Best Dustpan Poems
Cinderella thought she had found her Prince Charming,
but arriving at the palace was a bit alarming.
Cinderella found it rather absurd,
how each room had women from all over the world.
Then he gave her a dustpan and sweeping brush,
told her:
"Clean the kitchen and then make sure the toilets flush."
Now Cinders, had just escaped her ugly sisters,
she was a bit fed up of cleaning with blisters.
What ever happened to their 'happily ever after?'
Her dreams of love had turned into a total disaster.
Now there's only so far you can push someone,
all a girl wants is to be free and to have some fun.
There was no way she was going to live in another hell,
gathered all the other women and pleaded:
"Lets rebel."
They all got together with their sticks and brooms,
told Prince Charming he can clean his own rooms!
He spent all day scrubbing the toilets clean -
whilst Cinderella sat on the throne as queen.
Running out of ideas?
That is impossible if you have a:
friend
acquaintance
neighbor
co-worker
boss
president
king
queen
TV set
I-pad
I-phone
I-pod
kangaroo
chicken
donkey
toilet paper
monopoly
dictionary
thesaurus
computer
outside
inside
dog
cat
dresser
drum set
sibling
diary
father
mother
siblings
dragon
butterfly
unicorn
dawn
sky
stars
cosmos
moon
nemesis
goldfish
talent
team
plate
fork
spoon
blanket
bed
sun
moon
stars
spiders web
wasp
bathroom
kitchen
holiday
cousins
grandma
grandpa
car
truck
broom
dustpan
plane
bedroom
child
grand child
brain
imagination
love
life
ufo
or
space aliens
Death belies the darkness summoned,
tombstone-colored is the sky,
shards of memories merely fragments,
wailing wind the sole reply.
Violent storm winds strip the tree limbs
like a poltergeist, unseen,
tawdry feeders, heavy wind chimes,
beat against the window screens.
Waiting for the glass to shatter,
like so many childhood dreams,
china teacups, rosebud patterned
in the dustpan, unredeemed.
© 2009 Danielle White
They scoop me up, I smell so good. Others come, and stand in line. People shifting, impatiently.
They pay money, as cash registers sing happily. Wide pleasing smiles appear when they reach for us.
One starts eating me before she returns to her seat. She sets me on the ground in a stall for a bit.
Picks me up, washes her hands, and dives in again. Her hands are cooler now, but I do not care.
It feels wonderful to be appreciated. My smell has permeated the theater now. Others are running
Toward the cash registers, eager to give their money, so they can begin diving into my relatives.
I hear my brothers and sisters laughing as they happily crack and pop. My dad smells so tasty!
My mother is smacking in delight as someone gulps her down. Ugh! A kernel one says.
I watch him spit my kernel cousin Jake onto the carpet. I feel sad as I watch a dustpan get him.
It would feel terrible, rejected like that. My family is a proud bunch. We are excited that
We are more popular than the stars and shows that brought this crowd here in the first place.
The silence now pervades my soul and mind.
I smile in wonder at the scene sublime.
The silence now pervades my soul and mind.
I wish to hold this moment for all time—
The beauty of the flowers full in bloom.
I smile in wonder at the scene sublime.
There is no need for dustpan, rake, or broom.
The roses in their glory make me cry—
The beauty of the flowers full in bloom.
I want to understand why when I spy
Upon this garden planted by a man
The roses in their glory make me cry.
It must be all a part of God's own plan
To show the awesome beauty He creates
Upon the garden planted by a man.
When I discern the plot, my thoughts abate—
The silence now pervades my soul and mind.
To show the awesome beauty He creates,
The silence now pervades my soul and mind.
Wally Cleans His Room
When he woke up Tuesday, Wally looked around his room.
It really was a mess and so he went to get his broom.
All his cleaning items went into his purple pail,
the dustpan in his right hand, and the dust cloths on his tail.
He hung his clothes up in the closet, placing them just right,
swept and mopped and dusted, and then polished things so bright.
Next was putting all the toys in toy chests where they should be,
When he finished, Wally thought his room was clean as could be.
His bed was made, the pillows fluffed,
the floor was clear of all the stuff.
