En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Arthritic Johnny

He's worked for bosses all of his working life poor Johnny
And now he walks with the aid of walking cane
His fingers bent and knobby from arthritis
And he feels stiff all over from work strain.

From his drainer job he took early retirement
Four years ago when he was sixty one
He could not carry on due to arthritis
Magnified by the hard labouring he had done.

Those who grew wealthy out of his exertions
Ignore him now when they meet on the street
He's made life better for their sons and daughters
Yet he's a stranger to them when they meet.

Perhaps they feel that they don't owe him any
That's for services rendered to them he's been paid
But of course they won't admit to the vast fortunes
Out of him and others like him they have made.

To afford him any sort of recognition
Would be admitting to him that they owe
So every time they see arthritic Johnny
He's one of those that they don't pretend to know.

All his working years he's laboured for his bosses
And he has work stiffnes to show for his gain
And his hands and legs are paining from arthritis
And he walks around with the aid of walking cane

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Workaholic

He retired from his job on his sixty fifth birthday
But he did not enjoy the work free life
And he died just nine months into his retirement
To be mourned by his family and his wife.

It has been said he was a workaholic
And that he was one who worked as hard as two
And he felt bored without a job to go to
And he pined away as many like him do.

His problem was he did not have a hobby
And a working life the life he loved and knew
A good man for his wife and family and his Country
But good men just like bad men must die too.

For forty seven years he worked for the same employers
And to the end to his bosses was true
His parting gift from them a wrist watch and box of chocolates
And a well done and a shake hands and thank you.

He must have been one who truly liked his bosses
To have worked for them for forty seven years
His last day on the job it was his saddest
And as he left he fought to choke the tears.

His problem was that he did not have a hobby
And he only lived for each working day
And when he left the workforce in his sixties
He fell into ill health and pined away.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Ask Me About It

You ask me about it I have wondered why
So many never know of material success though hard they do try
They work hard and grow old and fade out and die
Is the theory of hard work based on success something based on a lie.

The prime years of life quickly do tick away
They work hard to raise their children then grow old and gray
The woman on average by a few years does outlive her man
Three score and ten years the average human life span.

So many work hard just for survival pay
And the gap between the haves and have nots gets wider every day
And so many hungry for each millionaire
It is a rat race in the big World out there.

You ask me why some people struggle through life
The poor working man and his poor working wife
On their meagre incomes their family must survive
On the sweat of the workers the bosses do thrive.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet: Boss’ Day (Oct.16)

Some bosses do not know what fairness is!
Some bosses want to be corrupt in life;
Some bosses work endlessly without bliss;
Some bosses cut their employees like knife!

Some bosses do not want to be honest;
Some bosses talk but do opposite things;
Some bosses do not want workers to rest;
Some bosses live a lazy life like kings!

Good bosses are good administrators;
Good bosses think of employees’ welfare;
Good bosses are not liars / orators;
Good bosses serve their employees and share.

What sort of boss do you prefer to be?
A boss must live a life exemplary!

Dedicated to all bosses world-o'er
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-22-2007

poem by John Celes
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There Is More To Life Than Hard Work

I can't say my life's been a great life that I've been there and I've done that
But I worked in pipe laying crew for Michael Kelleher in Buninyong near Ballarat
And I worked in the late eighties for a firm called C.D.L.
Jack hammering in the heat of Summer when the days were hot as hell.

101 Collins Street Melbourne I remember that address
Not that I enjoyed the work there I remember none the less
Up each morning at five thirty then to work on tram I'd go
And left that building site each evening covered in dust head to toe.

Another four years as tree clearer up by powerlines clearing trees
Operating a cherry picker for such you don't need degrees
For a Travel tower company a growing concern managed by a greedy lot
They still owe me two weeks wages something I have not forgot.

Up working mornings at five thirty between work and travel a twelve hour day
Whilst my so called bosses made their millions I took home bare living pay
Now I take it nice and easy and I'm well off now as I was then
If your bosses make their millions for you there can't be a win

I worked as tree feller in Ireland far away and long ago
In the high woods by the mountains where the peaks wear hats of snow
Most Winter days were wet and chilly up to April not much sunshine
Only sound the cold wind soughing in the larch and spruce and pine.

