poem

Poem: Working man

~ John Loraine


I get up at six every morning, rain or shine
Not because I want to but because I have to.
The world is still sleeping, and it is still dark in the room,
And it is difficult to open my eyes, tired from the night’s sleep.
I turn off the alarm and lay there with my eyes shut.
Just one more minute, please God, just another minute.
That last minute in bed is the shortest in my day,
But it is the time I enjoy the most.
Five days a week is the definition of a work day.
I go to the bathroom, pee, and brush my teeth.
The shower is next, and I wait patiently until the
Water is warms up enough to get under it and soak in it
Like a flower on the driest day.
I am rinsing the fatigue and the sleep of me
The new day has come.
I get out and get dressed; the kitchen stop next.

I brew my morning coffee next and walk outside to warm my car.
The engine roars with pain from the overnight hangover
Spitting out the clouds of fumes out of the exhaust and into the
Fresh morning air.
I sigh with relief as the twenty-years-old engine is still alive
And the car will take me to the place which feeds me.
I grab my stuff and walk out of the house, locking the door,
As my family is still sleeping upstairs.
With a mug of coffee in one hand and a laptop case in another,
I am ready for the day, whatever it brings.
Rolling out of the neighborhood while most of the neighbors
Are still at home, I listen to the latest morning news:
The state of the economy, the stock market forecast,
And the futures are down, and so am I
As the inflation is rising, as is my blood pressure,
The rate cuts are still far away, and the new IPOs are waiting.
The politics is still in deep shit, but this is how it’s always been.
Radio keeps me company along my way
And in about one hour and fifteen minutes,
I will be clocking in at work.

I see those people in their cars, sitting there in traffic,
Trying to get somewhere this morning.
I don’t see too many happy faces. Why would I?
We all are on our way to the places we hate, but this is how life works.
This is why we work all the time, even while sitting in traffic over the bridge,
We think about the day’s work, and there is nothing good to look forward to.

The office sounds busy, with all those people arriving at work,
Some people are chatty, laughing and smiling, and some are just
The ghosts of themselves. They know they have to be here,
But there is no desire, no inspiration, no life in it.
Some days at work are quiet, and I like it that way,
Some are busy and not my favorite, but still
For the next eight hours, I have to be here. I have to serve.
The next thing I know is the lunch hour.
The best time during the workday, any day.
The lunch room is packed as all of them are here to eat
And chat, and laugh and talk business, or whatever.
I am hungry too, but I’d prefer a quiet place with nobody around.
I eat my painful meal and watch all those people around me,
They, just like myself, have no other choice.
The afternoon hours are the longest, as always.
No matter what you do or don’t do, the time is moving too slowly.
At five, I pack without even thinking about any unfinished work
As I know, it will still be here tomorrow, waiting for me
To get done, to get finished. But I am finished with it now.
I am done for the day.
The parking lot looks like the fire drill in action,
With all those cars lined up at the gates waiting to get out.
Nobody wants to stay here any longer, and neither do I.
I join the evening traffic miserably, just like all of them, to get back home.
The home, that sacred place you spend your life to maintain and finance,
And yet you spend the least amount of time there.
I see the angst in those faces driving right beside me.
They always look like they’ve had enough.
They’re tired, confused, desperate, and lifeless.
Something has been eating their souls all day long
And they are free from all of that, as least until tomorrow.

I get back home one and a half hours later
And everything seems a bit better now.
I open the doors, and the kid runs towards me smiling,
He wants to play with me right away.
I look around the house as everything is a mess with
all those toys are scattered all around.
I know I’ll have to clean it up later; nobody else will do it.
My seven-month-pregnant wife is on the couch; she’s tired.
She was tired of being tired, and the weight of
The new child inside her tired her down.
We eat dinner together with some small talk,
The kid is getting anxious and wants to watch TV.
I am exhausted, but I finish my plate, and we play.
We play for the next two hours or so, and then we take a bath and
Then he goes to sleep with his mother, just like he’s used to.
I stay a while to clean up all the mess in the dishes and remove the trash.
I pay my bills, check my emails, and prepare for another day.
I go to bed with a book in my hands, and I sleep for the next five hours
Like they are everything I have.
The man is down, and it’s time to check out for the day.
Tomorrow will be yet another one, and so it goes, and so it goes
Until we are alive, the battle continues, and so it does.

