Best Disinfectant Poems
It’ll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.
It’s an old fashioned Christmas.
We’ll all have on our masks,
and our muffled yuletide carols,
will be just like seasons past.
We’ll observe all the guidelines.
We’ll eat six feet apart.
We’ll have disinfectant under the mistletoe,
and keep safety in our hearts.
Sure, it’s an old fashioned Christmas.
One unique to the times.
The love this year might be careful,
but the feelings are genuine.
They call her big Gina
You'd know if you seen her
She is a toilet cleaner
She wears a white smock
Armed with bucket and a mop
She likes to keep things clean
And is a real scrubber
If you know what I mean
She whistles as she goes
With disinfectant wafting under her nose
She replaces toilet rolls
And cleans the toilet bowls
She really loves her job
She has a cat called Doris
And a husband called Bob
Her job is dirty and often smelly
She has a tattoo of a toilet on her belly
At the end of the day
She puts her mop and bucket away
Goes home and has a shower
Then cleans the house within half an hour
Her husband makes her mad
Leaving the toilet seat up
She puts toilet water in his cup
Of tea to sup
She has a daughter called Pru
She dreams of being a toilet cleaner too
She doesn't care about the smell of poo
Just her dream comes true
We should all appreciate toilet cleaners
Just like big Gina.
''Warning! Toilet water in tea. please do not try at home.
could be dangerous and doesn't taste nice''.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.
After a long work day I come home to a long warm shower. It was getting late into
evening hours. I sat down in my favorite black leather chair. Not knowing I was in for a big
scare. I rolled a joint and sat back fully reclined. I was getting high out of my mind.
As I was enjoying my weed, I almost choked because a voice spoke beneath me! I
jumped up and listened to my chair spit profanity. I wondered if I was loosing my sanity.
My lazyboy said, "Don't be scared, sit down and talk to me!"
I seriously thought I was dreaming. Like an out-of-body experience waking up
screaming. No this is real, very real. I just knew my chair was about to do a cartwheel!
"No need looking around wearing a frown, you been sitting down on me for years; so
have no fear. No it's not the weed, you're seeing clearly, so sit down and listen to me."
I sat down in utter shock, resting my buttocks. As my chair began to explain.
"No Jimmy you're not going insane, but I feel you're causing me harm. I have burns,
scratches, now dust all along my arms. I'm left with a permanant frown. I desperately need
a rub down. I don't wanna be mean, but get some disinfectant and clean. The way I'm living
is obscene!"
No more explanations were needed. So after a good wipe down it was obvious I had
succeeded. My lazyboy's black leather had a nice shine. Now I wanted to rest my spine.
"Ah I feel so much better. Now I can go back into a deep sleep. You can go back
enjoying your weed or nicotine. Just remember my hygiene, and from time to time give me
a clean - Thank you."
I could have sworn my lazyboy gave me a wink. I shook my head, tomorrow I would
go see a shrink!
For Matt Caliri contest "Spea Chair! Speak!
This happened to me twenty-two years ago. I thank God I am still alive.
I feel the ripple in my life's cycle,
impending risk that could rape my soul.
I look in the mirror, but no tears flow.
A virus cramps my shallow feelings,
an ominous glare that obscures.
The pungent smell of disinfectant
the impersonal looks of nursing aides,
the indifference of certain medics,
the fearful looks of other patients,
the smell of living death.
The surgeon comes,
examines,
prods,
feels
listens.
Like an auctioneer's hammer,
going, going, gone.
The verdict is announced,
a triple by-pass,
serious but operable.
"Don't worry, man!"
I look up at the wall
that surrounds my cell,
and see Him hung
on old worn wood.
Is it so difficult, Lord, to die?
Am I on my own in here?
Will I survive?
A tear trickles slowly down my cheek,
but now my inner self is lit.
I wake up from my stupor.
Life is a pattern,
mapped 'til our death,
but no man walks alone.
I smile,
I receive faith.
A glow illuminates my soul.
Tomorrow I may be dead,
but I am sure, Sweet Jesus,
I will survive, for meekly
I accept Your will.