'Hard work never did anybody harm' to coin that phrase it took a fool
Hard work your life's bound to shorten you can overwork a mule
Hard working Joe is dead at fifty, Pete on welfare living on
Pete five years older and quite healthy he's still here and Joe is gone.

Maybe I've drudged for a few years but I'm not proud of that at all
And if my life has got one highlight such as now I can't recall
And if one tell me how hard he work I tell him my watch is slow
And I'm late for an appointment 'see you later got to go'.

'Ned the basher' at his local like to sing his praises loud
And boast of the hard work he's done to an uninterested crowd,
He's proud to show his work callouses he must have an empty life
But he never once did mention how he often beats his wife

There is more to life than hard work, work to live but not to die
And if you labour hard poor fellow life you never can enjoy
If your boss is making millions and you take home bare living pay
Maybe you should have a re-think and perhaps give the job away.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Kiwi Dave

For forty five years I've been working and I'm just an unfettered slave
And I have gray hairs to show for it I am quoting Kiwi Dave
Five years to go to retirement I was sixty last birthday
And ever since I've started working it's been uphill all the way.

My ex wife said that I was a drinker that I was too fond of the booze
That was her excuse for leaving she said I was born to lose
But I take it in moderation after work three or four beers
And I've been a slave for her and for my children for close to if not twenty years.

Fifteen years ago she left me and she went to live with younger bloke
She got more than half my assets for years to her haven't spoke
She turned my son and daughter against me and my six grandchildren I don't see
And I will spend my usual Christmas on my own watching T.V.

Kiwi Dave is a good person though just a little soured by life
And things for him would have been better had he had a faithful wife
'A woman she can make or break you' with that who could disagree
Dave could see the truth in those words for who would know better than he? .

For forty five years he's been working the hard worker Kiwi
Dave
And for his ex wife and his children for years he has been a slave
He looks older far than sixty the hard life has made him gray
Five more years left till retirement it's been uphill all the way.

poem by Francis Duggan
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For Many

For many life is an uphill battle the years have brought gray to your hair
And your face that has known many Seasons wears the lines of worry and care
The boys and girls you went to school with like you have known a better day
And old father time keeps on ticking and ticking and ticking away.

For many life is never easy and some do look old for their years
Too young for an early retirement they age in their phobias and fears
They worry about money matters and they work hard just for to get by
Their life is a tough uphill journey uphill till the day that they die.

The wealthy they say have their worries money does not guarantee happiness
But their worries would be far greater if they were in a financial mess
Who would not wish to be wealthy and unhappy than to be unhappy and poor
At least if you have heaps of money you do feel financially secure.

For many life is a tough journey it is uphill all of the way
They do not look into the future they only live from day to day
It's a struggle just for to make ends meet to provide for their family
The working poor are not now uncommon they work to live in poverty.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is That All There Is?

'Is this all there is too life? '
I over heard my husband say.
I worked and slaved my life away,
And worked for little pay.

Now I am retired, and working harder then, I ever did before.
Is this all there is?
I thought there would be so much more!

I am lucky if I'll live till I'm old,
All my friends I knew did not!
Is that what we had all worked our lives for,
And what is it we have got?

Cars' not paid for, the morgage still due,
Had to take a loan on the house,
For those braces for son Drew.

I am walking a bit much slower,
My legs and feet have pain.
How much longer do I have too work,
I was'nt looking at doing this again!

Retirement is not as our Fathers' knew,
When they retired, and sailed the oceans blue!

Mom and Dad got a ticket and traveled,
They enjoyed those Golden Years,
Only enjoyed and known by few!

