Editors Blog

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 253

I try to plan out prompts ahead of time, because it’s hard enough to think of a poem on the spot. When I looked at today’s prompt, I had to laugh, because it’s something I won’t be doing today–since I’ve been summoned for jury duty.

For today’s prompt, write a work poem. It can be about an occupation, working up a sweat, trying to avoid work, or however you wish to take it. Work is a loaded word, so I’m expecting a great variety of angles on this prompt.

Here’s my quick attempt at a work poem (after all, I’ve got to get to the court house):

“Miley”

Some people love only to work
while others prefer to just twerk,
still other folks find they can work
and pay all their bills as they twerk.

*****

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Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and has never attempted to twerk, though he has nothing against those who do (to each, his or her own). He’s the author of Solving the World’s Problems and the husband of Tammy Foster Brewer, without whom the book and this blog might not exist. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer (he might even tweet about his jury duty later today).

*****

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165 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 253

  1. taylor graham

    SOUL LABOR

    From somewhere out of sight,
    music resonating –
    a sonata for wind in oak trees.

    He put down his mattock.
    For all his striving with stumps,
    hardpan was winning.

    But now this arcane music
    that came from thin air –
    even the earth stopped to listen.

  2. lddillard

    These two poems are not about work as employment, but rather work on a personal level, self-improvement, working at accepting oneself, which is some of the hardest work we can do.

    Seeing Classmates After 20 Years

    Staring in the mirror-

    search deep in the reflection

    in front of me.

    Trying to understand myself,

    wondering if I see what the others see.

    Am I beautiful or ugly?

    Am I brave or courageous or strong?

    Do I inspire? Do I uplift?

    Am I getting it all right or getting it wrong?

    Searching myself and questioning,

    Where is this journey taking me?

    Do others see the work I’m putting in

    to get to a place where I’m not faking me?

    I look in the mirror again,

    for the first time resist the urge to criticize.

    I see beauty and strength and amazingness,

    and self-approval shining in my eyes.

    DB- 9-18-10 — 10:13 a.m.

    ROAR, and Other Works:

    I am fierce woman.

    Hear my Roar.

    Fierce woman tryin’ keep the wolf from the door.

    Fierce woman cry in her bed at night.

    Her babies don’t feel like she love them right.

    Fierce woman fight to keep food on the shelf.

    Fierce woman fight to learn to love herself.

    Fierce woman keep tryin’ do what’s right.

    Fierce woman never gon’ give up the fight.

    Can I get a amen?

    DD- 9-23-09 10:14 pm

  3. Cameron Steele

    After Hours

    The eyes of the young in coffee shops
    always look afraid, cupping each other’s furtiveness
    with glances like leaky fingers, too shaky to
    stay together for long, too cold to want to try,
    if anything at all.

    The boy against the yellow wall, unshaven chin tucked
    into a stiff collar, the tongue working against his jaw,
    moving the white wire of his earphones back and forth
    on his spotted cheek. I always wonder what they’re listening to.
    If it’s anything at all.

    His eyes jumped to mine a minute ago
    and before they skunked away, I saw the little boy
    from hours before, his moony skin on the street,
    the pimples tracking up to the dark wound from a hand-gun.
    It resembled a coin in the dark, if anything at all.

    He looked up at me, and his eyes were lonely
    like every teenager over coffee — begging me to drop him
    like a lost penny, or let him slip between my skinny
    fingers like the ghost he feared he’d grow up to be,
    if anyone at all.

  4. lionetravail

    Ba-Doom, Ba-Doom

    The sun is low, the lines are met,
    the drums play on both sides.
    We move, blades and appetite whet,
    for coming, reddened tides.

    The sun is high, the lines are blurred,
    it’s “March!” and “Stand your ground!”
    Cries vie with orders to be heard,
    from standing and the downed.

    The sun is low, the lines pulled back,
    blood on each sword, each dirk.
    But with the morn, renewed attack;
    Mercenary work.

