Work poems

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Adam's Curse

© William Butler Yeats

WE sat together at one summer's end,

That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,

When Mother Made An Angel Cake

When mother baked an angel cake we kids would gather round
An' watch her gentle hands at work, an' never make a sound;
We'd watch her stir the eggs an' flour an' powdered sugar, too,
An' pour it in the crinkled tin, an' then when it was through
She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon
That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would get the spoon.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.

© George Gordon Byron

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,
Alas! I cannot smile again:
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.

Laurance - [Part 1]

© Jean Ingelow

I.
He knew she did not love him; but so long
As rivals were unknown to him, he dwelt
At ease, and did not find his love a pain.

A Farewell To Patrick Sarsfield, Earl Of Lucan

© James Clarence Mangan

FAREWELL, O Patrick Sarsfield, may luck be on your path!

Your camp is broken up, your work is marred for years;

Father, Most High, Be With Us

© Aurelius Clemens Prudentius

Father, Most High, be with us,

Unseen, Thy goodness showing,

The Old Age Of Queen Maeve

© William Butler Yeats

A certain poet in outlandish clothes

Gathered a crowd in some Byzantine lane,

The Cradle

© Henry Austin Dobson

HOW steadfastly she worked at it!

How lovingly had drest

To Some Ladies

© John Keats

What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiasts friend:

Second Class wait here

© Henry Lawson

At suburban railway stations--you may see them as you pass--

there are signboards on the platform saying "Wait here second class,"

The Lament Of The Old Nurse

© Aeschylus

NURSE

Our mistress bids me with all speed to call

Peace

© Ada Cambridge

So still! So calm! Will our life's eve come thus?
No sound of strife, of labour or of pain,
No ring of woodman's axe, no dip of oar.
Will work be done, and night's rest earned, for us?
And shall we wake to see sunrise again?
Or shall we sleep, to see and know no more?

Bessie Dreaming Bear by Marnie Walsh: American Life in Poetry #3 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 20

© Ted Kooser

A poem need not go on at great length to accomplish the work of conveying something meaningful to its readers. In the following poem by the late Marnie Walsh, just a few words, written as if they'd been recorded in exactly the manner in which they'd been spoken, tell us not only about the missing woman in the red high heels, but a little something about the speaker as well. Bessie Dreaming Bear

we all went to town one day
went to a store
bought you new shoes
red high heels

The Vulture (Parody of Poe's "Raven")

© Anonymous

Once upon a midnight chilling, as I held my feet unwilling
O'er a tub of scalding water, at a heat of ninety-four;
Nervously a toe in dipping, dripping, slipping, then out-skipping,
Suddenly there came a ripping whipping, at my chamber's door.
"'Tis the second-floor," I muttered, "flipping at my chamber's door--
Wants a light--and nothing more!"

Lazy

Some men enjoy the constant strife

Of days with work and worry rife,

Decius Brutus, On The Coast Of Portugal

Never did Day, her heat and trouble o'er,
Proclaim herself more blest,
Than when, beside that Lusitanian shore,
She wooed herself to rest:

What Had He Done?

I saw the farmer, when the day was done,
And the proud sun had sought his crimson bed,
And the mild stars came forward one by one-
I saw the sturdy farmer, and I said:
"What have you done to-day,
O farmer! say?"

Ungratefulnesse

Lord, with what bountie and rare clemencie
Hast thou redeem'd us from the grave!
If hadst let us runne,
Gladly had man ador'd the sunne,
And thought his god most brave;
Where now we shall be better gods then he.