Delousing Time

      
Delousing Time

          

So Christmas comes – and brings, to some, relief.

When schools are closed, the teachers then can sleep,

And so indeed can students – quite a few,

Who stayed up nights on all the items due.

And workers, where there’s simply Christmas, might

Enjoy, perhaps, a bit more rest at night.

But sadly, Commerce rules.  As Christmas comes,

Along with carols, hark – the sound of drums!

They’re calling out to shoppers – “Come and buy!

Consume, consume – and never question why!”

And so you'll see the parents, haggard, seek

For gizmos.  Shopping’s not for those who’re weak.

Thanksgiving, once, was a holiday from jobs,

Except for those who cooked for their nabobs.

But now, we see the stores are open wide.

And at their gates – beware, the human tide!  

And so with Christmas.  As the solstice nears

And passes, we’re besieged with nibbling fears.

So Christmas too becomes a time for worry.

The ones who profit never say they’re sorry.

But still, we’re happy, those who teach at schools,

Who’re treated, through their working lives, like fools.

A week or more to rest, to clean the house,

Do catch-up work and also – to delouse…

For though our schools have long been human mills,

They test yet more our patience, souls and wills.

And infestations grow within our minds,

Whose purging now proceeds, as each unwinds.

So Christmas is delousing time for us,

When teachers breathe – and in their instincts trust.

And then, till June, we’ll labor.  Lice will breed –

And on our souls, till summer, bite and feed.

Whoever engineered this servitude,

Should now be blessed with true beatitude.

Let Bloombergs grow yet richer, every day.

“We’ll work yet harder!” grateful workers say.

We labor for our students, yet we ask,
Who profits most from every thankless task?
Our students – or the ones who want them herded?
I'll whisper now...  So tell me, if you heard it.

;-)

2013 December 20^th, Friday

Brooklyn, New York

 Comments are welcome.  Please see below.

 

A Hell on Earth

                
A Hell on Earth

We live in times, when all across the world
The people and their nations turn insane.
And some may say that this was always so,
But in our madnesses, there are degrees.

Wherever there are wars that do not end,
Wherever there is endless violence,
It’s clear that reason’s fled – and minds and hearts
Are sickened by a plague that feeds on men.

But even where the slaughter is far less,
At least of humans, in our cities, towns –
And even now in furthest villages,
Our evil scourges are alive and well.

For humans live as captive zombies might.
They run through hectic lives, in mindless haste,
Or fall in spells of utter, sad, despair
And even seek to exit life itself.

******
 
Amidst this madness, some might dare to say,
“Let's stop this thing, for this is cruelty,
A mad stampede that tramples those who’re frail
And those who pause to question or reflect.”

They're ridiculed or persecuted and
Are silenced soon enough by those who rush
To play the games that lead us all to hell.
The oven’s doors are closed to those within.

And in that oven, humans bake and burn.
They cannot think or speak, from murderous stress.
For even as we burn away the Earth
And all its species, so we murder selves.

So how, within this fatal fever, can
We find our peace, our bit of sanity?
Or is that mission too a sad defeat,
That lets the sickness work its evil more?

******
     
For if the nations and their peoples have
Been so possessed by madness that we turn,
To this, an eye that’s blind – and only seek
A shelter for our selves, then can this end?

Can Ms. or Mr. Lemming pause and yet
Remain alive?  Can nations not “progress”?
I do not know – and so I ask you this,
And pray you will not take it as remiss.

For wealth can never equal happiness,
And poverty is made by those who race.
And till we find the time and strength to ask
The questions that we don’t, this will not end.

But few have time – and even fewer, strength.
With workers squeezed, who still has leisure left?
And those retired, or those who’re affluent
Are either tired – or profit from the stress.

2013 Dec. 11th, Mon, 2:24 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
     

Our Business Cannot Fail

     
Our Business Cannot Fail
  
We’re getting tired of parties,
And the local food is shit.
This isn’t what we’re here for,
So we’re getting tired of it.

We can see you like to grovel.
It’s your culture, we are told.
But it isn’t what we’re after
And it’s getting kind of old.

You can bow or you can curtsy,
You can give our hand a shake.
But we really would prefer it,
If it’s profits we could make.

