage.

He hated this lifestyle: scrimping and saving; robbing Peter to pay Paul; paying a token to the creditors in the hopes that it kept them from releasing the financial hounds on them.

He did have a plan. He just needed the grace or good fortune to find himself a new job. He didn’t care whether or not it was one he would like, as long as it meant that the take-home was enough that it meant bills could be paid fully and on time, groceries and gas could be bought and they would still have enough for treat, luxuries and the non-essentials that makes one feel like more than a workhorse.

Working Life?

Thoughts from a moment of introspection, February 2009.

Longing for release from this
Pergatorious existence, so well personified
by Sisyphus, as we tiredly toil
to complete futile jobs of work.

The hatred of the day sucks out
the life and inspiration of the night
only allowing a wish to crash and
sleep instead of conjuring lines of
inspiration or playing with the kids
who already receive too little attention.

The faceless drudging massed humanity
going to and from the place where they make,
what is named in comedic irony, their
living, dying little by little on their journeys
there and throughout the chores of the day,
clock watching and minute counting.

This will be the end of humanity – life ebbed
away until all that live are the fat cats
and the lucky ones living off the land in
self sustaining wonder, but also in fear of the
racing vermin that the rest of us have become
with our hollow eyes and souls, our hatred
of those above and jealousy of the foresighted few.

And so we long for the old days
when workers mattered and were
not expected to do the jobs of others
whilst they, our colleagues and brethren,
moved off to another place of pressurized,
conveyor belt working, where they
initially found life in their job, before
being returned to the familiar shells of
themselves, with little respect for their own work.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Water Fountain

Inspired by a trip to the water fountain in work whilst particularly thirsty!

Gently I push upon your button.
You are quick to respond.
A soft sigh and your liquid
of life flows, easily enticing,
wanting the attention of my
mouth and lips, as I gently
consume your draught
refreshing me….

To enjoy the rest of this piece of creative writing, and more, please purchase Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), available only on Amazon Kindle, for just $0.99!

This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Mr. Davies Was Right

My thoughts on my life in January 2007

Mr. Davies was right:
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare
”.

But it has been so long
Since I last reveled in Nature’s wonder
And wandered in woodland and over field.

Long since I lay down
And closed my eyes to hear and smell
The lifeforce around me.

And quaffed at its fountain
Of revitalization and tasted its
Sweet invigorating nectar….

To enjoy the rest of this piece of creative writing, and more, please purchase Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), available only on Amazon Kindle, for just $0.99!

This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

Thoughts Of A Working Parent

Concerning the feelings of a working parent, July 2006.

The adorned sea about me stifles desire for life and contact;
Only the yearning for escape thrives.
Escape to the embrace of leisure and love.
And yet even this escape is not true,
As fiscally strained, we sit and wonder,
And watch as offspring dance and sing and fight
And find new wonders and glories of the world about them….

To enjoy the rest of this piece of creative writing, and more, please purchase Morning Meeting and other works (In My Words Vol. 1), available only on Amazon Kindle, for just $0.99!

This is (part of) an original piece. Please seek permission before reproducing in any way.