This week let’s write an on-the-job poem. It could be about the worst job or the best job you’ve ever had. You could also write about your dream job. If you need some inspiration, check out this list of odd jobs. Post your occupational therapy in the comments below.
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Thanks for both providing and writing to the prompt!
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This prompt really posted such wonderful work. I am really impressed that people can write long pieces, as my poor, stressed out brain can only handle short concepts.
Everyone has a place at this table
Catholic University employs its own facility staff
Cleaners
Grounds keepers
Security officers
Their service is honored at the same time as tenured professors
Fitting
Fair
Just
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Great example of parallel structure. Well done!
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I like the combination of work and gratitude.
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I like the reinforcement of honor in work, a job well done and acknowledged seems to be a recipe for harmony.
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I took the blue pill
and leave for work at 7:20AM
with traffic, I’ll only be 5 minutes late
21 S1s on the queue
I calm the fears of those
who’s production system were down all night
and momentarily sate the corporately connected
with sweet assertions of
“The fix will be available by noon”
Snow flakes begin to fall outside
beyond the windows
across the cube farm
dance through the branches of the bare trees
as I think of what the red pill might have brought
There’s a new fire on the queue
and the conference call has 13 participants
waiting for me to call in
the expert
a matter of life and death
(or at least the bonus of the CIO)
for the mid-market company
that is now
the most important thing in the world
the snow stops
unnoticed
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‘..The fix will be available by noon..’ I like this, the fix comes with lunch or no lunch. The sobriety of the voice is a pleasure and conveys the irony so well. The humor of the bonus being life or death is great, and true for the mid-world in its mid-market, in the middle of a snowstorm which sadly, can no longer slow our middling world down- or wake us up. Poetry being the antidote to mediocrity.
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This one resonates with me. Great final stanza.
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bonus points for Matrix reference!
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Still getting untangled from @ts19page’s compelling offering. Thanks for that. Here’s my (somewhat belated) response to the prompt.
This Company
This company is all about…
Something.
So we tell ourselves.
This company…
This corporation?
This chartered colony?
This armed division?
This talented troupe?
Corporations are people –
So the courts tell us.
So it’s no surprise that
Searching for an identity takes
So much time.
We are what we (you) can (will) pay for,
Clones of the creator
Shining on a shelf down the aisle.
Pragmatic, profitable belonging.
There’s a cause and a message to work for –
So say our evangelists.
So since you’ve seen (more or less)
The same light as me
It seems safe to suppose that,
Though we dwell amongst savages,
We’re all civilized here.
Nevermind what called you from the motherland.
Presumed, projected belonging.
The enemy is strategically advancing –
So our intelligence reports.
So lock and load and cover my six.
The threat is (seems) real
That some hostiles (peers) are gonna
Blow us up with a better mousetrap.
Can you handle having the
Carnage of jobs and families on your conscience?
Pressured, pernicious belonging.
The show must go on –
So the producers insist,
So grit your teeth in a seething smile
And get in costume:
A professional patina papering over
Your petulant palpitations (see the pulsing cracks?).
The soul of this soulful soirée is
Limp and desiccated backstage.
Partitioned, performed belonging.
Bad company corrupts good morals.
Careful the company you keep.
Vocation is
Gifted to,
Interpreted by,
Accomplished within,
Displayed for
This company.
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I like this work, with its use of double meanings and its attack on corruption set against the pervasive need for work and its uncomfortable fit with the noble life. It is almost tragic to see how well the image of war and battle fit the description of hordes marching toward more production. Especially rewarding is the ‘professional patina pasted…etc..’ The ‘..dwell among savages..’ is particularly good, even better the ‘..never mind what called you from the motherland..etc.’ “ ..Shining on a shelf down the aisle..’ is powerful! and of course the repetition of the call for belonging which underwrites so much of the poem. Read with appreciation.
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Wow. Another epic. Love the alliteration in the penultimate stanza. Well done!
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Finding the gold in the everyday. Happy is the man.
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my worse job ever
was working for red hell boss
an addict of sorts
looking for enablers when
his main one left his foul side
the rage he gave out
became daily dosed to me
when she came back home
he turned his rage back to her
we cleaned up the office floor
have you ever seen
expensive computers thrown
on the floor like trash
I left the garbage bin, fast
enraged, he plotted revenge
I will never take
a job where a friend left as
soon as I started
now I know why she was quick
to run out the swinging door
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Ack! That sounds awful. Thanks for sharing.
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Strollers in the Parks of Kali
The young run after meaning,
like a thirsty man after an ice cream truck
a dollop against nothingness,
sweet, at first bite, then wet and cold.
Children, those who lead like angels,
are running, deep inside we are running
yelling for I scream,
you scream, we all scream for ice cream.
Group identity is paramount because
Its all we have.
anything else would be too deep to dig for,
golden shovel or not.
Gold bends, and would not be rare
were it not scarce.
The earth yielded 35 million dollars of
gold since we first dug down.
Other planets in our solar system
don’t have gold,
which is why we don’t brave the cold
of space to get there.
We wait for a worm tunnel
which means we are prudent,
okay with worminess,
and inevitability.
You can see wormholes everywhere,
when you are nearly ninety
having received inner vision,
better late than never.
Yet soon you will be set high on a pyre
and burned to the birds of the hot wind,
who know how to dodge the flames
and have a taste for suttee.
Buddha was better than Kali
once again the female gets the devil’s part,
As well as the Mother role
marked by bouquets in May.
Who cares about motherhood anymore,
young men are better at nurturing now,
pushing strollers with one child in
and one on the chest.
To the park they go, dog on a leash.
The invisible leash around their necks
sings Kali’s songs of virtue in their ears,
makes them feel more real than ever.
Other sirens have lost their allure,
testosterone decreases in the presence
of diapers, and yet
niceness still nets corpses.
Wives wear suits, hail cabs,
and bring home chopsticks to go
with the ginger flavored stuff in boxes;and yet
niceness still nets corpses.
They all admire themselves very much,
happy having proved the point
their war-fighting fathers could not prove-
that to hold a baby is the real job.
Old soldiers returned,
who got out of bed to soothe
the child’s bad dream,
that one who had met death in the face,
Was not enough. Never loved you enough,
impossible to love you enough.
Love me enough. Enough.
Love me More.
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Wow. That’s an epic stream of consciousness. Thanks for sharing!
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Thank you for the feedback, appreciated.
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It was. Just glad it is over and I “think” he got better.
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I can see the graphic novel that goes with this. Such vivid pictures, apt rhythm and pace. I almost got hit on the door’s in-swing.
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I can see the graphic novel that goes with this. Such vivid pictures, apt rhythm and pace. I almost got hit on the door’s in-swing.
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Yes, watch out for swinging doors!
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Yimminy!
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