Poem: It’s 1 am in the morning

~ John Loraine ~ 1 Comment


It’s 1 am in the morning or at night,
As I sit here on my backyard patio
Smoking my cigarettes, thinking my thoughts.
And the wind picks up and rolls the dead leaves on the ground
Letting me know that the summer was over.
It is over, man. All over.
As the cigarette burns and the trees shake off the dead leaves
And I sit here and wonder,
Getting more drunker and older and cold.
I am on my seventh beer, and the night is still young.
But sadly, I am not young anymore, as I age by the minute
Rolling through my life like the dry yellow leaves blown by the wind,
Out of my mind and out of my youth.
I am not getting younger, but I always wanted to be strong,
To be a true man, gentleman, to be an independent person.
But I am so weak as I still depend on so many things
Like those cigarettes, like that beer, like that night,
Like those leaves and the trees in my backyard.
The air is getting colder, and the wind blows harder,
And I know I have to get back inside.
I have to get back to the house,
To my family, to my bed, to my life.
It is Friday night in Pennsylvania,
And all I have is another six hours of sleep
And another six-pack of beer, and there’s
Another three cigarettes left in the pack
To keep me going through the night like a renegade,
Like a monster, like a lost soul.
And just like that, another new poem came to be.
A fresh new poem after a while.
And I am happy to have you again.
It’s been a long time, my friend,
It’s been a long life.

Poem: In the darkness of the muddy waters

~ John Loraine ~ 3 Comments

Unwanted, unneeded, unfit, rejected.
Society is still out there, doing its thing
But you are not part of it anymore, any longer.
You used to be there, and you had that spark in your eyes
But the tides have shifted, and now
You’re drowning in the darkness of the muddy waters,
Eating shit with shellfish, and seaweed, and sadness.
Sitting all alone in the darkness, chainsmoking
And pouring more wine in your glass bought on credit,
You’ve seen the better days, some days before.
Now, all you can see is the misery and despair.
There is a cold spring wind blowing in the night
The cigarette is feeling cold, too.
There is no job tomorrow and nowhere to go,
There is just more of this emptiness and cigarette smoke.
You’ve had your success, and you’ve been down before,
But each time, it feels like it’s the worst one yet.
This fucking life always goes up and down
And you have to learn to play this game sometime.
People meant to live, and people meant to die,
People meant to suffer, and people meant to survive.
I am fighting hard, but my fighting with myself,
Killing my shadow in the uneven match.
The moon is up high, and there are planes in the sky
Going somewhere.
The stars are all there and have no other business but shine.
You were the star once, and you’ve shone bright and high,
But even the stars do go down once in a while.
And you went down to the lowest of the low,
The lowest you’ve ever been, with all that success in the past.
There will be tomorrow and some more days in your life
You’ll figure out living as you’re learning to die.

Poem: There is a tunnel…

~ John Loraine ~ Leave a comment


The voice that soothes the soul
The eyes as deep as the ocean
The face reflects love, sadness, and loneliness,
And the attitude like nobody else’s.
I listen, I watch, I admire
I want you to be here with me
Sitting on the couch, side-by-side.
I want to light your cigarette
And listen to you singing your songs
To me, in the darkness of the night
In the lonely room for two
With some red wine in our glasses
And the youth to share with each other
Until the sun comes up, and as the daylight breaks in
And we are both tired and happy
Falling asleep next to each other
In the room filled with love, passion, and sex,
Where the time stands still, and the lonely
Cigarette buds sitting in the ashtray
As we embrace each other on the king-size bed
And there is nobody else, and there is no tomorrow.
It is us, right here, right now, and until
We are together and in love, and we have
Something only we can understand.
We have something in common.
We have us and our cigarettes and wine,
And my books and your records and our passion.
We have it all at this moment.

