For Labors Unheralded
Heaven bless the working man,
Or woman, as the case may be,
For labors that have built a nation,
Made it strong,
Kept it free.
Day by day endures the trek,
Spaghettied byways
Overflowing.
Ceaseless days of repetition,
Watching with frustration growing.
Even while complaints may linger
As the endless hours drone,
Though his ire may peak aplenty,
He will never take it home.
Home to where his world makes sense,
A different kind of recompense,
Where labors wear a sweeter flavor
Sheltered by a picket fence.
Dennis S. Martin
Lulu Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
Plays: http://sites.google.com/site/playsbydennissmartin/
Memory Lane
by Femke Weidema and Deborah Wilbrink c. 2012
When he sailed the raging sea, was he scared of what would be
Or hitched his wagon to a star, ‘cause it would take him far
Walking streets paved with gold where the nights were never cold
And people won’t grow old before their time
When I climb the Family Tree, I know so much more about me
I should write that down, I should save that story
I should write a book so the kids remember me
I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I could steer away some pain with a drive down Memory Lane.
Did he find his wife to be, barn-raising in the field
Like grandpa found his bride and never left her side
Though many things were never said, he’d tell the story how they met
With love I won’t forget before my time.
When I climb the Family Tree, I know so much more about me.
I should write that down, I should save that story
I should write a book so the kids remember me
I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I could steer away some pain with a drive down Memory Lane.
Memory Lane…
I will write that down, I will save that story
I will write a book, I will write a perfect memoir
‘Cause I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I will steer away some pain when they drive down my,
When they drive down my Memory Lane
Available on the CD Imperfect Memoir by Deborah Wilbrink or listen at perfectmemoir.com
Then and Now
When I was growing up, I did the stroll.
I had no clue that I would ever "troll",
nor that the future meant someday I'd grapple
with entities like Microsoft and Apple.
Rap's beat could never "shift a paradigm,"
nor did its passion cause an "aha" time.
To "push an envelope" seemed odd to me,
involving planes or plain stupidity.
A solid bank graced every downtown street.
Of course, our cancelled check was our receipt.
Nobody "spoke to" things like "bells and whistles."
"Sunsets" were nouns that didn't mean "dismissals."
Expanding firms were praised for their potential,
but growth was never labelled "exponential."
I don't recall "proactive" workers then.
Nobody "tweeted" like a finch or wren,
or hissed with venom, "Have an awesome day";
and speeches were complete without "segue."
My greatest bliss in being embryonic?
Not hearing, even once, the term "iconic."
Rita Janice Traub
Heaven bless the working man,
Or woman, as the case may be,
For labors that have built a nation,
Made it strong,
Kept it free.
Day by day endures the trek,
Spaghettied byways
Overflowing.
Ceaseless days of repetition,
Watching with frustration growing.
Even while complaints may linger
As the endless hours drone,
Though his ire may peak aplenty,
He will never take it home.
Home to where his world makes sense,
A different kind of recompense,
Where labors wear a sweeter flavor
Sheltered by a picket fence.
Dennis S. Martin
Lulu Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
Plays: http://sites.google.com/site/playsbydennissmartin/
Memory Lane
by Femke Weidema and Deborah Wilbrink c. 2012When he sailed the raging sea, was he scared of what would be
Or hitched his wagon to a star, ‘cause it would take him far
Walking streets paved with gold where the nights were never cold
And people won’t grow old before their time
When I climb the Family Tree, I know so much more about me
I should write that down, I should save that story
I should write a book so the kids remember me
I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I could steer away some pain with a drive down Memory Lane.
Did he find his wife to be, barn-raising in the field
Like grandpa found his bride and never left her side
Though many things were never said, he’d tell the story how they met
With love I won’t forget before my time.
When I climb the Family Tree, I know so much more about me.
I should write that down, I should save that story
I should write a book so the kids remember me
I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I could steer away some pain with a drive down Memory Lane.
Memory Lane…
I will write that down, I will save that story
I will write a book, I will write a perfect memoir
‘Cause I’ve got things to say, I know they are still learning
I will steer away some pain when they drive down my,
When they drive down my Memory Lane
Available on the CD Imperfect Memoir by Deborah Wilbrink or listen at perfectmemoir.com
Then and Now
When I was growing up, I did the stroll.
I had no clue that I would ever "troll",
nor that the future meant someday I'd grapple
with entities like Microsoft and Apple.
Rap's beat could never "shift a paradigm,"
nor did its passion cause an "aha" time.
To "push an envelope" seemed odd to me,
involving planes or plain stupidity.
A solid bank graced every downtown street.
Of course, our cancelled check was our receipt.
Nobody "spoke to" things like "bells and whistles."
"Sunsets" were nouns that didn't mean "dismissals."
Expanding firms were praised for their potential,
but growth was never labelled "exponential."
I don't recall "proactive" workers then.
Nobody "tweeted" like a finch or wren,
or hissed with venom, "Have an awesome day";
and speeches were complete without "segue."
My greatest bliss in being embryonic?
Not hearing, even once, the term "iconic."
Rita Janice Traub
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