My Daily Routine In New York
Early in the morning
A rude awakening at the sound
Of the alarm clock...
Trying to steal an extra
Ten minutes of sleep
But it is time to get up,
Time to go to work...
Soap and towel handy,
While in the shower,
Listening to Billy Joel
Or the morning news...
Traffic and weather reports,
While drinking coffee
And smoking a cigarette...
Quickly going through the newspapers
To faithfully read my horoscope...
My everyday routine in New York
Rushing again to go to work...
'Good Morning' intended
For the whole week
Hoping not to miss my train
Avoiding to be reprehended
for being late...
Meeting so many strangers
Just like me
Dragging smiles or sleeping faces
Exhibiting a great deal of effort.
People leering hopefully for attention,
Expecting a suggestion
At the slightest flicker of an eyebrow...
I haven't started my day work
And I want to go back home to sleep...
That is my daily routine in New York...
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
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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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A monologue on 'nothing in particular
Well you know,
It always begins like this
'The day starts'
Half an hour early for me
Clocks set hour an hour early
The day begins
Well morning starts
With a break of sunlight
Flooding through the cracks
In the blinds
In summer it is always much earlier
Than the pre set time on the alarm clock
Which is primed to go off
Half an hour earlier
Inevitably
The light wakes me at sunrise
Which often occurs around five o'clock
Like some cruel trick
I am woken exactly an hour or is it half an hour
Before my alarm clock goes off, half an hour earlier?
Which is set to go off half an hour early
But that never happens in the summer
The lie in ends up a sleep over
In winter this is a different matter again
With no light
So there I am at five in the morning
exactly or, approximately the time
The sun is meant to set
[bar a second or to or maybe a minute
behind or ahead of prediction]
There I am WIDE AWAKE
No lie in
No chance of sleeping
Again
Exept at the WRONG TIME!
Then I recover
Five minutes behind schedule
pull the blind
make a cup of tea
giving myself exactly
thirty minutes
Before drinking it
to get ready for work
Flossing does not happen until
A much later time
There is a ten minute interval
For toast and tea
And tidying away
My watch is set five minutes ahead
Or maybe three minutes
I leave on time
In time for the bus that leaves
Two minutes early
The next one arrives ten minutes late
The driver
Has donated his brain to medical science
Thirty years prior to his death
Give or take a couple of hours or minutes
He slips into a slow coma behind the steering wheel
The world is in slow motion
Catatonia eclipses the traffic
I am now on time
To be late
despite all my carefully timed efforts
Now that was just the beginning of the morning
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Daily
you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid
you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen
you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping
they call it life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Facebooking
had the chance of meeting Kaye
still at the agriculture department
no promotion yet happy
nothing new really except
this meeting
me too, nothing new, except
this conversation
of who what where when
then we stop
as it is time to go
the office closes at five pm
and we have to find
our way home
it will be dark
and there will be dinner with the family
then we watch tv
after being tired we turn it off
sleep
then dream and then we wake up
early the next morning
back to work
such routine such boredom
yet we still like to live more days
this is life perhaps
nothing new except
the meetings of old friends
then back to work again
i know you are bored reading this
precisely, precisely, now you must feel the same too
at least
in this boring poem
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monday Morning Coffee
Most people don't look forward to Monday mornings...
I do.
It's the start of something new...
It's a clean slate
I like my Monday morning ritual
I wake up extra early.
Well,
It's early for me.
I get ready for work.
Hopeful,
That it will be a pretty good week.
I go to my favorite doughnut shop.
It really is owned by a mom and a pop...
I walk in at 6: 30
Two smiling faces greet me
She always says a 'good morning'
And,
He's either whistling or singing to the doughnuts...
Maybe that's why they're so extra sweet
An extra tasty treat.
I don't even have to ask anymore
An extra large coffee waits for me
And a
Perfect
Cloud
Melt in your mouth
Beautiful in it's simplicity
Glazed Doughnut
Friendly faces and a delicious treat
It's a great way for me to start my week..
On the corner of Chino Ave and Peyton Street
My Monday morning
Look forward to it treat.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Eight Minutes To One
In the early hours the radio alarm
went off at eight minutes to one
despite me setting it earlier for six
and checking that it was on.
Now wide awake I rechecked the setting;
and I had definitely made no mistake.
I put it down to an electrical malfunction
and fell asleep until it was time to wake.
I didn’t think any more about the alarm
and continued with my normal day.
The alarm was already set for six o’clock
so I went to bed in the usual way.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off
exactly the same time as the previous night.
Again I checked on my alarm settings
and again everything was set right.
This time I unplugged the whole radio unit
and recalibrated the time and alarm.
I was now happy that all would be okay
and fell asleep relaxed and calm.
The following night I went to bed as usual
and slept until eight minutes to one.