Poem: Working-class heroes

~ John Loraine ~ Leave a comment


Grey morning instead of a great morning
Friday is the best day of the week
When you know, the bullshit will be over after today, and you
Can live your life again, just like you always wanted.
There will be no jobs, no work shit, and no bullshit to deal with
It will be you and your family and your life for a moment.
Men spend their lifetime building a career,
Climbing the stairway to corporate hell
Six-figure salaries, bonuses,
And the best benefits you can find around.
Nothing is too few. Nothing is enough.
The hunger for more blinds you.
It is all there is on this fruit tray with poison.
This is your poison pill.
Once taken twice shy.
Take your chance to free yourself.
Half of what you make goes to the Uncle,
Another half would cover the debt.
What’s left for you?
After those never-ending jobs?
What is left of you, and your soul
When you sit all alone in a dark room.
You need the job to feed yourself.
Then the job starts eating you alive, like a fucking snack,
Like a drive-thru burrito.
You become the product, and you become the food.
You become a slave of modern society.
All you ever want is to live a normal life.
A working-class hero is no better than an
Working-class slave. What’s the difference?
There is none. None of you can make a choice
Not to have a job, not to work for somebody.
A man is a man when he is still a man.
The job is the job until it starts eating into man’s soul.
And then it becomes torture.
The man is more of a man when he refuses to enslave himself
For meaningless jobs that take away his life.
A man is a man when a man can fight to survive.
The working-class heroes are always busy these days.

Poem: My shit’s out of luck again

~ John Loraine ~ 73 Comments


My shit’s out of luck yet again
As I pour down the cold Heineken down my
Poor sorry-ass throat.
The wents are turning right above the yellow light bulbs
At the local bar where I drink.
They don’t give a fuck that I am down on my luck
They don’t give a fuck either way
All they had to do is to keep spinning
Running the alcohol-infused air around.
There are TV sets all around the bar, but they
Show and tell you nothing
They are a distraction from real life.
There is loud music playing in the bar
Making the cold beer go down smoothly.
My shit’s been out of luck
My life’s been out of luck
I guess this is what it is, and everything
Is fucked.
The end of one thing is just the new beginning
The old life ends following a new one
I am down on my luck as there hasn’t been much
And I pour another beer down
I’ve been down this road before
And the present does repeat my past
I will be out of this shit in no time
I think I’ll just have to do my best.
Cheers to all of you poor shmucks
Who feel just like I do today
Remember, there will be sunshine
On our street some day.
As the wind blew the fallen leaves down the street
My six-figure salary was blown away
Just like that.

Poem: The road

~ John Loraine ~ 9 Comments


Every road leads somewhere,
Even if you are going with no directions.
There will be stops, and turns, and exits,
But the road always goes on
As long as you are.
You should follow your destination.
Even if you don’t have one
Something will come along and
You will see the signs.
You will feel them,
You will see the light eventually.
There is a long road ahead of you
As you barely started this trip
On this never-ending highway.
Life is always rough.
It should be.
This is how you grow.
This is how you learn.
This is how you develop.
This is how you move forward.
This is what will keep you going.
This is what will make you go
Following the road,
Following the path,
And eventually finding yours.
There will be traffic on your way,
Exits, bridges, and dead ends.
But you will have to find your way out.
You might get lost sometimes,
But if you keep searching
You will find and reach your destination.
You will find where you belong in this life.

The sun is up and shinning,
It is shinning in your face
Making you feel happy, helping you see better.
It could also blind you, too, preventing you from seeing
Your path clearly.
You always got to keep moving forward.
Until you can
Until there is no life in you left, no energy
And passion for something.
Even if you don’t know what it is
Things eventually will turn around.
Things will come about.
Solutions will present themselves eventually.
You just got to keep on moving, keep going,
Keep following your path,
Keep following your road to the unknown.
Go straight ahead and never look back.
The past is behind you.
The past will not help you build your present.
The past will not help you build your future.
You are building your future today, right now.
For a better tomorrow,
Or worst, depending on what you do.
You just got to keep going,
Keep going.
There will be many destinations on your way.
There will be many obstacles in your way.
You have to be mindful.
You have to be careful.
Enjoy the ride.

