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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Related quotes
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
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I worked with people I admire; Josh Lucas, who I'd worked with many many years ago on a pilot called The Class of 61 and Kurt Russell, and so there were a variety of different people that I enjoyed working with.
quote by Andre Braugher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pre-Retired
Well I'm almost there ya know
that full retirement kinda place.
I'm not old enough to collect any money
can't find a job, with age lines upon my face!
So I guess I'm pre-retired?
I don't have another name, yet for it!
But if this is what retirement is like
where all you do is, just write poems and sit!
Then I'd rather be ten feet under
or something sorta like that!
I use to have a great figure
now all I am is a ball of, pre-retired FAT!
Wife still is working full time
and she looks a lot better than me!
She stays out all night after working
with her girlfriends, not me!
I'm boring I guess, and feel out of place
no real purpose felt anymore.
I use to be a manager of twelve employees
in a large, retail discount store!
So don't tell me about retirement!
and how great it is for you!
It stinks to be pre-retired
and think when my full retirement comes
It won't feel anything like you!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Love Of A Parent
They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.
They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.
With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now ' they had all the power'.
Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night, being drunk
They would start to fight.
She started feeling some menstruation pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.
Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.
He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.
She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.
She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you'd ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.
They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.
His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.
poem by Louis Rams
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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
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Golden Years
he finally reached his golden years
wanted to leave his family,
thoughts and love to share.
so he sat with pen in hand
wrote about his lifes plan.
it started off with just his dream
never expecting the unforseen.
as his plans began to unwind
he found himself lost in time.
he joined the army at an early age
this was to become the setting stage
he survived the street gangs and a war
and never talking about what he saw.
he managed retail businesses all his life
met the woman who would become his wife.
he had always loved children
so he thought it was time
his wife agreed and it turned out fine.
a beautiful little girl came into their life
and everything seemed twice as nice.
now he had two women who captured his heart
and knew right then, that this was the start.
the start to his golden years
with his wife he could share.
all the dreams that were meant to be
was now becoming a reality.
but the years was going by fast
he knew his dreams would not last.
now with this thought in mind
he decided it was time
to put his life in perspective
for the golden years to become effective.
so he changed his train of thoughts
a late retirement he would abort.
he retired before his time
so he could enjoy life the way
that it was meant to be
living happy and carefree.
now that he finished writing
down his thoughts and plans
he let them know
'YOUR PERCEPTION BECOMES YOUR REALITY'
and this is what mine was to me.
the golden years are now mine
and i'm lost in its time.
poem by Louis Rams
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Taxman, Mr. Thief
You work hard, you make money
There ain't no on in the world who can stop you
You work hard, you went hungry
Now the taxman is out to get you
You worked hard
And slaved and slaved for years
Break your back sweat a lot
Well, it's just not fair
He hates you, he loves money
And he'll steal your s**t and think that it's funny
Like the beatles he ain't human
Now the taxman is out to get you
You worked hard
And slaved and slaved for years
You played
And you played and played for years
Taxman, mr. heath (he's a thief)
He's looking for run-in, yeah
Taxman, mr. heath (he's a thief)
He's looking for run-in, yeah
You work hard, you make money
There ain't no on in the world who can stop you
You work hard, you went hungry
Now the taxman is out to get you
You worked hard
And slaved and slaved for years
Break your back sweat a lot
Well, it's just not fair
Taxman, mr. heath (he's a thief)
He's looking for run-in, yeah
Taxman, mr. heath (he's a thief)
He's looking for run-in, yeah
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Was Just A Job
Today I lost my job, but what did I really lose?
I can get another one, and I can pick and choose
A job is only work you do to earn a buck or two
Get up early, punch the clock and work the whole day through
Someone else will get the glory and the bonus you worked for
And this goes on for years til you can’t do it anymore.
If you are lucky you can make it til retirement age
Or then again you could be like me and be escorted off the stage
But what I took with me was something they can’t take away
And I can use it anytime I want on any given day
For what I took with me was a lifetime of memories
Of sharing life with friends I made and the comradery
poem by Donna McCord
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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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An Early Retirement
There's an ad on TV about retiring.
I'm not worried about retiring.
I'm retiring from life early.
It means I'm not... traditionally
going to live long enough to retire.
Just like all the old boiler makers in trade.
Who worked all those years, welding
inside pipes, and other enclosed spaces, places.
Sucking in all those harmful toxic fumes.
None of them lived long enough to retire.
Just like my father the carpenter.
An era when honest men daily worked up a blinder.
Just like my father hardest working carpenter.
Who worked all those long years, man-handling
heavy loads. Concreting, steel, heavy beams.
Straining the heart, arteries, neck, back, hands.
Working up a triple hernia. Before being killed
off, from lead based paint, and asbestos residue.
It is only management! And white collar workers!
Who have to worry, about saving, for retirement.
Worrying about, all that extra weight, accumulating.
On their lard asses, from all that gourmet cuisine.
While a real worker, will think he's done himself
proud, on pizza, fish and chips, and a few beers.
Just the ticket. Just the ticket. For a really good time.
Just about the only ticket, a real worker can afford.
To purchase, on his dismal daily pay, while paying rent.