  5. lionetravail

    Unlucky

    Love.
    How did it come to this?
    A stellar day,
    colors of the grass and sky
    so bright
    and stark
    that they almost hurt the eye.

    I thought, at baseline, I was fine,
    the distance between us
    a thing of necessity.

    Now closer, now farther-
    I was heavy handed, perhaps,
    and regret it, now.

    And this: love.
    Love!
    I had thought we might be set,
    perfectly matched,
    but the competition between us
    has led to the base practice
    of scoring points, one off the other.

    You thought it would serve me right,
    a death of one vicious slice,
    and a net loss at love.

    But the game isn’t over yet.
    I flip my racquet once, twice;
    it’s time to get to work.

    1. lionetravail

      Thank you! This is such a wonderful community- everyone’s willingness to put work out, and to comment on others, has helped rekindle my own enjoyment with word play. I tend to think of associations that are a reach, and then work around that to play with concepts, images, and poetic form to make something I think is interesting, fun, and different.

      I was inspired for this one during my sunday paddle-ball game- I thought to myself, down a few points against a tough team: “Time to get to work”. I knew I had something, and spent some time noodling about it, and thought about the related sport and all the great metaphors with love, and, whammo, it sprung almost fully formed and hit the keyboard fast.

  6. ChefSabs

    Stay-At-Home Mom
    I did not go to work today. But, today was full of work.
    Today I have made a pizza, some muffins, and 5 rows of a hat.
    Also changes, friendships, rest, and pondering, and also
    I ran errands. So many
    errands.

    I’ve also worried about money, and time, and health, and family, and boys.
    Well, boy
    or rather
    the thought that I could be loved by someone, and how foreign
    that idea still seems to me.
    But He says it is so. So it must be.

    I ponder such a curious idea, as I change her clothes, and help her with
    the most basic of needs
    and cheer her on when she takes a few steps in a row–
    and then I adjust her oxygen tank so she can
    breathe

    I sleep early, and wake up when I hear her
    crying. I wake her up completely; she can go back to sleep
    but only after
    pills water blanket nightlight
    oxygen tank
    and watching a video clip of her grandchildren
    sending their love.

    I tuck her in, and go back to my chair and lean back,
    blanket around my shoulders. I start to dream of
    work and school and tasks and chores and errands
    as the whirring of the compressor
    lulls me back to sleep.

  7. lionetravail

    At Great Price

    Hadn’t noticed how hard I was working
    Until it became irritating.
    The once-natural pass of ebb and of flow
    Transformed into something quite grating.
    Comfort and ease were two things of the past,
    And stress and obsession came hating.
    Every moment of every day
    The pressure kept mounting its rating.
    Still I persisted with efforts unsung,
    In manner so self-deprecating.
    Older I grew as my work never slowed,
    Will bolstered by my armored plating.
    And then I was sacked, self-protection cracked-
    And inside a pearl was found waiting!

  8. Walt Wojtanik

    BANGING ON THE DRUM

    Brother Rundgren, I can smell what you’re cooking,
    I’m looking for reasons to put rhythm to work for me.
    I can picture food on my table, since I’m able to produce,
    I have a roof over head, and it’s really no use
    to think I could do it if I were the same slob with no job.
    Driving a good car, putting good girls through school
    yet I’d drool for the chance to glance at daytime TV.
    But I go to work near the railroad, all the live-long day!
    And with all those perks can bring, I still need to sing,
    “I don’t want to work, I want to bang on the drum all day!

  9. lionetravail

    Jack and Jill

    There was this hill we climbed, y’see,
    and up, and up, it went.
    For water, we did both agree,
    and the thirst-quench it meant.

    But there were other thirsts I knew,
    for drink as red as rum.
    And in the mirror’s morning view,
    I saw my madness thrum.