Poem: Rainy days, rainy thoughts

~ John Loraine ~ 9 Comments

Sometimes it rains through the clear sky
Like the sky is cleansing itself and getting it all out.
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the sky through
The whiskey mind and the clouds of smoke.
There is something in that smoke that makes a man wonder.
There is something in the sky that does the same.
The whiskey is cold, and it tastes like freedom,
The only thing that one cares about always.
The only thing that one gets less of every day.
The only thing that is being taken away slowly.
You can’t take the words out of the song.
It’s been written this way. It is meant to be this way.
It wouldn’t be the same song otherwise.
There is music in the air, and there is smoke.
There is a brave heart, and there are bluebirds in the sky.
There is a strong mind and a weak soul
And there are so many books meant to be read
But most of them will be forgotten.
There is so much in life that it takes several lives
To live honestly and fully and experience everything.
Some men never lived, and some never died.
When it rains, the world stops, and everyone is waiting for it to stop.
When it rains, the soul wants to get out there and be free,
And wash itself out in that warm summer rain.
Some things will never be the same as people
Would never be the same.
There are songs that never will be played again.
Like the song of freedom.

Poem: The Magic of the Moment

~ John Loraine ~ 16 Comments

I walked toward the sunset
I did not want to wait until it came to me.
It was up there shining in my face
While going down,
Setting behind the horizon
Like it usually does.
The ocean roamed with waves coming back and forth
It wasn’t calm, but it made my heart at peace.
I’m peaceful here. I’ve arrived
To the place, I can call home.
I belong here. I am happy here.
It is all mine, all that ocean,
And all that sand and sun up there in the sky,
Shining in my face, hiding behind the clouds,
Hiding behind the horizon
Shining in my face its last
To let me know the day is over,
And tomorrow will be another one.
And nothing matters anymore before or after.
I am here, and I’m alive.

Poem: Staring in the distance

~ John Loraine ~ 15 Comments

The poem like the sun that shines through everything,
Shines through the darkness and blinds you.
A sunny day is just a sunny day unless you
Get a chance to enjoy it.
Who needs all the trees in the world
And who needs all the birds?
We have jobs, we have beer,
We have corporations and we have wars.
You pick your battles sometimes but
Most of the time they pick you
And fucking beat you to the ground.
The strongest man will survive,
This is the game and somebody
Is playing you all the time.
It is too dark to see and yet
There is just so much of it,
So much of everything
That with time it just doesn’t matter
It becomes your new life.
People change as they should
Not always for their best,
How can anybody be the best
When we all are running on power reserve?
The trees are blooming again
And it is this time of the year
When you just want all that shit
Go to hell, and disappear.
You just stare into the distance
Thinking about nothing,
With a cold beer in your hand,
Not a worry about anything.
Tomorrow will arrive
As it usually does.

Poem: Poetry

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

I am here. I stay up
When the night changes the day and
The day changes the night.
I watched it all happen
In front of my eyes.
I don’t have to go anywhere
I just sit in this small room
With the closed shades wearing
My sunglasses waiting for
The answers.
I know tomorrow is another day
And I think it will be different
While I hope not much will change
Because I like it this way.
This is good. This is simple.
This is familiar.
This is me in a nutshell.
Those who write poems
Early in the day, at the
Break of the day,
Always see
When the day changes the night
As it all begins all over,
For those who read poems.
One more time, just like
It has been before.
There is darkness to the day
And it feels lighter at night.
My words lined up in my mind and
I need to take them somewhere
On the page,
As I write, as I try, as I struggle
As I think of the next line
And the next poem
And the next day.
The day is changing the night again
And I am drowning in this room
Like I did the day before.

