By Alan Dugan
God, I need a job because I need money. Here the world is, enjoyable with whiskey, women, ultimate weapons...
Explore Poems: Labor Day
Showing 1-18 of 18 poems
- By Alan DuganHe had a back office in his older brother’s advertising agency and understood the human asshole. He ...
- By Langston HughesClean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach. Clean the spittoons. The steam...
- By Robert PinskyThe back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams, The nearly invisible stitches along the collar Turned...
- By Elizabeth Barrett BrowningDo ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are leaning their...
- By Benjamin FranklinBUSINESS, thou Plague and Pleasure of my Life, Thou charming Mistress, thou vexatious Wife; Thou Enemy...
- By AnonymousDon't worry if your job is small, And your rewards are few. Remember that the mighty oak, Was once a...
- By AnonymousWhen John Henry was a little tiny baby Sitting on his mama's knee, He picked up a hammer and a little...
- By W.D. EhrhartEach day I go into the fields to see what is growing and what remains to be done. It is always the same...
- By Sandra McPhersonThe names of things—sparks! I ran on them like a component: Henries, microhenries, Blue Beavers, wee...
- By James WrightWhen I was a boy, a relative Asked for me a job At the Weeks Cemetery. Think of all I could Have raised...
- By Alice Moore Dunbar-NelsonGod washes clean the souls and hearts of you, His favored ones, whose backs bend o’er the soil, Which...
- By Anne WintersFour-fifty. The palings of Trinity Church Burying Ground, a few inches above the earth, are sunk in ...
- By William MeredithHere at the seashore they use the clouds over & over again, like the rented animals in Aïda. In the ...
- By Charles WrightDarkened by time, the masters, like our memories, mix And mismatch, and settle about our lawn furniture...
- By Robert PinskyAnd Summer turns her head with its dark tangle All the way toward us; and the trees are heavy, With ...
- By Rachel HadasSweet smell of phlox drifting across the lawn— an early warning of the end of summer. August is fading...
- By Weldon Kees“I want to get away somewhere and re-read Proust,” Said an editor of Fortune to a man on Time. But the...