Poems about Work are for those who spend most of our lives at work and what a large part of our life our career is.

Poems about Work


Our job sometimes defines us
And tells others who we are;
But what about the gravedigger
Who at night though is a popstar.

I met a solicitor once
Long black hair and glasses;
In her spare time at concerts
She played to the masses.

Her saxaphone said more than she
In a totally different way;
You'd never want to cross her
Either by night or by day!

A dustman is a lowly job
Or so thought of by some;
Hygiene is in fact a top marker
And that counts for everyone.

Dentists rate pretty high too
As clever as they come;
But all in all we hate them
When all is said and done.


Our work can be what we love
Or what we love to hate;
But these jobs all need doing
Besides we see our mates.

Social lives revolve around
Day in and all day out;
It sometimes feels like Ground hog Day
Sitting on a roundabout.


Hay for the Horses

He had driven half the night
From far down San Joaquin
Through Mariposa, up the
Dangerous Mountain roads,
And pulled in at eight a.m.
With his big truckload of hay
behind the barn.
With winch and ropes and hooks
We stacked the bales up clean
To splintery redwood rafters
High in the dark, flecks of alfalfa
Whirling through shingle-cracks of light,
Itch of haydust in the
sweaty shirt and shoes.
At lunchtime under Black oak
Out in the hot corral,
---The old mare nosing lunchpails,
Grasshoppers crackling in the weeds---
"I'm sixty-eight" he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that's just what
I've gone and done."
Gary Snyder


Life is what happens
Whilst we're busy making plans;
I'm told to just up and do it
Light work by many hands.

So dream a dream
And then you dream some more;
It only feels like minutes too
And then you're sixty four.

Poems about Work


Hitting with a hammer
Or standing on the bridge;
You could even be a chef
Looking in the fridge.

Cutting hair and mirrors
Chatting coffee time;
So much to do with
So very little time.

Doctors and nurses training galore
Teachers and architects too;
They try to tell us that
Politicians haven't a clue.

Police and firemen ringing bells and chimes
Vocation and dedication are their mantra;
Though just lately not quite true
For many years it has been their manna!


It has been said be careful on the way up
As you will meet them coming down;
That is just a fact of life but if
Ignored makes you look a clown.


Work is good for you
That's what they say;
Not sure who penned those words
I bet they didn't have to do this everyday.

We stand in line making the toy trains
Every boy has one in the attic;
All fathers find it mandatory
To make it quite dramatic.

Most men dreamt of it when they were boys
To drive a train would be great;
I think that those who made it
Have enjoyed their fate.

I think that's the greatest if you can
Get paid for what you love;
Otherwise your heart's elsewhere
And it's second best-kind of!


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Poems about Work