Come to Work
Leisure-lovers, looking for
Exotic reasons to explore
The mystery of recent past
Strap on your watches, strive
To look a little nine-to-five
And be Industrial at last
Don’t look as if you’d shirk
Our next activity: To Work-
A game I’m sure you’ll grasp
Get into working rhythm, find
Dancing to The Daily Grind
The ultimate in hip-hop blast
Toss off your miniscule computers
Mingle with these old commuters
Join them in their ancient task
Find bliss – a new emphatic thrill
Behind this old pneumatic drill
And give it your ghetto blast
The natives of this odd time-spot
Are leisure-seeker-friendly, not
All against lane-living Fast
They..their stress in Union
Strikes – a kind blest communion
Under Holy Mentor, Marx.
If it’s your quirk then please frolic
In sun of work, be workaholic
Drink from it labour flask
Well, work-fantasists, a pleasure
It has been to guide your leisure
I must sleep now - kavlast!
poem by John a'Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Leisure
(andy partridge)
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
As you see,
Science once again robs us of our jobs.
Theyve put a micro-chip in my place,
I hide behind screen of aggression nowadays,
Its just a way of saving some face.
So now Im permanently drunk,
Like the rest of the race with,
Leisure.
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
I spend all day,
And all my allowance on t.v. games.
Amusement heaven at the flick of a switch.
Instead of a lathe I busy my fingers nowadays,
By scoring goals with the gentlest twitch.
Ive forgotten how to use my legs to invade the pitch.
Leisure
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
They had retired me fore I left school,
(just saw no point in the standing in line)
So I spend lots of time lounging at home,
(why not come in cos the carpet is fine)
What a waste of breath it is,
Searching for the jobs that dont exist.
So now Im permanently drunk,
Like the rest of the race with,
Leisure.
If you think Im clowning,
I assure you that Im drowning here in,
Leisure
They taught me how to work,
But they cant teach me how to shirk correctly.
Lazybones, looking through the sun
Howd you ever expect to find your days work ...?
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workaholic
R- ray a- anita
Ok, let's go to work!
The workaholic!
The workaholic!
R: the workaholic he works every day
24 hours, no time to play
He won't quit; he's addicted to work
I think he's going out like a jerk
Working, working, what can you do?
See the light from a different point of view!
Ready in the morning for the bell to chime
I think he's glad it's working time!
The workaholic!
A: work your body, baby work your soul!
Keep on workin' workin' to the bone!
Work your body, baby, work your soul
I'm a workaholic when i'm on the floor!
The workaholic!
R: first like a jerk, why you always work?
Messing up your mind with that paperwork?
The only thing is to break ball
Is working, yo, and that's all
They do it for money, but he for fun
He won't get away until the job is done
For drinkin' drinkin' like an alcoholic
The guy is just a workaholic!
The workaholic!
A: work your body, baby work your soul!
Keep on workin' workin' to the bone!
Work your body, baby, work your soul
I'm a workaholic when i'm on the floor!
The workaholic!
The workaholic!
The workaholic!
song performed by by 2 Unlimited
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More About People
When people aren't asking questions
They're making suggestions
And when they're not doing one of those
They're either looking over your shoulder or stepping on your toes
And then as if that weren't enough to annoy you
They employ you.
Anybody at leisure
Incurs everybody's displeasure.
It seems to be very irking
To people at work to see other people not working,
So they tell you that work is wonderful medicine,
Just look at Firestone and Ford and Edison,
And they lecture you till they're out of breath or something
And then if you don't succumb they starve you to death or something.
All of which results in a nasty quirk:
That if you don't want to work you have to work to earn enough money so that you won't have to work.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Wave Energy Pebble Peace Ripples Rage Tsunami
Mega earth cities
sleep in weather week
urgent energy circles
timed to clock work
leisure life pleasure
rise fall energy rhythms
beehive energy ant
energy hot
sun slow before rain fast
human industrious ants
also time arrival departure
weekend rhythm blast
city buildings streets
restaurants clubs
work places waiting
waiting for a jolt
at earth dawn jump start
catalyst filming
traffic flow night
glow amber sparse late
night sleek animals gliding
all intent
upon rush or slow time mist
shape wave intensity surviving
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Seconds Of Pleasure
You say you dont desire me,
Shes only a hired hand,
Now you are tired of me.
