There's Work To Be Done
'Tis the song of the morning,
The words of the sun,
As he swings o'er the mountains:
'There's work to be done:
I must wake up the sleepers,
And banish the night;
I must paint up the heavens,
Tuck the stars out of sight;
'Dry the dew on the meadows,
Put warmth in the air,
Chase the fog from the lowlands,
Stay gloom everywhere.
No pausing, no resting,
There's work to be done.
It is upward and onward,
Still on,' says the sun.
'Tis the song of our soldiers
Who bravely march on:
'There are souls to be gathered,
There's work to be done:
We must wake up the sleepers,
And teach them to think;
We must paint in full horrors
The breakers of drink;
'Dry the tears of the mourners,
Put the cups out of sight,
And, Eastward and Westward,
Proclaim, 'There is light.'
'Tis the Marseillaise of Progress-
There's work to be done,'
The song of our soldiers,
The song of the sun.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Related quotes
Cursed
And yet you are alone.
You cry to the Heavens
your song of lost Hope
and Sorrows.
Your song of lies.
The sweet words
that you only hope
I will hear.
But I do not listen.
And you see it
in my eyes.
The glitter of Indifference.
And you try to steal
it and tuck it
into your sock.
But it will not work for you.
I will not work for you.
It is not inside you
and you will always
have the curse
of Compassion.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Work - the cycle
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
This cycle keeps on and on
As the time it takes is so long
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
This cycle don’t seem at all to end
All your life in work you seem to spend
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You start to see your life is slipping away
As people no longer around you stay
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
I’m surprised now I’m even getting time to eat
It would be bliss to stop rest my feet
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You doing so many hours you feel ill
And you keep doing the cycle still
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
People bosses customers just keep adding more
You start to long for sleep and to snore
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
Something drastic happens the cycle breaks
And that all that it really takes
Wake work home eat sleep no more., ….
Listening To A Child Singing
another innocence
preaches
In a sweet song
From tight lips
A song of love
She barely knows
perhaps
Only has the feel of
A world new to her eyes
Such a song
such fantasy
Good for children
Shall cure a little of this
Big wound that
keeps rotting
In poisonous odors
Such pains
that keep pinning
Hearts that curse
almost
Learning all
blasting blasphemy
Such song for us
all living
Every breakfast time
We dread to remember
we
Who are dumped
in a damp
Loveless locomotion
I hear her sing
to a world
That I already
misunderstood
My tired eyes are wanting
of escape-dreams
My dirty feet shiver
for these rough
Foundations
Ah, sweet song yet
only a child-song
Who can stop such
a short swing to eternity?
And forget
everything
everything
everything
… We can do noting for her
and for her song
we can do nothing too
so we just listen
and go back to our
work
work
work
and
work again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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115
listening to a child singing
another innocence
preaches
In a sweet song
From tight lips
A song of love
She barely knows
perhaps
Only has the feel of
A world new to her eyes
Such a song
such fantasy
Good for children
Shall cure a little of this
Big wound that
keeps rotting
In poisonous odors
Such pains
that keep pinning
Hearts that curse
almost
Learning all
blasting blasphemy
Such song for us
all living
Every breakfast time
We dread to remember
we
Who are dumped
in a damp
Loveless locomotion
I hear her sing
to a world
That I already
misunderstood
My tired eyes are wanting
of escape-dreams
My dirty feet shiver
for these rough
Foundations
Ah, sweet song yet
only a child-song
Who can stop such
a short swing to eternity?
And forget
everything
everything
everything
… We can do noting for her
and for her song
we can do nothing too
so we just listen
and go back to our
work
work
work
and
work again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More
I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.
Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:
I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
and everybody swears she's the brains behind Pa
She's sixty-eight, but claim's she's twenty-four
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I try so hard to be just who I am
but everybody wants you to be just like them
They say 'see, while you're playing I get bored'? ?
