A Melancholy-Depressive Look At The Week by KeLP
When the weekend bottle is down to the dregs,
That old puritan, Time, gives a prod,
And we stumble headlong o'er the great hairy legs
of Monday, and come to our jobs.
Tara! Tara! The ram horns blow!
Tuesday is named for the god of war.
Today is Wednesday, the hump of the week;
In a marsh what matters a mound?
For the insects yet bite, just as wet are your feet,
And still you might drown.
Over the hump, picking up speed,
The road is downhill and straight to the wire,
A pop and a bump, shutter and weave:
Thursday's the nail in your tire.
We finally reached Friday, day of mistakes,
When some things go wrong, other things break.
Through it all, for our sanity's sake,
'twix pain and grimace, with every breath,
We mutter "It's Friday -- It's Friday -- T.G.I.F."
It's true, the best laid plans fall flat;
So never plan: an end to that.
Saturday is party time,
Beer and pretzels, brie and wine,
But soggy pretzels, lukewarm beer,
Moldy cheese, and vinegar
Are all we ever find.
Sunday's the Lord's day of rest, it is true.
All week has your conscience been poked black-and-blue:
Remember the stuff you found no time to do?
The Lord rests, but there'll be no rest for you.
Demons And Devils And Diplomats by KeLP
Demons and Devils and Diplomats
Always prefer an oblique attack.
They'll try any means to purchase your soul,
While hiding their plans and shifting the goal.
Their tongues are glib in a snaky-oil way
For manipulating the words that you say
Into saying what they've said all along,
'Though part of its daft, and much of it wrong.
Diplomats, Devils, and Demons:
It's a certainty that they're schemin'
Ways to get you under their thumb,
Turn your life aslant and the world a-plumb.
And when you must go mad or take flight
They'll be at your side to set things aright;
And all it'll take is a moment of time,
Some sweat, some blood, and--your name on a line.
Diplomats, Demons, and Devils:
Not one can be on the level.
So we send them away to an enemy's land
With lies on their lips and grease on their hands,
And they're sure to return (if we let them back in)
With many signed documents, and an eldritch black grin.
Frostlines by KeLP (with suitable apologies to R. F.)
Some say builders just construct,
Some say create.
From what I've felt of grit and muck,
I hold with those who say construct.
But if they had a twin to make
In every mode of form and fit,
Both in detail and aggregate--
And builded it--
I'd say create.
Of Turkeys And Eagles by KeLP
The T-shirts say that turkeys may
Keep you from joining eagles;
And though I doubt the words they spout
Are certified and legal,
I must admit that never yet
Have I seen eagles roasted.
Yet eagles too are bit and chewed
If they're not very careful.
And eagles' feed is DDTed,
While turkey fare is healthful.
Those lofty heights are no delight
With feathers iced and frosted;
To soar up high across the sky
No doubt is very thrilling,
And a turkey's weight might be too great,
But a fall to Earth won't kill him.
Power to them, each tom and hen,
Who saves me from joining eagles.
(From them I'm saved, Lord be praised,
By joining up with seagulls.)
A Guelfish Tribute by KeLP
Our neri Ghibellines
In the Sacramento dome
Working hard as in a salt mine
So many miles from home.
And some toil without per diems
They were tricked to give away
(An eight percent reduction
in their oh-too-meager pay).
With calloused and bloodied fingers
From the papers that they write,
With voices hoarse or silenced
From debating through the night,
With bottoms numbed from sitting
In those endless meeting chairs,
With itching, reddened eyes
From the stale and smokey air,
Yet they work without complaining,
Knowing it's a vital task.
They'll toil, if need be, months
Oh, how long can they last,
These heroes of the moment!
The people don't deserve
Such unfettered dedication
From the lawmakers they serve.
So we gladly send them praises
Grant them honors by the score,
Then rehire them in November,
So they need work hard no more.
Moping Monday Musing by KeLP
The first of the week
I find much too strong:
It taps on my shoulder,
tugs on my arm,
grabs the scruff of my neck
and drags me along
to work, where it dumps
my mind in a heap,
hobbles my fingers,
puts lead in my seat,
and, thus, leaves me to face
the rest of the week.
Pathological Friday by KeLP
Friday's here,
Friday's drear,
Friday's Bone and Adipocere,
A virulent, corpulent,
Corpse of a day,
'til the waning hours
Bleed it away.
Corporate Delicacies by KeLP
We are fed S__t By Consignment,
Are we mushrooms.
We grow in ignorance
In our chthonic confinement,
Thinned to required alignment,
We mushrooms.
Here light never taints the spores
Of mushrooms.
We are harvested,
Sorted, packaged, stored,
Devoured with s__t in our pores,
We mushrooms.
No Overtime by KeLP
No overtime, no overtime.
Let the users scream and whine.
It's out-of-service or else be blind
to problems that lead to overtime.
When trucks are stacked fore and hind,
users are using carts and kine,
and the only hope for repair's divine,
remember: there's no overtime.
Our Commitments, Revisited by KeLP
We are customer focused,
Eyes on Barnum's minute-men.
We deliver on the bottom line,
Where most souls are taken in.
We are creative, can-do people,
As you can tell by all our forms.
We value the individual,
If he fits within our norms.
We communicate to get the job done,
Using many psychic means.
