Best Cleaning Poems
This morning
I sifted through years of memories
that ran like sand
through my hands.
A few pieces remained behind;
carefully
I put them away.
Afterwards
I sat for a long time
and listened to the rain on the roof.
Through your window,
I could see bare treetops
and a grey sky.
4/1/2018
Spring Cleaning
Springtime is a chance to start your life anew,
Dust off your pride and change your attitude.
Bring forth the hidden treasures, of your heart,
Don’t worry about the past that tore you apart.
Let the fresh air cleanse your soul, body and mind,
Release the inhibitions that have kept you blind.
Love yourself, for who you are and what you can do,
Never worry about what others think, it all about you.
Embrace the earth elements and the comfort they bring,
Sit back, relax, and enjoy the results, of your spring cleaning.
Written : © 3/21/16
Deadline: 4/13/16
Finalized: 3/24/16
Submitted for: Second Chance #3
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Sticky smears on the table top.
on the couch spilled soda pop
one chewed up shoe and one flip-flop
I’m doomed to clean this mess non-stop
Greasy dog bones gone astray
found buried in the rug today
the hamster made a getaway
where he’s gone it’s hard to say.
The shower drain is plugged, I swear
the tub has grout and needs repair
dirty laundry everywhere.
it really is a mess out there.
Under beds dust bunnies show
all closets are on overflow
the fridge is packed with things that grow
dishes clog the sink, I know.
Spaghetti sauce dumped on the floor
12 eggs broke, need I say more
fingerprints on every door
this place, a never-ending chore
Just when I think things can’t get worse
the leaking fish tank cracked and burst
40 gallons was dispersed
I think this house is cursed.
In every corner, ledge and groove
dirt and grim must be removed
there’s one solution I approve
pack your things, we’re going to move!
Liz Relly – 3/06/2012
“Cobwebs and Dust” Contest (new start)
Look into my heart Oh Lord.
See who I truly am;
For You alone can know it,
Can truly understand.
Be a lamp unto my feet,
A sword to thwart my foe.
Light the corners of my mind,
Where fear and hate can grow.
Enter my mind and lock it's door,
To hate and lust and pride.
Arm me with Your mighty Word,
And be my faithful guide.
Show me where my true faults lie,
And help me make it right,
That I may come before Your Throne,
Acceptable in Your sight.
Amen
It's been 9 days since I've posted in PS because of being needed by my sister. She's progressing, but very slowly. Thank you to those who've expressed your concern and offered prayers for her recovery. My granddaughter is over her crisis.
I've had little time or desire to peek into PS, but from what I've seen and been told, not only is AI rampant but plagiarism has returned. I ask you, poets... which do you consider to be the bigger offender?
A poet's voice will not be drowned out in obscurity
when from our conscience thoughts it is displayed.
But when the soup is riddled with AI cheating
and plagiarism, it's rancidly sour with impurities.
No surge of waves will stop a poet's ink from flowing
nor will gusting tempest winds cast their pens away.
It's the deep desire to write that all of us are owing
to the need of words seeking escape from the mind.
Those of us who write from heart and soul...
yes, that sounds like an overused cliche,' but AI
poetry is just a click away, written by machines
and plagiarists steal it from another source...
posting it as their own. It's demeaning to the Soup,
or as Jan would say, "It's nothing more than poop!"
I would like to think the community is worth saving
but I've seen no signs of that taking place.
Indifference is not the attitude anyone should take.
If the site matters, clean it up... for goodness sake.
Leave your thoughts in comments if you're craving
a say and I'll respond when I can from a hospital room.
None of us should take for granted a single day of life
or our family and friendships for we are not immune
to life threatening issues that always take precedence
over everything else beneath the glowing haloed moon.
Cleaning the dust never ends,
There is always a girl in a wardrobe,
Who does not let go of your hand,
There is always a girl in a museum
who does not look at Matisse and Cézanne,
There is always a girl in a garden
Who steals apricots and oranges,
Cleaning the dust never ends,
There is always a cat on a pink chair
Who yawns seeing you happy,
There is always a blue cat in yellow sheets,
Who waits for someone to stroke him a hundred times,
A young cat in trouble who thinks
to the mango that you covet.