The cursed radio alarm went off again,
so this radio’s days were done.
The next day I bought an electrical travel clock
and tried out the alarm there and then.
It worked like a charm and I was very pleased,
so that night I went to bed at ten.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off again
and I could hardly believe this to be true.
I was faced with a problem that had to be sorted,
and a mechanical clock should do.
I bought a large brass, twin belled wind up clock;
set the alarm and several times tried it out.
That night I retired expecting a good night’s sleep,
with no electrics to care about.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off,
and I threw the clock against the wall.
I was now convinced something supernatural
was causing the earlier morning call.
Over the next few days I tried several clocks
and the alarms went off the same.
In the end I didn’t have a clock in the room,
and I never will again.
poem by Orlando Belo
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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., ….
It Is Always Difficult To Begin The Week
IT IS ALWAYS DIFFICULT TO BEGIN THE WEEK
It is always difficult to begin the week
One's body is lost in a previous sleep
One's mind is still held down and back
Into resting -
The world is bleak
It is empty and difficult
I am empty inside
I have nothing to do
I have too much to do-
Still I must begin
I will do the usual routine assignments
Slowly I will get back into the motion and mind of my work
I am already trying now-
Even a small effort should bring forth suggestions for further effort
It will take time
Slowly I will find the way
From task to task
Into the real work -
Somehow the week will begin again
It always does-
Though now I am still slow and not there yet
I feel as if in writing this
I have somehow already begun to work again-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sleepless In Portsmouth
Two o’clock in the morning,
four hours before I go to work
and I cannot sleep.
My mind is filled with images
that should not really be there.
We are standing in an airport my wife and I
in a different country
looking for faces I hope I might recognise.
There are people all around us,
but those we are looking for
they are not there.
My wife is getting panicky.
We are strangers in a strange land.
For a month, I have had no contact
with those whom we are to meet.
I keep thinking of my friends
and wondering
have they forgotten me?
It is just a dream
I hope that will not turn into reality.
Still I am not tired
no matter what I do.
I close my eyes again,
but still no sleep comes.
Even if I can fall asleep,
the desertion dream comes again.
Nothing wants to make it go away.
Here I sit cigarette in one hand
and a cup of coffee in the other,
sleepless in Portsmouth.
Anxious.
Hoping what I am dreaming
isn’t going to come true.
Excitement some might call it,
but dread is my word for it.
The loss of communication
points to its possibility.
Is what I am dreaming a warning
of my future reality?
My life seems in tatters
and there is nothing I can do.
I am left in a limbo
with so much unsaid
and my torment goes on and on.
While all the time I am saying to myself,
come on David get back to bed.
How can I?
When all I see is nothing
at the other end waiting for me.
I am now beginning to wonder
if this was all a mistake
and what will be waiting for us
when we touch down
after nine and a half hours in the air.
All I can do is pray is someone
will say something to ease the anxiety I am feeling.
In the mean time, I will remain
sleepless in Portsmouth.
15 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Early Works - Day In The Life Of A Working Man
Every morning I’m up at seven
eat the breakfast I’ve been makin’,
it might smell like dried wood,
but it tastes mighty good.
By then the postman comes to call
another bill through the letterbox does fall.
It is no good tearing it in two;
they’ll only send a reminder through.
Everyday at eight I clock in,
that’s when my daily work begins.
Lifting boxes up and down
and shifting things round an round.
Ten o’clock and tea break arrives,
time for a smoke and look alive.
Ten fifteen the whistle goes again
to let us know its time to begin.
Twelve thirty to the café across the road
to sit down and unburden your load,
to eat food that looks so fine,
but tastes like sludge from the river Tyne.
Your hours nearly up,
then its back again to work.
From here on its slogging it out
until home going time at five o’clock
Reaching home, you feel half-dead
so you go upstairs to bed.
Under the covers to sleep
only to find yourself counting sheep.
Tomorrow it starts all over again,
another day in the life of a working man.
Date Written Unknown
poem by David Harris
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On This Very Morning
On this very morning
I can justify being late
I was locked in traffic
And I couldn't find any holes
I was smiling at the car right next to me
We understood each others pain
But neither of us were moving
On this very morning
I was drinking coffee
With the shine of a million red lights
And the sound of a thousand horns
On this very morning
I understood why I was single
As I looked in the car in front of me
The argument was intense
On this very morning
I was late
I'm sorry
Good-bye
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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Good Morning, Good Morning
Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in
Nothing to say but what a day how's your boy been
Nothing to do it's up to you
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
Going to work don't want to go feeling low down
Heading for home you start to roam then you're in town
Everybody knows there's nothing doing
Everything is closed it's like a ruin
Everyone you see is half asleep.
And you're on your own you're in the street
Good morning, good morning...
After a while you start to smile now you feel cool.