He thought that he had done enough.
“I am so proud of me.”
Picking up the broom and mop, he tripped and hit the floor,
gave his head a great big whack, his tail caught in the door.
He got up carefully and put his cleaning things away.
“I tidied up my room real nice. Now I can go and play.”
In his lime green studio, he took out all his paint pots.
The last thing that he painted looked like it could use a spot
of color added here and there to make it better yet.
Now it had to sit a while because the paint was wet.
Wally’s glad he cleaned his room ‘cause now it’s spic and span.
The job was easier than he thought it’d be when he began.
He needs to tidy up each day
He’ll keep his bedroom neat that way
He plans to do it on Tuesday
of each and every week.
Lay down and rest now,lay down and rest
You've sown wisely,you've given your best.
As friend, wife, and mother you've labored with love
No worries now, no cares now,come rest above.
Leave cupboard and kitchen,needle and thread,
Broom and dustpan,come lay down your head.
You've labored through sunrise,midday and now
It's sunset my little one ,come rest your brow.
I've seen that you've given,so many you've touched
Life is better for all,for your caring so much,
So come aside daughter,come aside dear,
You've shown me to others,so come join me here.
Thank you Grandma P
11/4/96
It was late afternoon on the 27th of June.
I was sitting on my porch, just whistling a tune.
Having just returned from a European tour;
My bride being tired sat in her chair and snored.
I was feeling just a wee bit bored,
So headed to Fred’s for evening chores.
Now we had just finished milking
And I was considering exiting.
When Fred tossed me a broom;
Asking “Would you mind sweeping the milk room.”
I had just finished emptying the dustpan,
Whence entered Fred with two cups in his hand.
I poured out some milk fresh from the tank.
You could see the smile on his face as he drank.
When suddenly Fred reached over giving my arm a yank.
My milk spilled all over the place,
As Fred assumed a sly look on his face.
“Why did you spill milk from your cup?”
“Because you yanked my arm!” I said in a huff.
Fred just shook his head and exclaimed,
“That’s not the reason!” “Let me explain.”
“You spilled milk from your cup,
Because milk is what you chose to fill up your cup.”
“So, it is the same with you as a person.”
“What you choose to fill up with I’m certain,
Will be what spills out when your life is shaken.”
“Of this fact I do not believe I’m mistaken.”
“If you choose spite, envy, and hate;
This is what you will spill forth when life is not great.”
“However, if you fill up with faith, hope, and love;
These will spill out of you, even when life gives you a shove.”
Trojan War
As I sweep the floor I find little pieces of you.
Reminding me of you.
That you were once here.
Living in our house.
Being part of my life.
Now you're gone.
I know where.
I sweep the floor.
Cleaning up.
Ridding my house of your presence.
When the last piece of you is swept away, I'm free.
Free of you forever.
There go your severed fingers.
Followed by strands of your golden hair.
One of your eyes tries to roll free.
Got it!
It all goes into my dustpan.
Then down the toilet, to be cleansed by water.
I look forward to that bit.
Ridding this place of you.
Your influence fantastically finished.
I feel rapturous.
I shout and dance with joy.
I've done it!
Got rid of you.
I'm not saying how I parted you to pieces.
Magic?
The last bit of you is brushed up, your small button nose.
Down the toilet you fall.
Flush goes the life saving water.
Goodbye dear sister.
I knew you wanted to do this to me.
Now nobody will know of what we did.
Of your pregnancy.
I cleansed the baby too.
It was inside you as you fell.
It won't cleanse me in twenty years, if you failed.
You see, I'm a warrior and Troy must fall.
I must have my war.
I refuse to be lazy and fat.
Like the Greek elders.
Maybe I'll kill them next.
I loathe them and their tampering actions.
Some things are sacred.
Just like you once were.
Goodbye dear sister, best friend and dear lover.
I've a city to burn.
poverty a blight
a dustpan for the fight
keep our cities clean
armed with will and might
the Israelis got it right
strategy obscene
burn them in their tents
bid vermin good riddance
best not to be seen
Recepticle: One of a kind
It was a thoughtful gift
in the shape of her heart
Symbolic inscription-
"Love's Everlasting Hopes"
kept next to the front door
In shadow, in half-light.