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
6/26/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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A Poem For My Beloved
i will sing a song
for you
a sweet song
more like
a whisper
from my soul
for you
my beloved
it is a song
from my heart
filled with
so much
love
it is a song
of smooth words
like a chinese
porcelain
a song of joy
more of bliss
that early
this morning
you wake me
up from such
a stupor
it is a song
about you loving me
even if i have
forgotten you
sometimes
it is a song of praise
and worship
because you my
beloved is always
My God
alleluia! alleluia!
I bow to God
i am his servant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Work All Day
(myles goodwyn)
Published by summerlea music, ltd. - bmi
Set yourself in the right direction, now what you gonna do
You hear me smartly callin, laughin, I know you
And if you find the moods confusin, now dont you go astray
And in the mornin, you wake up laughin, what you gonna do
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
Its five in the morning, I feel like callin you, somethins on the way
Im feelin lazy, it still sounds crazy, it happens every day
But if I find the right direction, Ill know just what to do
And in the morning, I wake up laughin, what you gonna do
In my confession, I feel myself needin you
And if I can see you, Ill give all my love to you
I feel my light shinin, feel myself callin you
And now I can see you, I touch you, I feel you, ooh yeah
Bring me up, bring me down
Its five in the morning, I feel like calling you
Bring me up, bring me down
Its five in the morning, I feel like calling you
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
Work all day, work all night, yeah yeah
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just A Song
Oh, to get ahead in this world
Takes a lot of kind words
The ruthless damning actions
And I hope, I never have to hurt you
Though I gladly will do
My friend
And I'll be reading in the kitchen
Sipping lazy cups of tea
I won't be brooding in my bedroom
With the shutters down on me
And this song is not cathartic
Because I've done nothing wrong
It's just a song
It's just a song
Oh, you see the more you're trying
The more I know you're lying
The more I start to hate the sight of you
Tell me what would you do?
Pulled by both arms, nearly torn in two
I'll be reading in the kitchen
Sipping lazy cups of tea
I won't be brooding in my bedroom
With the covers over me
And this song is not cathartic
Because I've done nothing wrong
It's just a song
It's just a song
And I'll be reading in the kitchen
Sipping lazy cups of tea
I won't be brooding in my bedroom
With the shutters down on me
And this song is not cathartic
Because I've done nothing wrong
It's just a song
It's just a song
It's just a song
It's just a song
song performed by by Ordinary Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the World
such a wonderful song
song of life
song of death
wedding song
famine song
happy song
sad song
love song
all-american song
bullshit song
druggie song
girls' song
sweet song
crazy song
MY song
poem by Rachel Stoddard
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Energy in Tune
The mind and heart work together
To create the words of our lives
Energy we feel in the air
Living in synchronicity
With the energies around
To create the words of our lives
One day you wake up and your mind is blank
The energy has faded
And the feeling has disappeared
When the energies stop coming to you
and stop working in tune with your mind
But your mind and heart work together
can create the energy thats gone
when you've been exercising them
your mind and heart work together
To create this natural music
but when you stop the song thats inside
and start using templates
you begin to paint by number
(written in STUDY HALL on 8-31-06)
poem by Electric Tripp
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To Touch The Sky
I am a kite
I can go everywhere site by site
My work is to fly
To touch the sky
I am in so many colors
As you can see the sky with flying flowers
I don't want to hide
I can fly everywhere side by side
I can fly in the day light
So everyone can see me with sight
I have no sense at all
I have no fence at all
But still my work is to fly
Birds are singing a song in the sky
My work is to fly
To touch the sky
I'm Singing
I’m Singing…
I’m Singing a New Song…
Deep Inside my Heart…
It’s a Song…that is different from any other song I have sung before…
It is a Song of…
A Song of Hope,
A Song of Love,
A Song of Fate,
A Song of Peace,
A Song of Friendship,
A Song of Family,
A Song of Life,
A Song of Healing,
A Song of Strength,
A Song of Courage,
A Song of Light,
A Song of Flight…
My Heart is beginning to Soar…
I’m finally starting to Fly…
I’m Singing…
poem by Bleeding Heart
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Melancholy Song
-believing that humans are made in the image of God
has its implications;
living life here, while looking There
brings about the most precarious, melancholy situations-
There's a sad song singing
In the soul of the wind,
And yet a joyful wind blowing
Through every soul's song.