    Grim, the top of hill you stayed,
    in place where none heard noise.
    You learned that worked, but never played,
    made Jack of the dull boys…

      1. lionetravail

        In my head, I read the last line slowly and ominously, and in a deep, gravelly voice, and I find myself slitting my eyes to enhance the sinister. But that’s me, ’cause that’s how it came out of my head.

        Does that come across? Anyone with any suggestions as to enhance the darkly, slow, sinister revelation of the last line in text form, as opposed to reading it aloud?

        1. lionetravail

          Thank you! I have to admit that my inspiration for this was a fortuitous association between Jack and Jill, and “All work and no play” for a completely different Jack.

          This one especially has a unique (dark) place in my heart :)

  10. Heather

    better late than never:

    work

    responsibility beckons
    the line cues
    sinuously
    along my desk
    inside my home
    in a Social media thread.
    Can you take care of this?
    Can you help me please?
    I miss you, where are you?
    some ignored more than others
    when a new question whispers
    from within
    when is it time to play?

    ~ also published at http://heatherbutton.com

        1. lionetravail

          Under the heading of ‘work’, it’s safe to say probably when the goals became: ‘getting work’, ‘working to live’, ‘working to get ahead’, ‘working at it’, and ‘working it all out’. We start to define ourselves by our vocation, when by rights it should be by our avocation… it’s why the timely reminder of your poem resonated for me, I think.

  11. Susan Schoeffield

    EMPTY SCREEN

    I sit and watch the speeding clock.
    My words sealed tight with key and lock.
    No images to soothe or shock,
    no work that isn’t poppycock.

    The keyboard’s job: to harshly mock
    my efforts that are often schlock.
    This writing life can be a crock
    when weighted down by writer’s block.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  12. lionetravail

    Solving for Work

    If work equals energy over time,
    it’s clearly how much you put in
    and divided by hours sublime
    which defines what your efforts have been.

    But if you find energy lacking,
    and time a huge denominator,
    expect you might get a good sacking
    for a “player” who will be named later.

    Do overtime over time long enough,
    one must find ways to self-motivate.
    Solving for energy can be tough,
    since long times at work can frustrate.

    If energy is based upon mass
    times the speed of light (which is squared)-
    will more massive work help surpass
    the previous output you’ve shared?

    Work equals, too, force times distance
    which equals your energy, per time;
    so your energy, in this math instance,
    is force times the distance times time.

    Now, the distance is how far you’ll go,
    and time simply cannot be bottled,
    if you’re forced like square peg to round hole,
    someone’s begging to really be throttled.

    If work’s longer, why is energy lower?
    It defies arithmetic equations!
    ‘Cause if energy drops we move slower
    (which is why we all need more vacations).

    In the end, one can reach this conclusion:
    physics only can take you so far.
    When time, mass, and force need solutions,
    it’s time to quit: go hit a bar.

    1. priyajane

      Balancing these equations so creatively must have been a lot of work, and you seemed to have done it in little good time– so that equals a big Wow!!! In my book –

      1. priyajane

        My 90+ years old , inspiring physics teacher ( he lives in India and is still in touch with some of us old students via emails etc, and writes poetry!!) would get quite a chuckle out of it. With your permission, can I please send this to him with your screen name–?

    2. elishevasmom

      As well balanced and brilliant as this is, the phrase ‘do evertime over time long enough’ just really caught my eye. Maybe because that’s the way I was.

    3. writinglife16

      I got a real kick out of this. I loved math and hated physics(which is a lot of math). I really liked this. The end made me think I should have put it in the right perspective.

  13. BezBawni

    WorK

    From under the crumpled bed-sheets
    stick out a toe and pull it back
    into the warmth of slumber
    and your acusatory body.

    Into the twilight of outside
    stare without thinking,
    listening to your breathing
    on my unhallowed skin.

    Then in the phone of missed calls
    type with my guilty fingers:
    “Don’t wait for me today, hun.
    Working late.” Sigh and send.