Recently, my ears have heard
Some news that sounds quite absurd
My eyes can’t believe what they have seen
Is this for real, an outright global panic
Regarding the Coronavirus COVID 19
An epidemic that has turned pandemic
Has it been proved to be certain
That this is not a world government gimmick
I may be in serious denial when it
Comes to this coronavirus microbe
But it’s only because this is my worse nightmare
I am such an enormous compulsive germaphobe
Can’t even engage in my usual weekend shoppin’
Friends messaging all early saying, you better get to coppin’
But why rush, it’s my day off I’m home chillin’
Listening to my music cleanin’ and rockin’
They type back in all caps, EVERYTHING'S GOING FAST
I get to the store and of course it was too late
All the water and toilet paper scarce
In such a remarkably short time span
At least they still have disinfectant
Wait, why is Human Coronavirus
Listed on the Lysol can
Well, well, what do you know, it has began
Definitely have to stock up on some gloves and a mask
And if I’m going be under some kind of lockdown
Do I dare google where to buy a wine cask
Possibility of containment, no bueno
Too think, people been trying to warn us for years
I’m so mad I ignored the signs
Remained knowledgeable but yet comatose
I never thought I would live to see
The day where the world gets attacked by Thanos
Drink your herbal teas and keep up your immunity
You might want to also grab a zinc dose
I would hate for me or you to get a positive
Coronavirus COVID 19 diagnose
Born Joseph Ferdinand Gould, in Norwood Massachusetts, 1889.
A 1911 graduate of Harvard, and a
Greenwich village Bohemian from 1916 until 1957,
and the time of his death at age 68.
Joe was a filthy and disgusting man, who constantly smelled
like homeless shelter disinfectant.
Dirty fingers, greasy clothes but also an intellectual.
He was a writer, a poet, a lier and a bum, A thief and
A drunk, and other poets hated him and he hated them.
He once told them that "Not only is your poetry bad, but
also stolen from other bad poets."
One night he convinced them that he had written the
most wonderful poem, and that they should allow him
to stand and recite it, and they did.
Joe stood up that night back in 1942, in the Raven poetry club
in New york city`s Lower East side, and read his poem.
" In winter I`m a Buddhist,
and in summer I`m a nudist."
With that I raise my glass to you Joe Gould. I wish I had known ya!
The whole world is laughing at Trump
Whose thoughts seem to come from his rump
Disinfectant swill
Gave the world a chill
But clearly proved Trump is a chump!
"God's love fills me with gratitude" - Quote by author
Gracious Lord with love overflowing while devising,
created this universe mesmerizing
Every single element thoughtfully crafted,
an epitome of beauty, perfectly drafted
For safety our body is covered with skin,
All holes covered by hair, dirt can't go in
Our eyes have outer skin, eyebrows, eyelashes,
disinfectant water cleaning endlessly splashes
He manages internal functions of body
He has given us an automated body
Nature too functions independently
Every thing happens resplendently
Those who can't move like plant and trees
He provides for them, they live in ease
He gave utmost protection to every small seed
To ensure happiness blooms, organisms can breed
He created dynamic mesmerizing world to behold
He has given us much more than what we can hold
He has filled our life with multifarious sounds
Every time we hear them our joy compounds
He gave us variety in food and spices
So that our meal delightfully entices
Variety in his creation deserves acclaim
He ensured no two creatures are same
Still he doesn't boast, he has no ego at all
He works silently, we feel we doing it all
His love gently caresses me
I feel his presence wherever I see
God's love remains same
Whether we love or defame
We are sinning, destroying earth
Still his love has no dearth
Ever caressing wind whispers God loves me
Droplets of rain whisper he cares for me
Whenever I think how much God loves me
I am filled with exhilarating glee
18.07.2021
By Edmund Siejka
A high school English teacher
Issues a challenge
Her class
Is to write a poem.
Reading a student’s poem
Her experienced eye
Searches for
Imagery
Metaphor
Tone
Point of view
Ultimately the student’s poem
Is graded a gentleman’s C.