Expensive care is meaningless,
Feeling nothing and caring less.
Cut off at the pass,
She knows where you were headed,
She wants double-time or a temporary wedding.
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she? with forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.
I thought I knew you too well,
Now I find the man is a mystery,
And the promises you made
Are really only ancient history.
Everyday goes by without a hitch,
You say the urge becomes an itch.
You say that Im no go for you, thats rich,
Or am I being bitchy?
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.
And the hands on the clock move so precisley,
You say you only kissed her once or twice.
You didnt do it for love, you didnt even do it with stealth.
I cant help you now,
I cant help myself.
Commited to life and then commuted to the outskirts.
I was living for thirty minutes at a time
With a break in the middle for adverts.
You treat me like a piece of human furniture.
You say when? you sad soul,
If you can look all that you like,
But I wont let you touch and poke.
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she ? forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Daily Act of Presence
Eight hours at work, commuting sometimes two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
its p[l]ace, weak celebration paid in kind,
traced race to waste bereft, much left to do.
Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out of as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.
Three hours of leisure, then, without ado,
day's drive departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck luck's trend bends in the end to Death
whose lock mocks motto 'to thyself be true! '
Three hours for chat, sex, net or television,
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision.
16 May 2001 revised 18 December 2008
robi03_0936_robi03_0000 SXX_EJZ
for previous version see below
The Daily Act of Presence
Eight hours at work, in travel up to two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
and celebrated weakly, paid in kind, -
so much to waste, so little left to do.
Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.
Three hours leisure, then, without ado,
the day departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck the trend bends in the end to Death -
what sense retains 'unto thyself be true'?
Three hours for music, films or television –
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Leisure in its activity is work. The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Work! Work! And Reap!
Work! Work! Work! And Reap!
Work! Work! Work! And Sleep!
Everyday most of we work
Some of us love to work
Some of us just want to rock
Some of us want to lie on a beach or take a walk
If we had our way, we could spend all day and talk
But work we all must
Or our lifestyles will go bust!
We may then have to readjust
To unacceptable standards of living in disgust
Work! Work! Work! And Reap!
Work! Work! Work! And Sleep!
We all have different professions
Some of us have silent confessions
We fancy someone at work with an obsession
Work is then fun with a passion until confusion
Work! Work! Work! And Reap!
Work! Work! Work! And Sleep!
There are jobs that are monotonous
The atmosphere is negatively outrageous
Nothing in the air signifies hilarious
Every single person is always very serious
Sometimes played at work
Is the kind of politics
That makes one quite sick
This is where the strong kick
Kick hardest the backside of the weak
But work we all must
Or our lifestyles will go bust!
As we find ourselves lost
And then try hard to readjust
So do we swallow?
Or is fighting back shallow
Will it leave in your pocket a dent that is hollow?
Or produce a scene labeled horror
Enough to leave you in tears of sorrow
I don't have all the answers
I know work is a living cancer
People at work ought to be a little nicer
Everyone needs to make a living including a dancer!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Leisure Suit Serenade
Wearin old t-shirts and grubby jeans
People say I look kinda odd
Well, Im never accepted in the social set
cause they say that Im a clod
But once in a while, I go to my closet
And I put on something mod
And when I step out in my leisure suit
People stand up and applaud
Leisure suit serenade
Slip one on and you got it made
You better hope and pray that the colors dont fade
Thats the leisure suit serenade
Now, it dont matter if the collars bent
If its got nylon twenty percent
Now Im as cool as the asb president
Leisure suit serenade
Leisure suit serenade
Slip one on and you got it made
You better hope and pray that the colors dont fade
Thats the leisure suit serenade, oh yeah
Thats the leisure suit serenade
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I sort of leave the character at the end of the day. I don't carry anything around with me - no excess baggage or unnecessary thoughts. I think it's too exhausting to do that. To put things into perspective - your work is your work, and your leisure time is something else.
