Behold the plumber where he stands
His wrenches gleaming in his hands
His jaw is square, his eye is keen
His belly flat his body lean.
No common man, his hire comes high
His hourly rate is in the sky
Way up there with his private jet
Rich and overpaid and yet ..
Without him all would come to naught
And civilisation crumble
The job that he and others do
Should make us all feel humble
For drains do more than doctors can
To help prolong the life of man.
From sunny California
To the rocky shores of Maine
You'll see the plumber toiling
In burning sun or pouring rain.
And if your bathrooms's flooded
Or the crap won't go away
Or if your heating lets you down
On a bitter winter day.
Or if your pipes are frozen
An things are looking tough
That's when you need a plumber
Who really knows his stuff.
So treat your plumber with respect
And pay him what he's due
And now and then invite him round
To share a beer or two.
Take good care of your plumber
And he'll take care of you.
This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.
Poetry - The Queen, The Angel, And The Scribe By Rhonnie Besonday
Across a nation three lives meet,
Lives alike and yet unknown.
Strangers to each other,
Yet three women of faith.
One woman a Queen in power,
Another Angel in sorrow and pain.
Poetry - Whispers of the Sea - Anonymous
You are a Beacon and I am a mirror.
You brighten the world with your light, yet most see only flames.
I show the world as it is, yet most see only themselves.
I can never touch the light,
Poetry - Clair180 By Nicholas Boldock
Almost like a virtual death
The passing of one faceless username
A collection of letters and numbers
Playing games on a flat screen universe
As if existing only in the imagination.
Notified by email, appropriately almost
Poetry - Or So I Would Imagine by C.Hutchcroft
Or so I would imagine:
The limitless toils of a brace
Of degenerate angels steeped in ecstasy
Coated thick with nascence and bid farewell together
In the deserts
Charting sand grains
Poetry - The Day I died By Benjamin Bourne
I rolled my eyes
Said my goodbyes
Left her standing on the corner
She shouted, wait
I never turned
I wish I had.
Poetry - A Message For .. and The Break Up By Nigel Holmes
Like a magnet, I was, when I first saw you.
Like a cactus in the desert, you stood out.
I did not know you, but, I was intrigued.
Would I get to know you?
Would you want to know me?
Your fantastic hair, your pretty face,
Poetry - Men weep more as they grow old, and women less - newspaper headline. By Maurice Fairfield
Skimming through the daily press
Tales of spite and greed oppress
Evils great and evils small,
A headline caught my idle eye
A statement by some talking head
Researched and tested, and he said
Poetry - Balm Aid, Discarded Clothes and The Deepest Scars By MD Tasker
The deepest scars see no light
They live, born from gashes
Coalescing to closed eyes
Stitch marks like lashes
Curving to small smiles
Or gnarled and wailing
Poetry - Lovedrug and Inter-Planetary Cosmic Rider and The Black Hole By Daphne Liver Age 16
When love dies
the feeling is comparable
to the suffering
of the bitter sour comedown from
the most euphoric of highs:
With love's crushing demise
Poetry - Ode to the Mole By Terry Bugbearer
I have a love I dare not tell
For a small burrowing animal
It's not a weasel, stoat or vole
but the small, industrious mole.
He makes hills out of my lawn
to his earthy mounds I am always drawn.
Poetry - Wanted You To Know By Rhonnie Besonday
Mommy, I had to talk to you,
And tell you some things.
I wanted to say I love you,
And I have always understood.
I know why you did what you did,
And how much it has hurt you since.
Poetry - I'm Sorry Once Again. By Amy, 16
I'm sorry if I ever made you unhappy
I'm sorry that I ever made you cry.
I did it all unintentionally.
I didn't mean to lie.
I'm sorry if you ever thought I wasn't there for you
I'm sorry that it took me this long to see
Poetry - The Reading Will Start Shortly By Patrick Henry
Catching planes briskly as a smart executive
Crossing the globe to arms talks or trade tariffs,
I land at many ports to collect ripe pub stories,
Or to read poems in suspicious small back rooms.
Who are these figures in the gloom who cough or clap?