Then you decide to take a walk by the old school.
Nothing has changed it's still the same
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
People running round it's five o'clock.
Everywhere in town is getting dark.
Everyone you see is full of life.
It's time for tea and meet the wife.
Somebody needs to know the time, glad that i'm here.
Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you're in gear.
Go to a show you hope she goes.
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work To Make It Work
(r palmer)
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Don't confine your dreams to bed
You'll get scared if you get lazy
If you can't take enough to satisfy yourself
Then you'll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it don't come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that i'll try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
It's all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you can't deal with
Ain't no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you don't succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work To-Day
Youth's the time; Youth's the season!
Learn and labor while you may,
Hear the voice of age and reason,-
Work to-day.
Labor hard in morning's prime,
Hasten on without delay,
Make the most of early time-
Work to-day.
Up betimes, nor let the sun
Find you sleeping or at play,
Sleep enough when life is done-
Work to-day.
Cull the sweets from ev'ry flower,
Seize the moments while you may,
Nor idly pass one sunny hour-
Work to-day.
poem by James McCauley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Walking Dead
I don’t sleep too well anymore.
I’m usually awake in the morning by 4: 00
I look at the clock and say “Oh no! ”
Should I stay in bed and lie awake
or start my day early with a coffee break?
I’m ready for a nap in the morning by 10: 00.
But then I’d have to start my day all over again.
I’m not a good napper. I hear every sound.
I’m like a ball of string that’s tightly wound
but coming loose at the end.
Now REM sleep, what’s that about?
That’s something I think I’ve done without
for too darn long. It’s a female woe.
A man hits the pillow and off he’ll go.
He’s asleep before you can say goodnight.
It’s obvious it gets worse the older I get.
There’s a clock in my head that must be set
with an alarm that goes off at 4: 00 in the morn.
I wish I could sleep like when I was born.
But that’s not gonna happen soon.
So here I am deprived of sleep.
I’ve tried everything, even counting sheep
but the darn fleecy things keep on comin’
and in my head I hear a drummin’
sayin, ” get up, get up, and get out of bed.
Most times I feel like the walking dead.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Save the Zzzs, for my friend who cannot sleep tonight
Skip the nap
Back to the womb
make your room
comfortable
make it dark and
quiet
make an amniotic
temperature
remember
when mother
was pregnant of
you and father
was putting his
ear
listening how
you kick
take a deep breath
wear your warmer
pink pajamas
keep an extra
blanket
on this cold and
damp night
keep your laptop
away
from bed
this bed
is only for sleep
(and sex
if you have
your partner
with you)
worry time
is daytime
tonight
is sleep time
do not
distract your
eyes
with the problems
of the DAY.
make your routine
same night
same sleep time
a nightime of relaxation
meditate
relax your muscles
it is sleep time
now
and do not forget
Work out
regularly
i tell you
tonight
will be your soundest sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On A Seven-Day Diary
Oh I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and talked and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and watched a show and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate steak and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and fucked and went to sleep.
Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!
Love must be the reason for the week!
We went shopping! I saw clouds!
The children explained everything!
I could talk about the main thing!
What did I drink on Saturday night
that lost the first, best half of Sunday?
The last half wasn't worth this 'word.'
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and went to sleep,
refreshed but tired by the weekend.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Work To Make It Work 99
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve it
Push it along
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy
Ah push
Work work work to make it work push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Dont confine your dreams to bed
Youll get scared if you get lazy
If you cant take enough to satisfy yourself
Then youll go crazy
Wont do no good thinking
You got to do it
So it dont come easy the first time
Practice makes perfect, you know that Ill try hard
Use it or lose it
You got to put your heart and soul into it
Yeaheheh
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Its all there for you to feel it
Help your self to one that you cant deal with
Aint no way that you could steal it
You misunderstand if you get greedy forget wishful thinking
You can do it
You just need a push to make a start
If you dont succeed the first time
Try and try again
Use it or lose it
You got to put your back into it
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to move it
Push it along
Work work work to make it work
Push it along
Work work work if you want to improve
Work work work to m
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bussing to Work
Sitting on a boring bus to work,
I dream and stare and read,
grey morning light suffuses us,
we users of this beast
Stops come and go, take people on,
and deposits those who leave.
For destinations unknown,
and of no interest, to me.
Work lies ahead, sleep stays behind,
My missed compatriot.
And you are on your bus to work,
Missed more yet than that.
You sit there in your grey lit suit,
I hope you think of me
Minutes away, so close behind,
I left you on our stop.
Waking up in your arms, so warm,
Still all I want to feel
In mornings cold and busy days,
I think of you and me.
How after this long day of work,
We’ll share togetherness and then
Tomorrow morning after showering
I’ll leave you at the stop again.
poem by Kevin Linnekamp
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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