Cleaning the dust never ends,
A wild orchid asks for water and love,
A wild orchid is still waiting
May a poet change his life and color,
It is enough for Matisse to comb flowers
To remove the dust from the world, that
Grapes in the fruit basket.
SPRING HOUSE CLEANING ( reverse Etheree)
house
ugh! house!
needs cleaning
it’s saturday
what an awful mess!
dust cobwebs outside dirt
it boggles my mind to think
when I think it’s of other things
wouldn’t it be nice to take a nap
all day but then the mess will still be there
know what? I saw an add in the paper
this old chinese lady cleans houses
she is very reasonable
654 – 7328
“hello chinese lady?
you say she’s out now?
what does she charge?......
saturday?
no workee”
GREAT!
Scrap the smoldering, winsome words
the lovely odd truce made of letters
found carved with the edge of an old pocket knife
on a strap made of metal and leather
Burn off the tarnish on platinum rings
engraved with the infernal: "LOVE"
found pulling limp loyalty up to it's feet
and then giving it a death dealing shove
Trip over shoes which should still be for dancing
and spin them right into the trash
found in the corner of the cluttered dark room
like a pack rat's incurable stash
Blow open windows long stuck closed with paint
Push all the junk to the sill
Unburden your soul of it's hideous secrets
and snatch back your sacred free will...
That was the day we played all day outside
And ride imaginary stick horses around
Shooting and shouting as if our lungs was rawhide
It was in imagination that the fun abound
That was the day the house seemed in disrepair
Furniture and boxes all out of place
Chaos reigned while mama cleaned everywhere
Leaving germ and dirt without a trace.
I thought of mama today as I watched you clean
Remembered how we would wipe our foot
On the little mat, but mostly could not dare go in
As if we were the grime or the cause of soot
Food would only come when mama took a break
But not before dark and howling belly turned
Play into night, and after the yard was swept and raked
Something about you in mama I'd discerned.
What was all that cleaning just to be clean, I ask
Or was it a search for something missing here
What deeper motive had the highly honored task
What coin, or sheep, or son hid behind the tear
What golden fleece or grail to you both have been lost
I know mama cleaning searched for meaning here
As if sin was something we could see like life's dross
As if to seek was the magic bullet for man's despair.
O something about you remind me of mama, my dear
And childhood comes rushing back in floods
Two sparse rooms and five pieces of furniture there
While we chased butterflies from dying buds
You are different though, for you have allowed us in
Watching our eyes to tell you of missing spots
But we just laugh and tell long tales while you clean
Life is too short to search or go connecting dots.
< amidst thy shell's core
healing of ones soul begins
with ......... wholesome cleansing
Adamant Face
My mother used to say with an adamant face, "There is a place for everything and for everything a place!”
My goodness, this house is a total disgrace"
So every Tuesday at quarter past 4:OO
each person in our family had the same chore,
to straighten the house and pick up the floor.
We all sighed, then one replied,
“Where do we put things?”
“Where do they go?”
"Where did they come from?"
"We don’t know!”
"Just put things back in their original home.
"Whatever you do, don’t let them roam"
If you don’t know what it's called,
where to put it,
or what it does,
or you can’t throw it out or know it’s name because,
it doesn’t have a match or
there is a piece detached ;
then don’t give up, just keep your chin up.
Leave nothing astray, but please be done by the end of the day"
"There is a place for everything and for everything a place" she reminded us with her adamant face.
Our cleaning began, and what did we find ?
Interesting things of every kind.
Two birthday candles from my cake years ago, rusted nail clippers that trimmed my big toe.
A broken pencil with a very dull end, and a thank you card I forgot to send.
A soy sauce packet stuck to a fork, from a take out order of moo shoo pork.
A spool of thread, the color red, when I sewed my clumsy thumb instead!
Grandpa’s glasses missing one lens
My sister’s retainer
And 2 leaky pens
A postal stamp
A bread bag clip
The top to my mother’s pink lipstick.
A germy cold lozenge when I had the flu.
A dirty lace from a tennis shoe.
Three receipts from CVS.
A zipper from an old prom dress.
