Best Chores Poems
How will my household chores get done?
They're just no fun.
I'd rather write
about this plight.
Great piles of clothes and dishes hope
for cleansing soap.
Another time,
I'll banish grime.
Today a "Minute" calls my name.
This prompt's to blame
for undone work
I had to shirk!
received NA in an open-choice contest on April 10, 2022
September 17, 2022
entered in the Your Second Chance 2nd Submission: Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
I can do this, I can do that
I can do anything, splicketty-splat.
I'm quite the expert, and certainly quick
Excellent service here, licketty-click.
Your toaster won't roast'er?
Your car needs repair?
I'll fix your teepee,
your sofa and chair
I'll cure your doggy
of fleas, lice, and pox
I'll wash your diapers,
your windows, your socks.
I'm inexpensive, and fast as a wink
Available any time, blinkity-blink.
There was a naughty girl, and the naughty girl was she
She worked a crossword puzzle, while she had her cup of tea
Poured another cup, ......she should get up!
for chores and roll her sleeves
She had much work to do, but her good intentions flew
like feathers in a breeze
Instead of mops and brooms, she would sing a cheery tune...
while she danced around the room..
Sudsy dish pans full....but Mother Nature pulled
her to the sunshine for a stroll
Her bed unmade, her bills unpaid,
But instead she picked a daisy
Beneath a sunny sky
......she heard the lullaby
of the birds that sing on high
She had meals to cook
but would rather look
at the snowtop hills nearby
So much work undone, and the dinner?......NONE!
But she fed her soul instead!
_______________________
For Linda Marie's Contest "I Am Bored With _______
By Carrie Richards
The kitchen radio rumbles heavy drumbeat,
outside, rain pecks out its staccato
on the porch.
Stirring fragrant coffee,
I ponder doing dishes, starting laundry,
pause to glance at him.
Across from me,
his eye-crinkling smile
liquefies all my resolve.
Oh, listen
to that insistent rain
ans heartbeats drumming.
She rose from the table moving slowly to the sink. This was not her favorite time, too much time to think. Her body moved from memory now, the right bit of dish detergent, she must refill that bottle soon, moving the faucets to memorized positions, water streamed out on cue, precisely the right temperature, “hot to clean - not to scald”.
She and water worked well together, having partnered in so many chores; laundry, toilets, sinks and floors. One plate now, one knife, one fork. Sometimes she would cut things like meat loaf or fish with the edge of the fork, skipping the knife, one less utensil to wash. Less time at the sink, less time to think. Against the outside darkness she could see her reflection in the kitchen window. How old she had become. Reminders were everywhere of how her life was dwindling, shrinking, shriveling. She felt too small for her skin, which hung loosely on her like a half-filled bag of potatoes, pouches and folds everywhere. She would need to put this dishcloth in the laundry after finishing. She always rinsed them in cold water to inhibit the bacteria growth but they would start to smell after only a few days. She had become accustomed to foul smells. The smell of dying cells and incontinence pads and bad breath, side effect of certain medicines. She hated eating alone, living alone, being alone, but sometimes she hated it even more when memories of better days settled in upon her. it was like a visit, full of joy and expectation, exciting conversations, catching up, and sharing fond memories. But it was always followed by goodbyes, the pain of separation, and a return to loneliness. She put her plate in the cupboard and was reminded of how she had put other things in her life away; her younger sister from an accident, her only son from someone’s war, her husband three years back from cigarettes she had threatened to divorce him over. She put her silverware in the drawer and closed it tightly, closing her mind tightly at the same time. It wouldn’t do to dwell on any of this, what’s done is done. The dishes were done
Alarming Monday :
Wake up!
Sleep in...
All the chores to do
Kitchen to clean, do laundry
And then a bird sings
What once was my passion
Has now become a chore
Like tired old carpet shedding on the floor
Early Winter Farm Chores
Shall I muse at midnight on the morning sun
now hiding very far beyond the pale.
Dread farmyard chores needing to be done
as morn sun rises over hill and dale.
Warm in bed, staying would be a disgrace
when winter marches in far too soon.
Tarry late and hot glowing embers embrace
to rise late only in a lazy afternoon!