Poem: Hey, man

~ John Loraine ~ 16 Comments

Hey, man.
I know you out there somewhere
You’ve been so close, and now you’re gone
into the other world,
the other side they call it,
Where I can’t see you anymore.
You’ve been around so much
You’ve always been here,
Since the young days of our lives
I’m still around and pushing through it
And you’ve been gone,
So prematurely, gone.
It felt like in the young days
There was so much to live for
There was so much to do, to try
It felt like we’ve got all the time in the world, man
And the opportunities were endless
All we needed was time.
We’ve been together for so long
We’ve done so many things as one
We’ve lived through some tough shit
And we always knew to have some fun.
We laughed, and we’ve cried, and we were
Like brothers, the best friends forever.
I know we still are, and we’ll always be,
As long as I keep you in my heart.
So many happy moments, so much
Drinking and fun,
We never needed the reason, as long as
We were together. We were on.
It’s sad to no longer have you,
No longer see you, no more calls and texts,
No more the best friendship,
It’s all in the past, in my memories now.
I’ll keep you in my prayers and thoughts
For as long as I am alive.
You’ve taught me a lot with your living
Your spirit, your grit, and your mind.
I hope you’ve found your place out there
And heaven is now your new home
I know we will see each other again at some point
And then we’ll get drunk for the old good time’s sake.
I’ll tell you my stories, and you’ll tell me yours
We’ll hug each other, we’ll laugh, and we’ll cry,
It’s lonely out here, man, but this is the life
I have to move on and fight and survive.
I know that you’re close, man. I can feel you around
I am happy to ever know you and call you my best friend.

Poem: The good old days

~ John Loraine ~ 23 Comments

I reminisce about the old days
The days that passed and are a long time gone.
The days that kept me honest
The days which brought suffering and pain.

These days have left the mark inside me
They’ve been there for a reason
To help me navigate my life.
These days have made me the man I am today
These days were imprinted in my soul and mind.

My thoughts go back, and I remember thinking
How will this all play out for me one day?
I knew that something would be happening
I never knew what effect it would have on me.
The future was always a mystery and kept
It’s secrets away from me.
This was my life to live, and I did it
Knowingly and consciously.

I remember the young soul with all the needs and wants
I remember the dreaming and planning and hoping
One day for a better life to come.
I knew that nothing would stay the same and that
The world is turning, flipping, fucking up
I just needed to find my place here one day,
I needed to survive the hype.

I remember the sunny weather and
The sun’s been warming up my soul. The ocean,
It was as warm as is the bathtub water, and the sand,
It was just like powder, smooth and white.
I remember the early mornings of hope
I remember the evenings of sunsets,
I remember one day passing another,
I remember that I grew up too fast.
I remember these moments the best.

I lived in one place than another,
I knew that nothing was good enough,
I knew that I would never be completely happy
Anywhere, unless I’ll try too hard.
The young’s man heart is always wanting
And the soul is full of fire burning hot,
Life is always bitching and moaning,
And the mind never had the rest or stopped.

And even now, as I sit here thinking,
The years now passed, and the youth was gone.
I know that fire is still here, and the mind
Did calmed itself over the years and struggles
But I am still the same, still burning hot.
I think and reminisce and go back and forth in life
I know that things will never be the same again
Even if you try too hard. Life’s moved on, and so did I,
Nothing’s remained unchanged, except the little young
Man’s soul burned the dreaming hopes away.

The good old days will always be there,
The present will become the past,
The future will forever be a mystery and
One day it also is going to become the past.
I used to be so young once,
I’m growing older by the day,
It doesn’t matter. This is life. Things always happen.
One thing to know is that I did not waste my time.

Poem: Morning process

~ John Loraine ~ 15 Comments

I sit in front of the empty page and look at it patiently
I know it’s somewhere, but I cannot find it right now.
It is hiding from me, but I wait.
I wait for that spark to come back to me, to light me up.
I want to have it. I need that flame. I have to create.
I want to fill my blank pages entirely with words,
Page after page, line after line.
The rhythm of prose and poetry will guide me,
The inspiration will inspire me
The imagination will give me its gift once more.
But for now, I just sit here staring at the walls and
My coffee in the cup is hot. Just sipping
As the morning classical music is playing on the
Speakers on the wall,
Written by some dead people from a long time ago.
This is my morning. This is the process.
This is how I write, create, and get by.

