My assignment was in the communications office, where I typed out dispatches.
quote by Jack Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bored With School
I became extremely bored with school,
At an early age.
I felt I was watched and scrutinized,
Unnecessarily.
AND...
I told my 5th grade teacher this.
AFTER given an assignment,
To write an essay...
Right there in the classroom.
I felt her hawkish eyes on me,
Like I was prey.
And she couldn't wait to see,
What I had written.
'Uh...
Mr. Pertillar?
Why are you looking out the window.
I've given all of you students an assignment.'
~I'm done.~
'That's impossible.'
~You've asked us to write an assignment...
And...
With an 'a' and a 'd' surrounding an 'n'
I said,
I was done! ~
'You are a fresh mouth little boy.
Bring to me your work.'
~And there are no spelling errors.
I check it.~
'Interesting.
Very 'adult' in expression.
But this is a 5th grade assignment.
And YOU are getting a 'C'.'
~A 'C'? ~
'Open your mouth again,
And it will become a 'D'.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My assignment is what every writer's assignment is: tell the truth of his own time.
quote by Leslie Fiedler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Reprieve Sans regrets!
At last, the time has come to say, ' Good-bye! '
To office-work and seeing every file!
And scrutinising letters, asking why?
And taking part in meetings, high profile.
And checking, scanning office documents;
And signing ledgers, checques and orders, typed;
And taking part sometimes in arguments;
Most kinds of works that make man rather 'hyped! '
Yet, when man praises, people say, 'He's good! '
And when he scolds for lapses, 'He is strict! '
And when he follows rules, they say, 'He's rude! '
When things go wrong, they may even 'indict! '
Lo! This is life when men administrate!
There's no escape though you may even hate!
poem by John Celes
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Who Would Be A Poet?
Tell me, who would be a poet?
Just think what it entails...
And we know we'll sometimes blow it,
For every writer fails...
To think, that when we're feeling down,
We write to raise a smile,
But then we often have to frown,
Restricted by some style...
Eight syllables, then six below,
That's how I try to write...
Eight syllables to match the flow
Then six to keep it light...
So pretty soon verse three's arranged
Before the poem's done
And then verse four gets somewhat changed,
But don't tell anyone!
Some names get swapped and switched around,
Some placenames, too, replaced...
And suddenly an ending's found
And that has to be phrased...
My, my, it's like a Mystory Tour!
All jumbled jolly stuff,
With heartfelt tales of sweet amour
And that weird thing called lurv...
For thirty years, I've typed and typed
And typed and typed again...
I've either griped or else I've hyped
And emptied every pen...
The Writing Bug's still bugging me...
And yet how much I owe it!
Except no sweetheart's hugging me!
So who would be a poet! ?
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The problem is essentially that of communications to an army in action. After a rapid advance communications become disorganized, and there is a temporary halting until they are again in working order.
quote by John Desmond Bernal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our communications services revenue growth is being driven by continued strong top-line performance in data, Internet and international - three of the fastest growing and most profitable areas within communications services.
quote by Bernard Ebbers
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Communications without intelligence is noise; intelligence without communications is irrelevant.
quote by Alfred Gray
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The Assignment Sequence
Hendin
The assignment the assignment okay
Not too loud now not too loud
The song is called the assignment
Talks about the lover's gap
Tha gap between lovers
Especially in marriage and other forms
Bouncing off your wall
Tha pathways of my mind
Are on their way
Another way for today
You want me to see you
Baby I cannot see you
You want me to come for you
I cannot come for you
Cos you wany an assignment
I see no concession
Sall I hang my head with yours and be blue
Send alway laughter and fun
Spend all my time thinking about you
Don't you know there are things I can't do for you
My mind is on its way
Another way for today
My spirit is so foreign
You want silence
My spirit id taking flight now
But baby you're in a mood
And you wanna cry tonight now
Shall I hang my head with yours and be blue
That's what you want me to do
Send away laughter and fun
Spend my time crying
Trying to please you
Oh don't you know
There are things I can't do for you
My mind is on its way
Another way now for today
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Sonnet
There are many challenges that I have seen
not many are as odd as this one is
to this challenge I am not very keen
I would much rather get a final quiz
The assignment is an anthology
so many poems to put into it
please Easton send me to biology
if someone sold one I would buy a kit
I say the worst part of this assignment
Is writing a original sonnet
This makes my brain go out of alignment
to not do it can I move to Monett
This, the last sonnet I will ever do
is now being enjoyed right now by you.
poem by Kaleb Christenberry
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Assignment Sequence
Hendin
The assignment the assignment okay
Not too loud now not too loud
The song is called the assignment
Talks about the lovers gap
Tha gap between lovers
Especially in marriage and other forms
Bouncing off your wall
Tha pathways of my mind
Are on their way
Another way for today
You want me to see you
Baby I cannot see you
You want me to come for you
I cannot come for you
Cos you wany an assignment
I see no concession
Sall I hang my head with yours and be blue
Send alway laughter and fun
Spend all my time thinking about you
Dont you know there are things I cant do for you
My mind is on its way
Another way for today
My spirit is so foreign
You want silence
My spirit Id taking flight now
But baby youre in a mood
And you wanna cry tonight now
Shall I hang my head with yours and be blue
Thats what you want me to do
Send away laughter and fun
Spend my time crying
Trying to please you
Oh dont you know
There are things I cant do for you
My mind is on its way
Another way now for today
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Calling
God has a divine purpose for you
He has an assignment designed just for you
It is not hard to figure it out
All you have to do
Is think of what you enjoy doing
That brings joy to another
Always remember God
Will not have you do
Something where His praises are not due
This is the truth
All you have to do
Is refer to Psalms 148 149 150
To name a few
Which ever one you chose
Take your pick
God has a calling for you
Will you accept it
What will you do
When God beings you home
And He asks you
Why didn't you use
The gift the was for you
What will be your excuse
You have a calling
The time is now
People are counting on you
You know the ones'
Who's lives you are meant to touch
Do you hear that sound
It your assignment ringing
Answer it it's your calling
poem by Tameeka Smith
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The Blame Game
The mouse ate up my assignment
The snake ate up the mouse
The eagle ate up the snake and flew high above the heads
Inspiring and impetus
A hazy lapse
And the sky ate up the eagle
Then what?