      1. seingraham

        sorry, this posted twice and doesn’t belong to “Work”

        About “Work” – I’ve been trying to comment to say how it took me by surprise and how I especially like the phrase “your accusatory body”…

  14. julie e.

    S.A.H.M.

    Yes, I laid around eating bon-bons
    and watching old movies all day
    between the five loads of dirty laundry
    I washed, dried, folded, and put away
    No, your children were just precious angels
    home with colds didn’t make them berserk,
    and you’re absolutely right about that, honey—
    at least I don’t have
    to work….

      1. deringer1

        Awesome is right. How did we ever allow ourselves to feel bad about being “just” a homemaker? Much harder than sitting at a desk. You said it all very well.

  15. seingraham

    PUTTING IN A FULL DAY

    She’s always up before the rest,
    has everyone’s timetable
    memorized and puts their day
    together before they’ve drawn
    daytime air into their lungs
    Breakfast’s on the table; lunches
    made and by the front door, as well

    Feeds the dog, unloads the
    dishwasher, loads the washing
    machine but waits to run it…
    doesn’t want to use all the
    hot water until her husband’s
    had his shower…
    Lets the dog out and brings him
    back in; calls the kids to get up,
    up, up
    Checks on her love and as he’s
    showering; she makes sure
    he’s got everything he needs;
    clean shirt, tie, shoes polished
    etc. big meeting today …all good.

    The kids are giggling but dressing
    and getting ready on time…
    She reminds them to make
    their beds and amidst groans
    they do, then stumble to the table.

    Her day goes like this, everyday —
    a carefully scripted and choreographed
    play that she’s written herself…
    Oh, she knows to leave plenty of
    room for improvisation and that
    lots of days, probably most days even
    she’ll have to go “off-book” many
    times
    She also knows that’s part of what
    makes her life so wonderful, so
    worthwhile…

    1. writinglife16

      Ice cream, hot fudge and black walnuts. What an image, building a dessert in this dreary winter that could have ended when the ground hog saw his shadow(not that it matters up north). :)

  16. bclay

    Beasts of Burden

    From sun-up to sun-down,
    we gon plow, we gon plow,
    ‘haw” for left, “gee” for aright,
    “whoa”-stop and “yaa” starts,
    we’s gonna plow untill its dark,
    the corns is aready for planting,
    and tobaccos’s ready for beddin,
    so we gotta plow straight till night,
    to the barn we’ll ago for our dinner,
    and ole ‘Minnie’ ”ll aget 30 minutes
    to let her jaws arest from the metal
    an shoulders aloosen from the collar,
    but we agonna plow, we agonna plow,
    the sun is getting wet in ol’ aquarious
    and the moon is all dark in it’s shadow,
    aint no time better, aint no times better,
    we gonna turn the dirt out from under us
    lettn burn all the weed’s roots in the airs,
    but we’ll keep plowing straight on aheads,
    tilting right for tha left, tiltin left for tha right
    acres on acres of rows straightend by sight;
    but when sun touches ground we’ll go bound
    back to a shelter pen full of hay, adown to lay,
    but till then, we’s gonna plow, we’s gonna plow.

      1. deringer1

        This is quite an accomplishment! It never would have occurred to me to think of the work of animals. And the form you chose cannot have been easy. Bravo.

  17. PowerUnit

    There is no light, only fast terror in the rains
    Large, rickety, oil-laden, tip-toppy trains
    But I keep my head down and mind moving
    My fingers slap the keys
    and my students rap on my door, please
    stop slapping us with theory we won’t know
    and technique you can’t bestow

    I wonder at my purpose, why should I care
    If a young man can’t get out of his chair
    I take a break and brew a pot of coffee
    Is there any hope for the laggards
    The lot of the mouthy braggarts
    That my efforts can nurture
    Or am I condemned to this torture?