Is this all there is?
Because I wanted to enjoy my end years with you,
I guess I'll make the best of what we've got,
You have me, and I'm blessed to have you!

poem by Linda Winchell
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Katie Mae

Well you know katie mae is a good girl
Folks say she dont run around at night
I made a mistake and she dont run around at night
Yes, you can bet your last dollar katie mae will treat you right.
Well some folks say she must be a cadillac
But I say she got to be a t-model ford
Yes she got the shape all right, but she cant carry no heavy load.
And she walks this life
Her daddy got oil wells in his backyard
Every time she got to working that woman she never has to work too hard.
I say bye-bye poor katie mae
These are the last words I got to say
Cause if I dont meet you tomorrow
Ill get you early in the next day.

song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Day

Well Im hiding my eyes from the morning sun
And I keep on working till the work is all done
But a voice in my head keeps ticking away
As the sweats hosed down from yet another day
Well he works hard
And he lives hard
And he breaks his back without nothing to gain
While the boss man sits around and drinks champagne
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Well Im peeling the blisters off my working hand
Is that what it takes to make you understand?
That its something you read, not something you meant
To be slaving away without a shred of integrity
He worked hard
And he lived hard
And he broke his back without nothing to say
While the man in control was just laughing away
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Was it something you read?
Was it something you meant?
Was it something you said?
Or was it heaven sent?
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision

song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Arthritis Prevention, Control and Cure Act of 2005 is bipartisan legislation directing funding and promoting education and research toward the goal of preventing, treating and curing arthritis.

quote by Charles W. Pickering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Factory

Early in the morning factory whistle blows,
Man rises from bed and puts on his clothes,
Man takes his lunch, walks out in the morning light,
Its the working, the working, just the working life.
Through the mansions of fear, through the mansions of pain,
I see my daddy walking through them factory gates in the rain,
Factory takes his hearing, factory gives him life,
The working, the working, just the working life.
End of the day, factory whistle cries,
Men walk through these gates with death in their eyes.
And you just better believe, boy, somebodys gonna get hurt tonight,
Its the working, the working, just the working life.

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work To Do!

i came from a generation
that worked.... was born to
work, daylight to dawn,
for everything we had.
we grew our own food, we
cut firewood, we worked
with our hands.
we were taught to work...
we built houses, bridges,
paved roads... worked on
farms, worked in sawmills,
worked in factories...
whatever it took for food
and shelter...
and if a neighbor got hurt,
or sick, and couldnt work...
we helped him and his family
till he could.

those of us left who can work
are still working, a lot of us are
out of work, and cant find work!

and so the world has changed...
it seems like a lot of people
spend more time avoiding work
than working... a lot of people
look for the easy way out...are
dependent on society...
still a lot of good and willing people
just need help.

they call this progress...based
on technology, and looking out for
number one. seperated, almost islands...
greed has taken the place of the bent back!

so when it all falls apart, and that will
be soon, what happens? who knows how
to survive? who has the backbone?

things to think about, and yes...
work to do!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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There Must Be An Easier Way

To earn one's living there must be an easier way
Than working in a menial job for menial pay
You age so fast your hair prematurely gray
And you must work hard till your retirement day.

When you ask the boss for a raise his answer no
For a raise in pay you must have more to show
The unemployed are many and the jobs are few
And there's plenty more to do the job you do.

At 5.30 a m each work day from bed I rise
Before daylight has lit the morning skies
Then long drive to work in smoky old work van
Such is the lot of the common working man.

The chap next door seems better off than I
He does not work yet life he does enjoy
Whilst I'm at work he rest at home in bed
And he doesn't look deprived or underfed

With six year old son and a non working wife
He live an easy and a stress free life
And I've heard it said that he's never worked a day
But good luck to him is all that I can say.