Or instead jump from this warm , soft bed
racing on out when red rooster crows.
Quickly getting pigs and chickens well fed
all long before the cold winter snows!
Up early before morning's sweet sunlight.
Another farming day, another long fight.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-01-2015
Note-- Edited an older poem from back in the 80's.
Shortened into a sonnet..
Farm Chores, They Sure Aren't A Glowing Parade
Brutal cold cuts into young tender skin,
winter arrives with its hard cold and more.
No time to complain- NOT IF we are men,
farm child, time to wake, do the daily chores!
Up before the sun makes it first day's peep
into savage cold, hard cold, to morn's work.
Cutting blasts, such bitter cold one could weep,
we had best get it done, no time to shirk.
Chills eat into hungry brain this day,
no breakfast, working until cold-sun fades.
Why gripe, matters not whatever I say,
farm chores, they sure aren't a glowing parade!
Brutal cold cuts young tender skin this morn.
Such pain, methinks better not to be born!
R.J. Lindley
December 12th, 1965
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 112
Note: From my private journals.
My oldest surviving poem (a sonnet), written at age eleven.
And based upon my life on the farm and the very trying
hard times we lived and survived.
Edited slightly before posting to meet the uniformed
ten syllable count.
Ode to Chores
By Brenda Kahn
When the Good Lord
In his wisdom, Hark!
Said “Separate
the light from dark.”
He surely didn’t
See that time
Would be a scarce
Resource to find
I throw my clothes-wash
In by person
Lest my crazed
Schedule worsen
If I did dark
Then later light
Lord knows I’d be
Doing wash all night
Now let’s take a
Look at dishes
Yes! I want to
Save the fishes
But if the washer
Doesn’t run
Each night the mornings
Won’t be fun
There will be no
Little spoons I trust
And everyone
Will miss the bus
And who is it
Who said that,
If we bought
A tabby cat
They would surely
Clean the litter
A chore which leaves me
Slightly bitter
Now babies
While they make a mess
Their culinary
In-ter-ests
Are simple
Older kids not so
They complicate things
As they grow
Till no meal happens
By the book
Less dinner – more
Short order cook
One says too sweet
One says no crust
One spits it out
With disgust
And if you find
A way to wrangle
Your whole brood
To the table
One eats fast
The other slow
Everyone answers
“I dunno”
Lordy what’s a mom to do
With such a cantankerous crew?
But I digress
Our topic here
Is what to do
With soccer gear
Piles of cleats
Sticks lacrosse
And other sporty
Stuff to toss
But instead
I make a bin
Label it
And throw stuff in
So take a cue
From my girl Eve
If you feel a sudden
Pull to leave
You’re not at all
The only one
Chores are simply
Not that fun.
Cleaning the house, Cleaning my room
Deciding what to use, the mop or the broom
trying to do the dishes while washing the floor
why do i have to clean and paint the door?
Oh my word!, there's so much more
Why do cleaning have to be a bore
I'm busy cleaning the lounge and the kitchen
while my siblings are siting inside eating juicy,delicious chicken
Every part of my body is getting numb
Why do chores have to be so dumb?
Cleaning the house, Cleaning my room
Deciding what to use the mop or the broom
Housework
Big jerk
Contest of Judy Konos
One Footle Only
From Franco Gonza/ 8.Jul.15
Spin, twirl, they swirl
Mesmerized I sit
And watch colours mix,
match.... hopefully
Here is that sock,
it gapes and screams
silenced by the brief
strangled by failed
shirr
It purrs, white one-eyed cat alike
(I sneeze, washing-powder
allergy.)
To fall asleep
so soothingly lulled
to oblivion,
nakedly in wait
for my beloved
belongings.
***
May 23, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Easy to do it,
while you do other things here,
a washing machine.
It’s so convenient;
that nothing left is undone
new technology.
How life gets easier,
with aids from other scopes
that science provides.
It seems cooking
at this time is an attraction
especially for someone who
starves and needs something to eat.
Alone in the kitchen
a good recipe awaits me there
it’s an attempt
to see if I can cook something
oh, it must be a good experiment
with my creativity to do it.