Somewhat surprised
The student admits his shortcomings
Indicating that poetry is a lot like writing
Disappointed
The teacher
Doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Coming home that night on a crowded train
The teacher passes up a seat
Letting an exhausted looking woman
Sit down
Thankful
For this simple courtesy
Brief smiles are exchanged
Strangers from two different worlds.
The teacher notices the smell of disinfectant
Hovering over the woman
Thick fingers holding tightly to her purse
The woman
Begins an animated conversation
With two other women
Broken English
Graceful hand movements
Words interrupted with laughter.
From what the teacher hears
She believes the women
Are cleaning ladies
The little people who clean the bathrooms
Vacuum carpeted hallways
Empty the trash
From windowed offices
High above the New York skyline.
The words ‘poetry is a lot like writing’
Linger in the teacher’s memory
One thing she is sure of
The ladies know of life
After years of
Hard work for little pay
Hungry children
Angry husbands
Absentee landlords.
The train stops
Momentarily the ladies collect
In a small group
On the empty train platform
Suddenly there is no more talking
In the awkward silence
Each of the ladies turn
Toward the direction
Of a place they call home.
By Elton Camp
She was weak from vomiting and diarrhea
Blood ran from her gums onto her teeth
Her husband and sons had died horribly
Only she and daughter Anne remained
The whimpering child clutched her mother
Soon, there was no longer any response
Anne ran to the neighboring metal shack
“Help me! I think mother is dead too.”
“Get away!” the family fearfully ordered
“You can’t come here. Go to your auntie.”
Her mother’s sister lived a half-mile away
The ten-year-old fled, stumbling, crying
“I can do nothing, child,” the aunt said
“You must never come here again!”
Small and frail, Anne collapsed in the street
Passers-by diverting gazes, walked on
Not lack of care, but fear ruled the day
Anne was an outcast by no fault of hers
Hours passed as Anne grew ever weaker
A doctor in a yellow bio-suit appeared
A mask and goggle completed her protection
Anne could see only a pair of brown eyes
Desperately ill, she could only give her name
The Ebola treatment unit was her only hope
Anne was bathed, clothes burned, new ones given
But without direct contact--only a faceless nurse
Enshrouded in the manner of the doctor
No vaccine or cure could be offered
The health care workers must be kept safe
Spread of the infectious virus must stop
It was a lonely, terrifying time for Anne
Parents dead, rejected by friends and family
To save young Anne proved impossible
She began to bleed freely from her mouth
Her final hours were a terror of desperation
Anne died miserably, alone and frightened
The burial team sprayed her with disinfectant
The same done for the inside of the body bag
They slipped her inside and closed the zipper
Then added a second and third body bag
Open pits in the forest awaited
Red Liberian clay filled the grave
A crude, wooden marker erected
“In Memory, Anne Rathborne”
when respite was
deckchairs and picnics
on car blankets
behind
windbreaks
sand was blown
into sheltered spaces
behind
driftwood and
rock.
dunes
grew
as grains of sand
accumulated
over time.
then
winds and waves
ate away
at everything
in their path.
as resilient barriers
gave way to
the full power
of nature’s
destructive forces
the
erosion
cried out
for radical
intervention:
something
to keep things
at bay
and
buy time.
like
the big plastic doors
that closed behind me
inside the
promenade hospital.
like
the blue paper masks
and the blue paper hats
in
the theatre.
like
the antibiotics
and disinfectant
on
'o' ward.
like
the marram grass
on the dunes
at
ainsdale.
I am in the Doctors Waiting Room
Waiting for my name to appear on the screen
I’ve been here for twenty minutes
Oh how much longer before I am seen
It’s embarrassing enough for me
Without the whole waiting room learning
That every time I use the loo
My pee has started burning
I sense the receptionist is highly amused
Though she tries to hide the fact
Then proclaims at the top of her voice
“Sounds like an infection in your urinary tract”
I can see all eyes upon me
As I go to take a seat
So I make my way towards it
While looking down at my feet
The TV on the wall blares out
An advert about a man called Giles
Informing you what measures to take
If you’re diagnosed with piles
There is an air of misery
And impending doom
Everyone thinking of all the flu viruses
Floating around the room
The lady sitting next to me
Stands up and shouts “outrageous!
