For if you hate your job!

I Hate My Job

Red nectar from a bottle that’s from France
France, where Englishmen will holiday;
Will holiday, enjoy the sun and dance,
Dance as wild abandoned men away;
A way through dreary days at a desk;
Desk of hate, back in London grotesque.
Grotesque that we must earn a pound to eat,
Eating, drinking, life comes at a cost,
A cost to dignity and balance sheet,
Balance sheet of life at work that’s lost:
Lost’s the time that we work and not live;
And not live; and not live; and not live.

Based on the same rules as the previous post, but done in a poetic form called Clonachlonn (which repeats the last word (or two) of each line as the beginning of the next line)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s