We are the best at what we do,
And we're everything we seem.
When the weekend bottle is down to the dregs,
That old puritan, Time, gives a prod,
And we stumble headlong o'er the great hairy legs
of Monday, and come to our jobs.
Tara! Tara! The ram horns blow!
Tuesday is named for the god of war.
Today is Wednesday, the hump of the week;
In a marsh what matters a mound?
For the insects yet bite, just as wet are your feet,
And still you might drown.
Over the hump, picking up speed,
The road is downhill and straight to the wire,
A pop and a bump, shutter and weave:
Thursday's the nail in your tire.
We finally reached Friday, day of mistakes,
When some things go wrong, other things break.
Through it all, for our sanity's sake,
'twix pain and grimace, with every breath,
We mutter "It's Friday -- It's Friday -- T.G.I.F."
It's true, the best laid plans fall flat;
So never plan: an end to that.
Saturday is party time,
Beer and pretzels, brie and wine,
But soggy pretzels, lukewarm beer,
Moldy cheese, and vinegar
Are all we ever find.
Sunday's the Lord's day of rest, it is true.
All week has your conscience been poked black-and-blue:
Remember the stuff you found no time to do?
The Lord rests, but there'll be no rest for you.
Demons And Devils And Diplomats by KeLP
Demons and Devils and Diplomats
Always prefer an oblique attack.
They'll try any means to purchase your soul,
While hiding their plans and shifting the goal.
Their tongues are glib in a snaky-oil way
For manipulating the words that you say
Into saying what they've said all along,
'Though part of its daft, and much of it wrong.
Diplomats, Devils, and Demons:
It's a certainty that they're schemin'
Ways to get you under their thumb,
Turn your life aslant and the world a-plumb.
And when you must go mad or take flight
They'll be at your side to set things aright;
And all it'll take is a moment of time,
Some sweat, some blood, and--your name on a line.
Diplomats, Demons, and Devils:
Not one can be on the level.
So we send them away to an enemy's land
With lies on their lips and grease on their hands,
And they're sure to return (if we let them back in)
With many signed documents, and an eldritch black grin.
Frostlines by KeLP (with suitable apologies to R. F.)
Some say builders just construct,
Some say create.
From what I've felt of grit and muck,
I hold with those who say construct.
But if they had a twin to make
In every mode of form and fit,
Both in detail and aggregate--
And builded it--
I'd say create.
Of Turkeys And Eagles by KeLP
The T-shirts say that turkeys may
Keep you from joining eagles;
And though I doubt the words they spout
Are certified and legal,
I must admit that never yet
Have I seen eagles roasted.
Yet eagles too are bit and chewed
If they're not very careful.
And eagles' feed is DDTed,
While turkey fare is healthful.
Those lofty heights are no delight
With feathers iced and frosted;
To soar up high across the sky
No doubt is very thrilling,
And a turkey's weight might be too great,
But a fall to Earth won't kill him.
Power to them, each tom and hen,
Who saves me from joining eagles.
(From them I'm saved, Lord be praised,
By joining up with seagulls.)
A Guelfish Tribute by KeLP
Our neri Ghibellines
In the Sacramento dome
Working hard as in a salt mine
So many miles from home.
And some toil without per diems
They were tricked to give away
(An eight percent reduction
in their oh-too-meager pay).
With calloused and bloodied fingers
From the papers that they write,
With voices hoarse or silenced
From debating through the night,
With bottoms numbed from sitting
In those endless meeting chairs,
With itching, reddened eyes
From the stale and smokey air,
Yet they work without complaining,
Knowing it's a vital task.
They'll toil, if need be, months
Oh, how long can they last,
These heroes of the moment!
The people don't deserve
Such unfettered dedication
From the lawmakers they serve.
So we gladly send them praises
Grant them honors by the score,
Then rehire them in November,
So they need work hard no more.
Moping Monday Musing by KeLP
The first of the week
I find much too strong:
It taps on my shoulder,
tugs on my arm,
grabs the scruff of my neck
and drags me along
to work, where it dumps
my mind in a heap,
hobbles my fingers,
puts lead in my seat,
and, thus, leaves me to face
the rest of the week.
Pathological Friday by KeLP
Friday's here,
Friday's drear,
Friday's Bone and Adipocere,
A virulent, corpulent,
Corpse of a day,
'til the waning hours
Bleed it away.
Corporate Delicacies by KeLP
We are fed S__t By Consignment,
Are we mushrooms.
We grow in ignorance
In our chthonic confinement,
Thinned to required alignment,
We mushrooms.
Here light never taints the spores
Of mushrooms.
We are harvested,
Sorted, packaged, stored,
Devoured with s__t in our pores,
We mushrooms.
No Overtime by KeLP
No overtime, no overtime.
Let the users scream and whine.
It's out-of-service or else be blind
to problems that lead to overtime.
When trucks are stacked fore and hind,
users are using carts and kine,
and the only hope for repair's divine,
remember: there's no overtime.
Our Commitments, Revisited by KeLP
We are customer focused,
Eyes on Barnum's minute-men.
We deliver on the bottom line,
Where most souls are taken in.
We are creative, can-do people,
As you can tell by all our forms.
We value the individual,
If he fits within our norms.
We communicate to get the job done,
Using many psychic means.
We are the best at what we do,
And we're everything we seem.