The fumes ate up the sky
The fumes cultivated from our desires and greed
Outgrowing and blazing
Then what?
I ate up the fumes
Sedated and rejuvenated
All set to get back on track
A midnight lapse
And the assignment ate me up!
poem by Falky Flakes
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You come to work because the office is a resource: The office is a place where you can meet with other people, and the office has libraries of books and information on CD-ROM that might help you with your work.
Deeply Morbid
Deeply morbid deeply morbid was the girl who typed the letters
Always out of office hours running with her social betters
But when daylight and the darkness of the office closed about her
Not for this ah not for this her office colleagues came to doubt her
It was that look within her eye
Why did it always seem to say goodbye?
Joan her name was and at lunchtime
Solitary solitary
She would go and watch the pictures In the National Gallery
All alone all alone
This time with no friend beside her
She would go and watch the pictures
All alone.
Will she leave her office colleagues
Will she leave her evening pleasures
Toil within a friendly bureau
Running later in her leisure?
All alone all alone
Before the pictures she seemed turned to stone.
Close upon the Turner pictures
Closer than a thought may go
Hangs her eye and all the colours
Leap into a special glow
All for her, all alone
All for her, all for Joan.
First the canvas where the ocean
Like a mighty animal
With a wicked motion
Leaps for sailors' funeral
Holds her painting. Oh the creature
Oh the wicked virile thing
With its skin of fleck and shadow
Stretching tightening over him.
Wild yet caputured wild yet caputured
By the painter, Joan is quite enraptured.
Now she edges from the canvas
To another loved more dearly
Where the awful light of purest
Sunshine falls across the spray,
There the burning coasts of fancy
Open to her pleasure lay.
All alone all alone
Come away come away
All alone.
Lady Mary, Lady Kitty
The Honourable Featherstonehaugh
Polly Tommy from the office
Which of these shall hold her now?
Come away come away
All alone.
The spray reached out and sucked her in
It was hardly a noticed thing
That Joan was there and is not now
(Oh go and tell young Featherstonehaugh)
Gone away, gone away
All alone.
She stood up straight
The sun fell down
There was no more of London Town
She went upon the painted shore
And there she walks for ever more
Happy quite
Beaming bright
In a happy happy light
All alone.
They say she was a morbid girl, no doubt of it
And what befell her clearly grew out of it
But I say she's a lucky one
To walk for ever in that sun
And as I bless sweet Turner's name
I wish that I could do the same.
poem by Stevie Smith
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Care For The Elderly - A Conference
They gather in the Greeting Place
A smaller flock than once expected
Still elated - out from work and office
All around - the empty space
Is pressing on the keen - collected
Taking pointers - out from work and office
Inside the hall there is small trace
Of anyone to ‘stand corrected'
They're all working - inside work and office
Still curtains drift - in finest lace
The certain eyes not disaffected
Hide behind the lace of work and office
And speakers high in group embrace
Speak on and clap in unelected
Fluffy tones of every Higher Office
The higher speakers high disgrace
Is hid below their undetected
Lack of use - their waste of work and office
In keening grief - tears hid from face
A speaker - practical - affected
Brings human life within their work and office
And human thoughtfulness will base
Its Older Care on need selected
From that shown - away from work and office
Its time to fix he High and chase
By methods certain - unsuspected
Out form power - out from work and office
Foregather - follow to their base
See them - incestuous - connected
By wires unseen - inside work and office
27Mar2011 CPR
poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
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Luring Websites!
I'm a reserved man.
When I was in service,
my subordinates wouldn't
dare look at my face.
'Sinister-looking man'
only the men said of me.
Being a bored retiree,
I visited a website,
seeking messages for dating.
When I typed down my age,
they flashed a startling joke:
' Wow! Just born'; my heart broken.
I entered another site,
answered Psychology-tests
and they greeted me to have
all my erogenous zones thrilled
by the folks of epicurean tastes.
When they told me to send
a maiden message to a friend waiting,
I typed: ' Don't look at my empty purse'.
Her lightinng curt reply was:
' You funny old geezer! Wanna meet me? '
I switched over to another site.
They sent loads of profiles
of Mr.Quickfire, Longman, Footy Punch
and so on, wanting soulmate soon.
My God! I cried and clicked: 'Unsubscribe'.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The simultaneous reactions elicited all over the world by the reading of newspaper dispatches about the same events create, as it were, a common mental pulse beat for the whole of civilized mankind.
quote by Christian Lous Lange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The mind is not sex-typed.
quote by Margaret Mead
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The Message Of The Wind
it is your
coldness
typed in
sighs
in the
wind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We have to give value to authority. We have to give value to office, being in office, holding office.
quote by James Hillman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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