Poem: Writer or not

~ John Loraine ~ 10 Comments

The sun will shine, and the wind will blow.
And the trees will hum their tunes staying green as much as they want.
Your next line is going to lay down or not,
It doesn’t matter. We’ve all been through that.
The coffee’s turning cold, and the cigarette’s
Burning down, but it’s just one tiny moment.
We are here today, writer or not
And we live,
We fight,
We survive.
We create.

Poem: Shortage

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

Everything is a shortage,
Jobs,
Workers,
Unemployment checks,
Wages,
Nurses,
Hospitals,
Doctors,
Medicine,
Gasoline,
Car chips,
Pick up trucks
And Teslas,
Toilet paper,
Paper towels,
Napkins,
Sanitizers,
And water,
Masks,
Vaccines,
People’s lives,
Sober minds,
Clear minds,
Strong minds,
Independent minds.
Smart, stupid, maniacs,
Heros, assholes, morans,

Everything is a shortage or soon will be in short supply.
We need so much shit the world cannot produce enough.
As life goes on, our time is a shortage too.
After today we’ll have one day less to live.
After today, there will be another shortage of something.
Did you get everything you need?

Poem: Myself again

~ John Loraine ~ 11 Comments

Here we go again,
Living this life,
Fighting this battle.
It never feels like the end of it
Even though it comes so naturally
And unexpected.
There is less and less hope
As there is less and less sense
In today’s life
Which keeps me wondering
And confused by today
And tomorrow.
There is still the same sky up above
There is still the same sun up above,
And it still shines the same for everyone
Leaving so many at peace
And so many heartbroken.
But this is life, and this is how it is.
It comes, and it goes.
We’re just the visitors, we’re tourists,
We are the guests who often get lost.
The stars will show when the darkness comes.
The dark will keep us safe.
It is just me here sitting surrounded by four walls
Fighting the worlds on the screen
Thinking, where do they come from?
How many there are left?
The meaning of it all. The struggle of creation.
The coffee treats my soul as the
The full page treats my insecurities.
The sadness goes away as
I become myself again. Just for today.

Poem: Life

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

I woke up early in the morning
Because I wanted to see more of this life
And I wanted to use my time wisely as
I know we only have so much to live
And so much to see.
It is terrifying to acknowledge that
Sooner or later, it all be gone
And we all be gone
And the world will never be the same.
And us will never be the same
As it all is moving around, changing,
Adjusting, disappearing with the sunsets,
And never emerging with the sunrises again.
The fresh cold air feels like life,
It feels like I need
More of it.
The grey-blue sky above feels like home,
It is endless, and it is always up there, somewhere.
It is time to make the changes; it is time to live
I wish I knew the proper way,
I wish I knew the secret, but I don’t.
I go on day by day, like so many others
Wondering,
What the next day will bring?
And as the day wraps up, we see
That it will bring nothing more
Then you’ve tried to accomplish.
Waiting is a waste of time and
Wating kills time and you, slowly.
There are so much to see and so much to live
So many sunsets and sunrises and
So much of the fresh air in the early mornings.
Enjoy it while it lasts, enjoy it while you can
We’re not going to be here forever
And there is no way of taking any of this with you
Once we’re gone.
It all will stay here, the same, making
Others wondering about it and enjoying it.

Poem: A hundred sunsets

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

I’ve seen a hundred sunsets
Trying to catch a perfect one.
There were many great once
But, not a single perfect one.
It didn’t matter though,
I’ve seen a lot of them already and
That has to count for something.
There are only so many
Sunsets you can see.
It only takes a few minutes
For the sun to disappear
Below the horizon and
Drown in the ocean
But these moments are worth a lifetime.
It keeps me here for another day
Wondering
In the silence of the ocean breeze,
Watching a hundred sunsets disappear.