It never stays
And it never goes,
Calling our hearts onward
To wherever it flows.
It's a song of sadness
And of good cheer,
A song of great warmth
And no small fear.
The song of the masses
And the song of one,
The sound of breaking darkness in the night
And the music of the rising sun.
It's the melancholy in me
And great joy,
It's the deep desire to stay
And yet homeward go.
I know this song
And the tears it brings,
I hear this song
Within my heart, where it sings.
It leaves me lonely
But, never alone,
For it's ever with me
Singing of a place, called Home.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Girls at Home
When the daylight fades on the tented field,
And the campfire cheerfully burns,
Then the Soldier's thought, like a carrier dove,
To his own love home returns;
Like a carrier dove -- a carrier dove,
And gleams beyond the foam,
So a light springs up in the Soldier's heart,
As he thinks of the Girls at Home.
When the shadows dance on the canvas walls,
And the camp with melody rings,
'Tis the good old song of the Stars and Stripes,
That the fireside circle sings;
Of the Stars and Stripes -- the Stars and Stripes --
For love of which they roam;
But the final song and the sweetest one,
Is the song of the Girls at Home.
Now the silver rays of a setting moon,
Thru' the lofty sycamores creep,
And the fires burn low, and the sentries watch
O'er the arm-ed host a-sleep;
And the sentries watch -- the sentries watch --
Till morning gilds the dome;
Till the rattling drum shall the sleepers rouse
From the dream of the Girls at Home.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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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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Symbols Of A Song
The strength of knowledge and manipulation of words are powerful.
The rhythm of music and the sense of sound are controlling.
When these elements are merged, they form a song.
Two extremes in one mind-blasting theme.
A song is never to be underestimated.
It is symbolic of many aspects of life.
Have you ever tried studying work, hours upon hours;
And forget everything on the day of the exam.
But if you have heard a song at least three times,
You will find that you have memorised almost half of it.
Perhaps if you put your work into song,
It is guaranteed that you will pass any exam.
A song is never to be underestimated.
It is symbolic of many aspects of life.
A song can tap into your emotions;
It can change your mood to positive or negative.
It can influence the words you say and the choices you make.
There is always a message being carried.
Whether it makes the fullest of understanding,
Or if it makes no sense at all.
A song is never to be underestimated.
It is symbolic of many aspects of life.
A song can encourage others to sing along or to dance.
It can boost up worship to God.
It can sooth then motivate others to be cheerful.
It can entertain people and draw them to dance.
This is persuaded by commands in a song,
Or just those soothing music vibes makes you want to move.
A song is never to be underestimated.
It is symbolic of many aspects of life.
poem by SarahLee Emilaire
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Escape Song
there is no escaping song
there is only the trap song
when were you brought here?
you do not really know, you were out of your mind
when you find yourself sleeping on that hammock
you were helpless and then you gave the first cry
and they do not like it
you grow to their wishes
and work so hard to please them
all hours are spent on a useful endeavor
nothing is spared
your bones are about to crack
until one day
you look for the escape song
and there is not any
not one
there is only the trap song with such
a melody
telling you, stay, stay, the time may come
and it is the right time
and then you go on that graceful exit.
nothing shameful, just the dignity that you deserve.
wait, soon it will be given to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Stevedores
We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong,
We are given the hardest work of the war, and the hours are long.
We handle the heavy boxes, and shovel the dirty coal;
While soldiers and sailors work in the light, we burrow below like a mole.
But somebody has to do this work, or the soldiers could not fight!
And whatever work is given a man, is good if he does it right.
We are the army stevedores, and we are volunteers.
We did not wait for the draft to come, to put aside our fears;
We flung them away on the winds of fate, at the very first call of our land,
And each of us offered a willing heart and the strength of a brawny hand.
We are the army stevedores, and work as we must and may,
The cross of honour will never be ours to proudly wear away.
But the men at the Front could never be there,
And the battles could not be won,
If the stevedores stopped in their dull routine
And left their work undone.
Somebody has to do this work, be glad that it isn't you!
We are the army stevedores-give us our due!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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