quote by Sean Bean
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No. 51
To me that man seems like a god in heaven,
seems--may I say it?--greater than all gods are,
who sits by you & without interruption
watches you, listens
to your light laughter, which casts such confusion
onto my senses, Lesbia, that when I
gaze at you merely, all of my well-chosen
words are forgotten
as my tongue thickens & a subtle fire
runs through my body while my ears deafened
by their own ringing & at once my eyes are
covered in darkness!
Leisure, Catullus. More than just a nuisance,
leisure: you riot, overmuch enthusing.
Fabulous cities & their sometime kings have
died of such leisure.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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Fierce Storms
Fierce are storms when they first appear,
Killing the school, killing the family,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
The allegiance forming can be a career,
Kinsfolk are blamed for it actually,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
The damage is a conflict, of a charioteer,
Waging war of a storm additionally,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
Gods are of a stormy nature, like a chandelier,
The work is able, of a tempest working abnormally,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
A school admits us when the weather is to cheer,
How do we fight in class and work fitfully?
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
The leisure of the skies is about what is near,
My moments stray into oblivion foolhardily,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
poem by Naveed Akram
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My Complaint
Work never seems to end
day in-n-out working goes.
Please may I get a break some time
in the break, work seems to grow.
It is like the weeds I see
in the soil, they seem to grow.
How ever I may pluck them out;
they find there way again and sow.
Work-a-haloes is what my friend call me.
to them work is easy cake
But work in-n-out like me
and you’ll be a hockey stick.
Work-n-work-n-work I see
even work in everyday chores.
Oh! This work never seems to end
with me it also grows.
'17th June,2007'
poem by Gaurav Bhaduri
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Certainly we ought to be discontented, we ought not simply to find out ways of making the best of a bad job, and yet if we kill all pleasure in the actual process of life, what sort of future are we preparing for ourselves? If a man cannot enjoy the return of spring, why should he be happy in a labour-saving Utopia? What will he do with the leisure that the machine will give him?
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Leisure is the time for doing something useful. This leisure the diligent person will obtain the lazy one never.
quote by Benjamin Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Hide & Seek
There was a time when there was nothing at al
Nothing at all, just a distant hum
There was a being and he lived on his own
He had no one to talk to, and nothing to do
He drew up the plans, learnt to work with his hands
A million years passed by and his work was done
And his words were these...
Hope you find it in everything, everything that you see
Hope you find it in everything, everything that you see
Hope you find it, hope you find it
Hope you find me in you
So she had built her elaborate home
With its ups and its downs, its rains and its sun
She decided that her work was done, time to have fun
And she found a game to play
Then as part of the game
She completely forgot where shed hidden herself
And she spent the rest of her time
Trying to find the parts
Hope you find it in everything, everything that you see
Hope you find it in everything, everything that you see
Hope you find it, hope you find it
Hope you find me in you
There was a time when there was nothing at all, nothing at all
Just a distant hum
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unconditional Love
It's a mystery
Since age old
History…
However much,
We face the
Wrath of
Nature…
We still
Love her,
Admiring
Her
Ageless
Beauty.
Earthquakes
Tsunamis,
Landslides,
Floods and
Volcanoes,
All become
Passé, when
Spring…
Blossoms
In our garden
When rain…
Smells of
Wet earth.
Unconditional
Love, we have
For nature…
She gives us
So many pains
Yet we forget
And forgive
Her,
Basking in the
Pleasure…
Of her
Priceless
Treasure…
That she
Gives
Without
Measure…
And we
Enjoy at
Leisure…
Holidaying,
Stress-busting
Sight-seeing…
Eases us away
From our
Diurnal…
Work pressure.
(Poem themed on Nature)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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