Soon we finished, and one replied,
“Our cleaning is done, we picked up the floor,
No longer a disgrace anymore!"
"We put things back in their original home,
where they belonged and could not roam”
“Mother, that place was the kitchen drawer!"
Our job is done, say no more!
There is a woodpile in my in-laws’ cellar, and some coal, but other rumored things also.
And it has been there a long time since anyone tripped down these broken concrete steps.
Maybe twenty or thirty years; we inherited this home a long time ago.
We have sold it four times on contract,
which has fallen through again.
My husband is not here,
He cannot take it.
But I can, so I take a couple of steps,
Until I get within a foot, when I stop dead as
I can smell the mold through the three-inch door.
The rumor is that there are treasures down there.
I do not know. We were never allowed near this cellar door.
Now I am sixty-six, so technically old enough to go down into this cobwebby den,
But I can smell the mold through the door.
So I back up and rest in an old lawn chair, left by one of the people who thought they
were buying the house before they decided to desert it.
I can still smell the mold, so I back up a bit further, the sun on my face, my feet leaning against a gentle lavender clover.
I am terrified of mold, as I am an asthmatic, and mold could trigger some awfulness in me.
So here I sit, staring as others wander in and out, poking among dusty things
That are disintegrating as they are being brought out into the sun.
Other relatives are coughing; trying to breathe as they haul green and brown stuff out,
Most indistinguishable as real things at first or second glance.
Most needing a power washing, that would completely decimate it.
Maybe she had the right idea, one says, pointing at me, as I lie here, soaking
Up the sun rays. I take off my shoes and push my toes into the clover.
Then I turn my face up, letting the sun hit my nose.
Are you kidding? A teenager yells. This treasure hunt is great!
She runs back down the steps to haul out more loot that her prissy mother
Will never let her take in the car, let alone in the house.
I know because I am prissy girl’s mother.
So here I sit, in a falling-apart green lawn chair, watching the show.
Thinking how my mother-in-law is probably up in heaven laughing, as she too
Smells the mold through that cellar door.
Scrubbing Bubbles, Dreft, Life Buoy, and Shout.
Help me to get my greasy grimy out.
Irish Spring, Dove, Windex, Borax too,
I turn to them when I am blue.
Cleaning is something I resolve not to do
unless I am in the throes of a horrible boo-hoo.
Clorox, Borax, Tide, Dawn, and Ajax too.
They only come out when I am mad at you.
If you see the Pledge, you had better run.
If I bring out the Zest, for you it is not going to be fun.
If you see Old English you know you are a cad.
Because I only clean like this when I am truly really mad.
Or if company is coming, which is only two or three times a year.
Where are you going,- as I reach for the Tide - afraid of me, dear?
Cleaning up my spirit; I am using my Jesus Sweep. Letting go all these evil spirits because they are too heavy to keep. Hanging on to a thin thread as I look up high, surrounded by God’s love as I climb up the sky and fly. Cleaning up my spirit, as I look inside. Praising our Lord Jesus Christ for he has been crucified. I am continually doing God’s will for we shall not lie, cheat and steal. When judgment day comes, I am a child of God and forever sealed.
I was asked one day to clean my fridge,
Too much clutter, dust, and grime,
I’ve never had fun doing this,
But it must be done from time-to-time.
I’m always amazed at what I see,
All the items hidden away,
Some are scary, some are ugly
Even disgusting I would say.
But now it’s time to start the task,
Go through each item one-by-one,
She will not be satisfied
‘till all is cleaned and the projects done.
Well, what have I found here?
This is one I forgot,
I shut my eyes and sensed,
It has begun to rot.
I reached in far to the back,
To remove the smelly waste,
My head began to hurt,
The bulk felt like paste.
How long had it been there,
And ‘wow’ it made a mess,
Would a little bit remain,
And leave me in distress.
As I look in the cracks and corners,
More and more I could see,
How long was this going to take,
How clear would my head be.
You see each week I talk to one,
And she tells me what to do,
“Go home clean your refrigerator.”
She says,
The past is gone… room for the new.
By: Greg Stanley
Entered in: Anything Poetry Contest
12/8/2011