Best Detergent Poems
Surface tension
Third dimension
Imperfect sphere
Rays interfere
Spectral contours
Numbers ensure
Hydroxide base
Light interface
Occam's cutlass
Logic's numbness
Can not destroy
Our childish joy
Ever humble
Soap sud bubble
Magical wide eyed wonder
Capturing a father's heart
Blowing bubbles
Soapy sorcery
Daughter's delight
Laughing
Must hold
Must keep
Must treasure
He stayed her tiny hands
These are our dreams
You cannot destroy them
Look how hope carries them high
The large ones wobble
Then pop under their own weight
The small ones float longer
Simple and sensible
None last forever
Don't cry
There are always more bubbles
Look how they touch
Some pull apart
They burst
Some pull together
They grow
See the rainbow colours?
There's a pot of gold at the end
And all the bubbles float upwards
To make a castle in the sky
Out of our dreams
But daddy
Soap bubbles are spheres
And have no ends
And no pots of gold
And castles belong on the ground
And they're made of stone
And not of dreams
Silly daddy
He looked at his daughter
And wondered where the years went
Her childhood an ephemeral existence
Of a bubble
The soap had run out
And she had grown up
As we all must
Entry to "utopia and the soap bubble" contest
Written 6th March 2017
Notes:
Soap typically contains either sodium hydroxide (caustic soda) or potassium hydroxide
"Occam's cutlass" is a reference to Occam's razor - the principle that the simplest explanation is often the correct one
I washed my soul to achieve maximum brightness
Used all the best religions they promised whiteness
I worked really hard but I couldn't get it clean
Washed it over and over like a good human being
The stains seemed permanent there before my eyes
Would my hope of whiteness ever be realized
I listened to Jesus knocking, then his quiet voice
It seems that red Detergent is the best choice
Blood that was spilled, His life sacrificed for me
The Lamb's whiteness, has made me stain free
Bar none, no shortage of soap shampoo, nor detergent
Courtesy food pantries
Saint Eleanor's Saint Mary's,
Our Daily Bread,
the missus and yours truly (her spouse)
well stocked with good n plenti of
soap, shampoo and detergent.
Spongebob squarepants
would be in seventh heaven,
where sudsy clouds (resembling
Mister Krabs, Plankton,
Sandy Cheeks, Squidward, et cetera),
would drift across celestial vault.
Gratitude bequeathed to prophets of virtue
benevolent good samaritans
who trend righteous true
to the calling of helping hands who renew
faith (mine) in goodness of humanity
assisting not only yours truly
and the missus, but people
from South American country named Peru
or even indigenous tribes
accorded recognition comprising
population of inhabitants occupying New
Zealand, offered reparations
under the Treaty of Waitangi,
a process of reparation allowed
Maori to be fully recognized
at political level in lieu
of unfair practices inflicted upon
original occupant loosely similar
to descendents of long lost tribes of Israel,
endowed with (pure tin) pride
wishing I too could call myself proud Jew,
nevertheless attraction manifests destiny
(mine) someday to learn Hebrew.
Courtesy atheism more so Unitarianism,
I need not adopt
an explicit dogmatic, fanatic, humanistic...,
lunatic, narcissistic, puritanic... paradigm,
but only tout poetic justice (mine)
to recognize laudable traits
linkedin to orthodox faiths,
albeit rationalistic rubric
that caters to selflessness
for no other reason
than allowing, enabling, and promoting
random acts of kindness
without any forthcoming great expectation
downplaying remuneration,
no matter destitution begot mein kampf
hard times living within bleak house
slight hyperbolic exaggeration
poor as a cheesy church mouse poet.
Lemme coast to a fitting conclusion
bringing reasonable rhyming blather
originating courtesy me noggin,
within which wool doth gather
thus I a halt and
dial down philosophical lather,
cuz most likely
ye dear reader would rather
experience palmolive oil slather
preparatory to full body massage.
I have just the detergent,
To clean your dirty clothes,
I will even guarantee to you,
They will smell like a rose.
Even if you have no machine,
There is no need to fret,
In a pan soak them in this,
Until they become very wet.
Leave your clothes one hour,
They will come out fine,
And, when they have dried,
They will surely shine.
When you go somewhere,
You can walk with pride,
For all your dirt and grime,
Your clean clothes will hide.
She said she liked my poetry
But wouldn't do my laundry
Guess I need to add more detergent to my verse.
What might be the matter
With our next-door Martha,
Her rash mischief steady
And she, by choice, heady;
Content to seem an Eddy,
Her gross slaps often ready
Last week, the cheeks of Freddie?
And her guy who is intelligent
Keeps betraying more The Belligerent
Our own share of Satan’s Sergeant,
For his weapons include detergent
And maybe, tomorrow, A Reagent!
A huge surprise they call him agent,
Who thinks and acts like an insurgent.
I keep espying an aggressiveness
Of catching sureness and silliness