  18. De Jackson

    Punching the Clock

    She wants to
    most days,
          (pow!)
    right in the face,
    because the hours be
    -tween drop off and
    pickup are constant
    -ly shrinking. She’s
    just thinking of the
    perfect word or phrase
    and
         (bam!)
    it’s time to head out
    again. It’s not enough
    that this thing she
    loves pays in copies,
    promises, garbanzo
    beans…she’s got to
    pilfer pause, beg
    borrow and steal
    minutes as well?
    (swell)

    They tick
    her off,
    these steady hands
    that know where they’re
    going, ever flowing for
    -ward when she’s wishing
    for a way to breathe back,
    clack something more, be
    -fore that door opens and
    some hooligan bursts through
    needing a snack or two or
    spewing some new knack for
    (new) math
    she will never
    understand.

    (Q: If a speeding WriterMama
    starts a poem at 9:02 and does
    a workout, 3 loads of laundry
    and 2 errands before noon,
    what time will said poem
    be finished?

    A: Never.)

    She has spanned the gamut
    of the
    calendar
    dayplanner
    globe, filled boxes
    and blanks and
    lists with the word
    WRITE
    all caps, in pen,
    underlined. Twice.
    …only to have the
    Do Not Disturb
    sign perturbed
    from its place
    set high
    on her heart.

    Sigh.
    Maybe she’ll start
    again tomorrow.

    .

  19. priyajane

    Time
    Time is always working hard
    pulling and pushing the tides
    crashing on waves, polishing stone
    We may try to hold and flow in it
    falling back and springing forward
    But it follows its own rhythm
    working its charm through a colloidal
    consistency of changing effervescence
    always working hard — effortlessly

  20. cmariee

    Drowning in 150 essays I think these writings are the death of me.
    When can I be done, be free from this workload in front of me.
    I love to teach, but grading I feel more machine.
    Not enough time in a quarter, not enough days in a year.
    Deadlines, percentages, comments, and emails.
    Now Gradebook won’t open and the baby starts crying.
    These writings sit naggingly by me.
    As if wanting to know, when will you be done with me.
    And I think, just maybe tonight I’ll get the time that I want to break away.
    To have some me time, and what will I do, I’ll write. Can’t wait.
    There words a daily struggle. Mine, my one release.

  21. priyajane

    Paper Work

    As the sun gallops faster
    winding his time machine
    I’m reflecting on the pool floor
    shimmering salsa swirls
    Transparencies that emerge
    through my bored paper work—

  22. writinglife16

    Life’s work

    When he was a child
    he traveled far
    to go to work.
    Got up at 5 a.m.
    Bathed in the river
    as the snakes swam by.
    Had breakfast and
    walked to the fields.
    Worked until the sun set.
    In his mind, he traveled
    beyond those fields.

    When he was a man
    he still traveled far
    to go to work.
    Still got up at 5 a.m.
    Took a shower.
    Had breakfast and drove an hour.
    Worked until the sun set.
    In his mind, he traveled
    beyond those roads.

    He breathed
    his last breath
    at 5 a.m.
    No more work to do.
    He was thankful, that at last,
    His soul could travel far.

  23. Nancy Posey

    Work

    Some days work is labor, from the moment
    I wake up until I fall exhausted into bed,
    and though my line of work rarely strains
    my back, and the only callouses I boast
    show imprints where my pencil rests,
    I know the stress of a mind and a body
    drawn by some invisible whistle; impatience
    marks my days as sure as any time clock.

    But other days, I wake before the clock’s
    rude alarm, one eye on the numbers
    as they turn, planning my day, eager
    to see the challenges I’ll meet, ready
    to address the problem I’ve unknotted
    in my dream’s subconscious mind.

    Even love can seem a chore from time
    to time, as I’m compelled to act
    regardless of my spirit and my heart,
    but what a grand reward it pays,
    and what a beautiful retirement plan.

  24. lionetravail

    What Do You Call It When A Florist Goes Out Of Business?

