Even if I don't have a job, I work on plays and scenes.
quote by Jeff Goldblum
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Behind the Scenes
The actor struts his little hour,
Between the limelight and the band;
The public feel the actor's power,
Yet nothing do they understand
Of all the touches here and there
That make or mar the actor's part,
They never see, beneath the glare,
The artist striving after art.
To them it seems a labour slight
Where nought of study intervenes;
You see it in another light
When once you've been behind the scenes.
For though the actor at his best
Is, like a poet, born not made,
He still must study with a zest
And practise hard to learn his trade.
So, whether on the actor's form
The stately robes of Hamlet sit,
Or as Macbeth he rave and storm,
Or plays burlesque to please the pit,
'Tis each and all a work of art,
That constant care and practice means --
The actor who creates a part
Has done his work behind the scenes.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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I work constantly but I work at a lot of different things. You know, I run a theater company in New York, I direct plays, act in plays, in movies, so I try to keep it eclectic.
quote by Philip Seymour Hoffman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If it's not in New York, let's say it's in St. Louis, then they've got to find a place or get with someone who knows about the work... they've got to find a place like that and do scenes, and then try to get in plays.
quote by Ray Walston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I went into this job to do plays, but that's here for 10 weeks, and the rest of the year I do a lot of other things-the administrative work of planning, reading plays.
quote by Michael Ritchie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That is one of the reasons one enjoys acting. Now and again, you get scenes where you work with somebody really good and you have a good time trying to make it really work and really work well.
quote by Albert Finney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are some scenes that work beautifully in a moving, sweeping master, which is how I like to work.
quote by Debbie Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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The young man plays the flute, the middle aged man plays the harpsichord, the old man plays the organ.
A Sleepless Night #2
sleep deprived, the restless mind
plays out scenes in thoughts
those now passed and to come
in every available scenario
the good, the bad and the ugly
paranoia playing lead villain
and hope the reluctant hero
the ever-changing pace of story
set upon the empty stage of night
forgetful lines amid many a silence
or moment of consideration
truth, fantasy and fear well cast
also act out these scenes
time passes, stories are told
dreams and nightmares evident
restless and sleep deprived
it becomes hard to distinguish
the lines of reality
before the closing act
of a sleepless night
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Twelve Bar Lil
Sweet Lilly Larnie
plays the blues away
she plays a three quarter strat
like B.B King plays Lucille
She plays the twelve bar blues
like nobody else can
she plays a blues lick so fast and quick
it makes you sick
She's twelve bar Lil
the three quarter strat Queen
you wouldn't believe
she's only three
For my Daughter Lilly, who's now four.
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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A Scientist and A Poet!
Strange are these men,
people can enjoy their work,
one can't compare these,
but let us try end enjoy!
Scientist and Poet,
One studies the worlds,
And another studies words,
Both can be above human mind,
One play with his logic and another plays word magic!
Both scientists and Poets,
Meditate,
One upon his experiments,
And another upon mind,
One studies cause and effect in this world,
Another studies love and affectaction of world!
One take pains work for some purpose,
Another can lie under the nose,
Both stumble on luck,
Scientist discovers a truth,
Poet always plays with so many of them!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Dominatrix On The Axis
Work it on a brother, if it works, oh well, then work it on another; Do your snooky shakey shake, show it to your mother.
Dominatrix on the axis climbs the tower of praxis. Momma said daddy plays the lone bone. Work it on a sister, if it works out for her, then work it on her brother. Might want to
watch yourself or they'll work it on your mother.
If this sounds somethin like s-e-triple x,
sailing off without redemption on the good ship Oedipus.
Look beyond these shores, where you won't have to deal with petty, prudishness no more.
Beyond the sea, you could give it all away for a handling fee.
L'l sister could work it, little brother too. If it works pretty good,
Might work it on you, then work your moves on another. But, pretty please, don't ply your shake 'n' bake magic on my old world grandmother.
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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This Guitar
He keeps his sercrets
Under his shirt sleeve
And hides his face
In his black hair
It hangs in his eyes
And all the girls think he's so cute
Why can't they see it?
Sometimes
He hides behind the school
And plays his guitar
It's so beautiful;
The rhythm he plays
No one notices what he does when he goes home
Because his mom's always drunk
And his dad's abusing her
And the boy tries to step in
To stop his mother from getting hit anymore
But it doesn't work
His father hits him instead
And he goes to his room
And cuts with his knife
Under his shirt sleeve
So no one sees it
And he hides in his room
And plays his guitar
This guitar
He says
Is keeping me alive
If I didn't have this guitar
I would've killed myslef already
Him
And his guitar
poem by Alyssa Ray
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My Mom's Computer
My Mom's new apple computer is like a spell maker,
1 thing my mom is under a spell when she gets off work she works on her apple.Then plays games like all sorts of addicting things I would tell you all of the games that she plays but this is just a short story.My mom is silly with her apple.
poem by Lulu Bailey
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Trivialities- Not To Me
I've collected many a trivial thing
and kept them in a box.
Occasionally I will look at them
and my memory it unlocks.
They have no value to anyone else
but to me they've found a place
to bring back a scene I remember
to put a smile upon my face.
If someone finds this box someday
and wonders 'what is this? '
Before they discard all these things
there's something they would miss.
They'd miss what these little things did
for the one that left them behind.
For never could they picture the scenes
nor could they ever find
how these trivialities in the box
were only special to see
by the one that lived the scenes they were from
for I took those scenes with me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Out Of Work
8 a.m. Im up and my feet beating on the sidewalk
Down at the unemployment agency, all I get is talk
I check the want ads but there just aint nobody hiring
Whats a man supposed to do when hes down and hes
Out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
I go to pick my girl up
Her name is linda brown
Her dad invites me in
He tells me to sit down
The small talk that were making
Is going pretty smooth
But then he drops a bomb
Son, what dya do ?
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Hey mr president I know you got your plans
Youre doing all you can now to aid the little man
We got to do our best to whip that inflation down
Maybe you got a job for me just driving you around
Im out of work
These hard times, theyre enough
To make a man lose his mind
Im out of work
Up there you got a job but down here below
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forty Hour Week
forty hour week (for a livin')
There are people in this country who work hard every day.
Not for fame or fortune do they strive.
But the fruits of their labor are worth more than their pay.
And it's time a few of them were recognized.
Hello detroit auto workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello pittsburgh steel mill workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This is for the one who swings the hammer, driving home the nail.
Or the one behind the counter, ringing up the sale.
Or the one who fights the fires, the one who brings the mail.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
You can see them every morning in the factories and the fields.
In the city streets and the quiet country towns.
Working together like spokes inside a wheel.
They keep this country turning around.
Hello kansas wheat field farmer, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello west virginia coal miner, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This one is for the one who drives the big rig, up and down the road.
Or the one out in the warehouse, bringing in the load.
Or the waitress, the mechanic, the policeman on patrol.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
With a spirit you can't replace with no machine.
Hello, america,
Let me thank you for your time.
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Different Scenes, Different Games
'Amazing scenes! ', ladies reported.
Parents and their kids have confirmed
While telling London reporters
Proudly sharing their adventures.
Those kids' eyes shone with joy
Some were talkative others were coy
Soaking up the atmosphere
They cheerfully highlighted:
'The Queen was here! '
They're happy for having been taught
The true spirit of the Games-
Hard work, common efforts, fraternity
Hopefully cherished until eternity.
Oh, we wished all kids in the world
Would stay joyful and peaceful
Rather than ignored or killed
In abhorrent scenes and war games disgraceful!
poem by Maria C. Costa
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