For we’re here to do some business,
Get some business – get our drift?
If we do not get that business,
Then there’s going to be a rift.

So it’s you and us together --
And you’ll sign and we’ll depart.
For it isn’t, for you, healthy,
If we’re forced to move apart.

For it’s you and us together,
So you live to tell the tale.
Or it’s you against our business.
And our business cannot fail.

Yes, it’s business that we’re after,
And it’s business that we’ll get.
If we do not get our business,
It’s this bullet that you’ll get.

You can show your teeth or glower,
And our hands, you needn’t shake.
For to break your teeth, we’ve power,
If our profits, we don’t make.

So here it is.  Now sign it.
And it’s time you start your hustle.
You had better get them working,
For you know that we have muscle.

You had better get them working,
So they’ll earn for you, your dollar.
We can make you rich, eh, partner?
We can also make you holler.

You’ve got to drive the workers,
You’ve got to make them work.
You’ve got to show the shirkers
That they simply mustn’t shirk.

It's time for you to hustle,
And it's time for you to please.
So quit your smiling, buddy,
For we're here to give the squeeze.

We gave you what you wanted
And we’ve waited for a while.
But all that you’ve delivered
Is your oily little smile.

But we’re here to do some business
And it’s all about the cash.
And if you can’t deliver,
Your noggin, we will bash.

2013 Nov. 21st, Thu.
Brooklyn
  

Teachers' Cafeteria--Part I

Teachers' Cafeteria
 
Part I

I was sitting in the silence
Of the basement cafeteria,
Towards the ending of the school day,
With all the teachers gone.

I was sitting in that silence,
In that oasis of quiet,
And I heard a constant humming
That I couldn't really trace.

So I sat there and I listened
And I wondered what it was.
Perhaps it was the humming
Of machines – perhaps of pumps.

It was cold there in the basement,
Though all the lights were on.
The lights were all fluorescent,
So they didn't warm at all.

And the quality of air there,
I'd noticed, wasn't best.
I breathed a little deeper
And I thought to take a rest.

So I looked towards the couches –
Inviting, checkered green –
And I briefly thought of taking
A little nap, unseen.

But no – I looked and saw then,
From the clock upon the wall,
That the bell would soon be ringing,
So I couldn't rest at all.

The school day, it had ended,
But the work had now begun.
For three more hours, I'd labor,
And at six, I'd have to run.

For if they found me staying,
For much beyond that six,
They'd said they'd call policemen,
Who'd come for me with sticks.

2013 mid-September
teachers' cafeteria, basement, New Utrecht High School
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

Notes:

Please see also: 

   Teachers' Lounge

    http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2006/01/teachers-lounge.html

Those verses were written in the teacher's lounge of the Brooklyn Studio Secondary school, when I had begun subbing again after working for a year at the nearby New Utrecht High School.  Teachers' lounges are a rarity in the New York City public school system.

The Brooklyn Studio Secondary School is in the Bensonhurst district of southwestern Brooklyn.  The building is on 21st Avenue, between 83rd St. and 84th  St.  It contains both a senior high school (grades  9-12) and a junior high school (grades 6-8).  An adjoining building (which can be accessed from the basement) houses an elementary school (kindergarten to grade 5).  There was a time when a student might spend all his/her years of K-12 schooling in those two buildings.

The New Utrecht High School is also in Bensonhurst.  The school building stands between 79th and 80th Streets and between 16th and New Utrecht Avenues.  This six-story building, which towers above the surrounding residential ones, can be clearly seen on Google Earth, along with the school's playing field and the elevated train tracks over New Utrecht Avenue.

Both of these schools must be close to a hundred years old.  When I looked up their buildings on the NY City Map website, at http://maps.nyc.gov/doitt/nycitymap/,  I found that the current buildings for the Brooklyn Studio Secondary School and the New Utrecht High School have official construction dates of 1909 and 1931 respectively.  However, I think that the original school at the first site commenced operation a few years later, around 1913, which would make the school there, in all its incarnations, a century old as of now (2013), while the second (New Utrecht) started a few years later.

Please see also:

   Teachers' Cafeteria--Part II

   http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/10/teachers-cafeteria-part-ii.html