Workers are dying. Instead of worrying about retiring.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Subcity
People say it doesnt exist
cause no one would like to admit
That there is a city underground
Where people live everyday
Off the waste and decay
Off the discards of their fellow man
Here in subcity life is hard
We cant receive any government relief
Id like to please give mr president my honest regards
For disregarding me
They say theres too much crime in these city streets
My sentiments exactly
Government and big business hold the purse strings
When I worked I worked in the factories
Im at the mercy of the world
I guess Im lucky to be alive
They say weve fallen through the cracks
They say the system works
But we wont let it
Help
I guess they never stop to think
We might not just want handouts
But a way to make an honest living
Living this aint living
What did I do deserve this
Had my trust in god
Worked everyday of my life
Thought I had some guarantees
Thats what I thought
At least thats what I thought
Last night I had another restless sleep
Wondering what tomorrow might bring
Last night I dreamed
A cold blue light was shining down on me
I screamed myself awake
Thought I must be dying
Thought I must be dying
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I worked hard in gymnastics since the time I was six years old until I retired at 23 years of age.
quote by Nadia Comaneci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workout Plan
Some girls are all about
wishing things would've worked out
or wondering why
things didn't work out
don't work out
won't work out
or if only this
or that
then things would've worked out.
It's as if instead of working things out
and things working out
all they really wanted was a good workout
I guess just let them
work themselves out
cause I just want things to work out
if that's cool
poem by Brandon Adamson
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After All These Years I Today Do Not Know What To Do With Myself
AFTER ALL THESE YEARS I TODAY DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WIITH MYSELF
After all these years
I today do not know what to do with myself-
I have worked for such a long time
And now it feels as if I have no work-
I am a writer and I am writing now
So there is at least that -
But what must it be for so many retired people
Who after so many years
Find themselves with nothing to do?
How lost one is when one has so much time
And nothing to do with oneself
Except feel one's own uselessness
And inability to really do anything.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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I knew this man
i knew this man some years ago
dearly beloved by four and two
back to fro his love went too
five of five he was and served
so to him a reward well deserved
I knew this man some years ago
worked the woods and suffered stings
lo among the rich he lives and pings
to whom benevolence was a reflex
and nothing came along was complex
i knew this man some years ago
who in zodiac learns a fable
and in unity became so able
over the Niger citadel he grew a lion
then he joined this army in Zion
i knew this man some years ago
he fell in love and changed his mind
now he hard sought someone to find
stood a lie to cute fairy tale damsel
how he christened her his own damisel
i knew this man some years ago
has broad shoulders and bulging chest
his time and strength he did well invest
i knew this man who loved himself
i knew this man in none but myself
poem by Ray Anyasi
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My Retirement Years' (For everyone over 62!)
Has anyone else noticed
the new working standards and means?
for those of retirement years, is this what it seems?
That if your able bodied to still work
your employer makes your job harder and act like jerks?
They take you aside and tell you your doing bad
this makes for your day, to be unproductive, quite empty and sad!
You've given them, some of the best years of your life!
So you could have two and a half children, a home and a wife.
But now the environment, your working in cause
walking through your humble abode
with your hands, in outstretching of claws!
I'm over the hill they say, not wanted anymore!
they'd like to have me get so upset
That I would walk out their door!
I thought at the end, retierment, would be my choice to make?
and not that done by some hired henchman
doing companies, pain in the butt heart breaks!
I didn't give all my best years
so I would be treated like crap!
I'll stand my ground, if I have to take it to the TOP!
And then they'll all see, just where
this so called old bucks going to stop!
No company is so big, that they can treat me like this!
I am an American who fought, so this company could even exist!
If they have a profit to make, don't take it out of me!
I fought for this country, so all people could have choices and be FREE!
Don't mess with me, I'm an American retirement age man!
And when I'm darn good and ready!
I'LL CHOSE, when I blow this pop stand!
poem by Linda Winchell
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I probably worked every single entertainment medium, including some that don't exist. I worked the circus, carnival, I had my own medicine show, I worked 18 years of radio.
Age Spots and Lips That Droop
Psychotic are their problems.
Big and small ones hidden over time.
They did not have to keep them wrapped up.
They chose to medicate them,
With named brand solutions.
Given in geriatric presciptions.
With doses afforded,
And hopefully generically produced.
Or over the counter cheap solutions,
To ease symptoms of a process
Nurtured in their minds.
And these are the same folks,
Who worked to enjoy their retirements?
And I have enjoyed my life...
Knowing that when God said it was over,
That's when I would retire from it!
Not sit and rock away my time.
Of course I have been labelled crazed.
And I will never receive a gold watch,
For being that great and loyal employee.
Nor will a dime I thought was coming back to me,
In a pension plan...
Be lost or confiscated by a company drained by crooks,
Do I have to worry about.
However...
That would piss me off.
To work for the same folks for fifty or more years...
And not have a thing to show for it,
But age spots and lips that droop?
Stiffened joints and wrinkled skin?
The life from those kinds of folks,
Has been sucked from them to the marrow.
And here I am getting compliments,
For a firm behind.
And all this time,
I was working to have broad shoulders!
I have no complaints at all.
God continues to do me right!
I wake up each day with very little in my pockets.
And I feel like millions.
I go outside and see those with a few dollars...
And they would scare folks to death.
I've seen mummies in museums,
Wrapped and encased look better.
And these are the same folks,
Who worked to enjoy their retirements?
In what way...
I wonder?
Halloween only comes around once a year!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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