I do not receive or seek sympathy
For there are many far worse off than me
But living life would be a lot more fun
If I did not have to rise before the sun

poem by Francis Duggan
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Work

Work is what we have to do
to put food on the table
we work for years and years
that is until we are unable.
We are asked at school
what we want to be?
I remember telling the teacher
that I want to play football for Coventry.
There's all types of work to do
like in an office or a building site
if your lucky you can do sport
be a Boxer and get paid to fight.
But most of us don't do that
and often we do jobs that we hate
like working in a horrible factory
starting early and finishing late.
But some workers love their jobs
and rarely ever miss a day
they enjoy being there so much
they'd probably work for no pay.
Work is a big part of life
so best do something you like
earn vast amounts of money
buy a flash car instead of a bike.
So be happy wherever you work
no matter what job that may be
but most of us want to retire early
that's why we keep on doing the lottery!

poem by Kevin Halls
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The Blackthorn

The blackthorn was his father's,
a piece of Ireland
that the old man could still get his hands around
even as his hands grew weak,
refused to hold. My father
never knew Ireland;
when he gripped the walking stick
it was something else he was holding on to.
I watched my father
get old; he would stare at his hand
and open and close his fist,
try to fight the arthritis.
By then he had lost the stick,
and he could have used it
to work his grip, to beat
at the hard knot that was tying him up.
When he died he was laid in the ground
only a few feet from his father,
while in Ireland the sturdy blackthorns
were defying that sad land
and bursting with white blossoms.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Louis McKee
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The Work Resistant Man

The knockers pigeon hole him as the work resistant man
And they say he has never worked and that work not in his future plan
And that he's one of those people who is softened from welfare
Just one of the bone lazy his type are everywhere.

But Mrs Blake the old age pensioner with them would not agree
He built her garden fence for her and his services were free
She could not afford to pay him but he said that is okay
And she will tell you men like him are very rare today.

On old John the octogenarian the years now taking toll
He cannot afford to pay for to mow his grass due to circumstances beyond his control
But the so called work resistant man he works for him for free
And John will tell you that there is no greater man than he.

He works for poor aged people who struggle to get by
And he never asks for money he is that sort of a guy
And though to work for wealthy factory boss not in his future plan
He is not what you would call a work resistant man.

poem by Francis Duggan
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You have to work?

Work work work
Work work work
Work work work
The life clock ticks!
Work work work
Heart beat gives the same rhythm?
You breath
You walk
You eat
You sleep
To the same annoying tune!
If you work
You get that shiny colored paper notes
with the portrait of bygone handsome Presidents!
and if you don't work, fired black & white certificate receive by ordinary mail.
No money,
No Honey?

[Ulcers, rheumatoid arthritis, respiratory headaches and rectal complaints are capitalism's accumulated debt of exhausted human tissue.]-A dog's life(quoted from Sheila Rowbotham's 'Woman's consciousness, Man's World)

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Johnny B. Goode

He came from louisiana, close to new orleans
Way back up in the woods up near the evergreens
There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood
Where lived a country boy named johnny b. goode
He never ever learned to read or write so well
But he could play the guitar just like a ringing a bell
Go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Johnny b. goode
He used to carry his guitar in a gunney sack
And sit beneath the trees by the railroad tracks
Engineers would see him sittin' in the shade
Strummin' to the rhythm that the drivers made
And people passing by would stop and say
My my but that little country boy can play
Go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Go johnny go go
Johnny b. goode

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those who work long hours
Feel holly and virtuous
But get arthritis

quote by by Oskar Hansen
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Johnny B. Goode

Deep down in louisianna
Close to new orleans,
Way back up in the woods
Among the evergreens,
There stand a country cabin
Made of clay and wood,
Where lives a young country boy
Named johnny b.goode,
He never ever learned
To read or write a book so well,
But he could play his guitar
Just like a-ringing a bell.
Go go, go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Aah johnny b.goode!
He used to carry his guitar
In a gunny sack,
Sit beneath the trees
By the railroad track.
Oh sitting and a-playing
In the shade,
Drumming to the rhythm
That the drivers made.
People passing by
Used to stop and say:
My oh my,
That country boy can play.
Go go, go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Aah johnny b.goode!
Well his mama told him:
Someday you will be a man.
And you will be the leader
Of a big old band.
Many people coming
From miles around,
To hear you play your music
Till the sun goes down.
Maybe some day
Your name will be in light,
Saying: johnny
B. goode tonight!
Go go, go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Go johnny go go go!
Aah johnny b.goode!

song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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