    Though the florist had planned to retire,
    After making his fortune entire,
    He’d just had to stop
    All the sales at his shop,
    Because of a loss of desire.

    But, in truth, to get out of the selling,
    Takes hours of effort and yelling.
    And if one doesn’t take
    An appreciative break,
    One misses the roses for smelling.

    And since time takes its toll on us all,
    Like the status of lilacs in fall,
    Sometimes you go silly
    From staring at lilies,
    And taking some orders, too tall.

    But after the years have been counted,
    And endless bouquets have been mounted,
    The floral frustration
    Of re-in-carnation
    Can be, like the crocus, discounted.

    And surely this story so floral,
    Must have, at its end, its own moral?
    To a horny layman,
    The inviting stamen
    On tulips might seem kind of oral!

    But the truth is, all kidding aside,
    The efforts with Susans (black-eyed),
    Or wrapping up mums
    For such pitiful sums,
    Makes one ask: “Why have I tried?”

    Like when friends ask you sometimes for trees,
    So you overstock palms just to please.
    You think, looking back,
    Over scores of lilacs:
    “With friends like that who needs anemones?”

    So, after the business has soured,
    And marigolds seem underpowered,
    You sell off the store
    ’cause it’s been such a bore,
    And you realize you’re finally de-flowered!

  25. elishevasmom

    Labor of Love

    Just after reposing,
    and while I was dozing,
    my muse had given me warning.

    If I went off to sleep,
    the thoughts would not keep
    ’til the earliest light of the morning.

    For that very reason,
    and not befriend treason,
    a night stand was found at my bedside.

    With a notebook and pen
    for just the times when
    birthing ideas from the inside

    I awoke with a thought
    of such clarity, caught
    the entirety of my attention.

    I knew the right venue
    for airing this menu,
    of that there could be no contention.

    As I reached for my tools,
    the voluminous rules
    of Justice became just a fable.

    The journal I found,
    but my pencil was drowned,
    in the darkness off of the table.

    With my pencil replaced,
    my muse I embraced,
    but just saw how my efforts had failed.

    She had now turned her back.
    All my thoughts were off track,
    and had totally been derailed.

    With no words to foster,
    I knew I had lost her,
    ashamed as I am to report it.

    Called to dance by my muse,
    all I’d had was excuse.
    The work of this writer was forfeit.

    (c) Copyright Ellen Evans – 2014
    2.4.14 “work” poem for PA

    1. writinglife16

      Loved this. It reminds me of the rare times I’ve managed to write something down in the night only to not be able to make sense of it in the daylight.

  26. lionetravail

    The Expert Who Puts Worms On My Hook

    The fishing crew’d fully assembled-
    The better the sooner than later-
    From the Captain, whose hands never trembled,
    To the widely renowned Master Baiter.

    The crewmen all took out their poles,
    Heading out for the big haul.
    And, of course, you must know the outcome-
    He Master Baited them all!

    A man most adept at his craft,
    He’d found his true calling, you see.
    For once he’d discovered his ‘nature’,
    He’d Master Bait quite easily!

    He’d failed a career once, at farming-
    The problems did simply abound.
    Like when it came time for sowing
    He’d spill all his seed on the ground!

    He’d failed once at tending a vineyard,
    But don’t call him names so detracting!
    It’s his choice if he remains so
    Very fruitless and subtracting!

    His stamina’s simply amazing,
    He certainly works like a loon-
    At peak, I have heard he can do it
    Some fifteen times before noon!

    And lest you are thinking that his is
    A very crazy way to live,
    He works with about forty sailors-
    Whatcha think are his alternatives??!?

    And surely his palms may get hairy,
    And surely his sight may grow dim,
    But he’s not the village idiot,
    And sometimes we emulate him!

    (Oh yes, and sometimes we emulate him.)