If I have to wait much longer
I’ll catch something contagious”
A small boy is building with plastic bricks
Sat cross-legged on his own
While mum totally ignores him
Too busy on her mobile phone
I point out to her
A large poster on the wall
‘No mobile phones ever'!
She says “I’m talking to my boyfriend Paul”
There’s a sudden buzz of excitement
As a name appears on the screen
It’s of someone who'd got tired of waiting
They went home at two fifteen
There is the distinct harmonic sound
Of sniffing, coughing and wheezing
With an equal measure
Of moaning, groaning and sneezing
A sudden smell of disinfectant
Makes me catch my breath
My mother always said the waiting room
Had a distinct smell of death
My nose begins to run
And I really must take issue
With the man who stole my seat
When I got up to grab a tissue
My bladder's feeling full
I should have gone before i came
I daren't go to the loo
Because knowing my luck, they'll call my name
I really need to go
And decide to take the plunge
So I start upon my trip
Towards the toilet door I lunge
Safe inside the toilet
I am suddenly appalled
When I hear the tannoy whistle
And my name is being called
I pull myself together
And venture from the loo
It appears I’ve missed my turn
Someone took my place, I don’t know who
I approach the receptionist
And say “I really had to pee”
She says “Come back tomorrow,
Your appointment is ten past three”.
I woke at midnight, the digital clock like an electric rooster
It doesn’t tick but I hear the seconds pass with emphasized thud, thud, thud,
The kingdom of white, sterile, eunuchs wound by clockwork
Into the storm upon the horizon, placed within a bone china teacup
Drifting but safe from all unsavoury lesser gods or lesser men
Nothing remotely stimulating or challenging beside the saline drip
Thinking aloud but when the words fall out, almost just a mutter, a gust of air
It’s a world of obsessive compulsives, a wave of disinfectant, when sat beside
Your bland medical notes and records, the Holy Grail for overenthusiastic doctors
One mistake and you’re like a smeared fly, wings concertinaed into liquid
Your bones broken and oozing as some demigod’s thumb smears you out of history
But it’s still a calming whitewash, bleaching away or just coating the self-neglect
The machines, just how I’d imagine a clone’s manmade womb, an overcoat of wires
Regardless of appearance, it’s a calm tsunami which hits me like a war hammer
It’s a calming wave of silence and stumbled words when sat beside your bedside
Bleach - disinfectant
fly and hairsprays
polish - air fresheners
used everyday
In our homes
without a thought
whilst the planet around us
becomes out of control
Smog from rush-hour traffic
on the urban scene
irritates the chest
but then leave what you don't see
Chlorine in the
swimming baths
our work's not done
better change them to ultra violet
Oil prices gone up
while our fossils have gone down
yet fumes burn off in furnaces
straight into the clouds
We're digging out gemstones
creating deeper mines
We've dug for years for coal
and now hydraulic fracturing - we're fracking
What of the gases
that protect our Earth
The holes just getting bigger
yet we're not being heard
We are opening Earth's crusts
increasing vehicles on our roads
using all our silver - using all our gold
whilst the Earth dies screaming
And meanwhile whilst we live
in our ignorance
Generations that follow
will have health suffer in horrendous penitence
Hey, bud, I see
you've got this
weird type of paranoia,
fearfully believing
that all the germs
are scheming to kill ya,
that's why you don't
trust bottled water,
not even tequila;
and you rely so much
on the power
of your disinfectant,
toward a slight smudge
on the doorknob
you're intolerant
because to you it's
the plague
lying there lethally dormant;
nothing wrong with
being sanitary,
with being hygienic,
but yours is a worrisome
worrying, bordering
on the psychotic,
soon you'll be scared
of inhaling air,
boy, that's gonna be tragic!