  27. Connie Peters

    Working at Home

    Do you work they ask?
    Meaning outside the home.
    If I say no it sounds like I
    sit around and eat
    proverbial bonbons all day,
    whatever bonbons are.
    Yeah, I work like a slave,
    when I’m not at the rec center,
    having lunch with a friend,
    or a out on a shopping trip.
    I can do what I want,
    as long as I’m not busy
    with what I don’t want.
    Can get lazy, crazy,
    unorganized, obsessive,
    tangled and tied up
    with projects hither to yon.
    I feel like I’m never done.
    Relentless.
    Can’t clock in and clock out
    and leave the work behind,
    but I like my coworkers
    and have a great boss.

  28. J.lynn Sheridan

    Working blue

    my fingers
    need a home A warm
    place to breathe and roam
    They trampoline over coal
    domes combing letters to grow
    a tome of groan or love or poems
    to bemoan (oh, woe is me) or
    some other overblown
    droning on and on
    and on
    and
    Oh, I don’t know . . .
    what else I really
    can do.

  29. PressOn

    DEFENDANT

    In this spot I’ve no reason to hurry
    or vent my distress in a flurry;
    instead I’ll sit here
    and, I hope, persevere,
    while my lawyer is working the jury.

  30. PressOn

    SOLUTION

    When a fellow is down on his luck
    and his fortunes are running amok,
    he should greet fate and sin
    with a wink and a grin
    and be working at passing the buck.

  31. taylor graham

    ON THE JOB WITH LOKI

    “Do you want to work?”
    She glitters. She leaps, and grabs
    a taste of sky
    coming down, then stands motionless
    as I slip the harness
    over her head. “Give me five!”
    Lifts her right front paw, shoves it
    through the loop – Chinese-
    puzzle of D-rings and red webbing.
    We’re ready. A signpost
    at park-entrance is point-last-seen
    for Linda’s daughter, Tracy.
    Loki pulls me in a big circle around
    the post – trails taking off
    in three directions through the woods.
    Which way did Tracy go?
    Loki’s sniffing everything –
    plantings, pavement, bare earth,
    this morning’s gray squirrel,
    the man with pugs on leash who just
    walked through – Loki’s
    sorting all those scents. I clip long-
    line to harness;
    open ziplock bag, give her
    a whiff of crumpled kleenex inside,
    “Check Tracy! Track Tracy!”
    And we’re off.
    Loki’s in charge now. Up the south-
    end trail across a bridge
    down rough dirt road into tangled
    woods. On the job.
    She’s expert at this work, her
    greatest joy.

  32. annell

    Studio Practice
    I come to the studio
    Each day
    I set a goal
    I work toward it
    Sometimes I take
    A breath
    Try to calculate
    Where I’ve been
    Where I’m going
    And where I hope
    To be
    Alone with my
    Thoughts
    Some would not
    Consider it work
    And often not much
    Progress is made
    But…
    Because I am loyal
    To my studio practice
    A body of work
    Is created

    February 5, 2014

  33. JanetRuth

    Work

    The merchant’s salvation

    The sluggard’s dread

    But ever the ration

    That butters our bread

    The wise man’s blessing

    The dreamer’s curse

    But ever the jingle

    To pleasure the purse

    Our waking purpose

    Our well-earned rest

    Of all that life offers

    I say work is the best

  34. PKP

    Brief-case

    She stood at the door
    barefoot
    reaching up with one
    outstretched arm just
    missing the front knob
    His bulging brief case
    pressed against her
    thigh – snow falling
    in fat flakes outside
    erasing the front steps
    as she cried in a small
    determined voice
    eyes flashing
    “Don’t go work Daddy”

    ~
    *happy jury duty RLB …..*

  35. jasonlmartin

    Evolution

    On the evolutionary chart
    we are apes. On the organizational chart
    we are apes.

    The Chief Evolutionary Officer growls to the
    General Manager
    Something incoherent, points to shapes

    On a wall, points to boxes, names, lines
    Nodding heads, swinging neckties, chewing pens
    And this is what we have become…

    – Jason Martin

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