She kept her car keys there.
Small change, new receipts
pins and paperclips, pens
lipstick, bangles, spare things...
Simple concave, convex
Moulded mind-heart shape
Porcelain pale shadow
Clear intent left it there
Till the time came when smirk smile
black hate eyes stepped inside
sleight of hand side-swipe flick
despise, devalue, discard
done with splitting, slitting
pound of flesh sacrifice-
So easy to replace,
no end to his supplies
She only had One Heart
for him, no Big Surprise,
a common vessel trade
for his communal use
Belly feels deep pity
for its now shattered state,
She drops to hands and knees
Picks up each fragile piece
bright blood drips from fresh cuts
thin red lines smear love read,
Torn vessel spills plasma
tears, love is precious life
Dustpan holds bits and pieces...
Impulse to throw away
Hesitation- thoughtful
ancient wisdom whispers,
revalue all for gain
Again, a gain, again
She knows what she can do...
Fix it with liquid gold
Now it gleams in the dark.
A Receptacle Poem: One of a kind
Aqua Marine Poems.
Restructured from my original poem posted in 2016.
*Image of Danny folk's Boo by YC.
A Black Cat Tale Souvenir
One Saturday morning,
fourteen-year-old Danny,
my neighbor's kid who lives down the road,
would come over to do the lawn
and some simple house chores,
for extra spending money.
Sometimes,
their American Long Haired black cat named, "Boo",
would tag along.
The lawn was okay just weeding,
he swept, mopped, vacuumed,
then brought in some wood
from my wood cord outside,
and filled the wood bin,
then he swept out
the fireplace.
He then takes the flip-top dustpan outside,
pour its contents into a plastic bag,
tie it close and put it into
one of two trash bins
with plastic flip tops.
Boo, sometimes lounges
on my lanai (porch),
or on one of those
trash bins.
That day,
Danny decided to play.
He tosses the bag up into the air,
then have it drop right into the flipped-top trash bin.
Albeit, the bag got snagged
by the metal latch on the bins cover,
it ripped open, causing black soot
to shroud nearby Boo.
While I was outside checking to see
if Danny covered the wood cord,
the event unfolded before me.
Boo's reaction was as anticipated,
there was black soot trailing a flying leap
that scampered down my driveway
and out onto the opened road,
... gone, gone, gone.
Laughing in pursuit
was Danny who tells me that
he will be back for the money
after he hoses down, "Blackie".
Ha, ha, ha, goes Danny whose clueless
as to the memory he had just made for his future.
Leaving nature to clear the mess, closes I a cover, grinning in the silence.
2022 April 02
*1st Place*
Black Cat
~~Robert James Liguori: Judged 2022 April 03
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31
fast as a blitzen comet,
this dashing prancer
contra dancer
(i.e. Rudolph nary hoof) didst zip
with cupid ditty toward his vixen wife,
who loosed a suppressed yip
asper one discovering remains of the day
from the donner
(newt the majority) party whip
ping her olive drab camouflage attire,
as if she hapt to be a vip
endlessly congratulating herself
(and bow wowing her ego) bing awarded
the housekeeping seal of approval,
and expected me to tip
her gore gee us Martha Stewart déclassé
snoop doggy dog rendition
as she did slip
agilely (with broom and dustpan in hand) rip
peat head lee uttering
an apropos Mary Poppins quip
booting muck can clear across to Compton
(wherever that might be) pip
pin like a cat on a hot tin roof,
where no cure existed to nip
in the bud at this stage,
and rid thine beloved Narberth bride,
who caught a bout clean destine
feverish frenzy to make house beautiful,
oblivious to beseeching despair,
sans this husband who cried
plaintively imploring divine intervention,
lest extreme heroic measures
need be taken, thus guide
me asap before her blistered hands
rubbed red as tender (vittles) raw hide,
which could find her catatonic, doggone
ill eagle lee flying a boot
like a bat out of hell, and stupefied
hence, this urgent message typed out in a huff
for less severe invasive
experimental treatment truly tried
on this, that, or some other missus so and so
.....please pardon this abrupt end,
plus initial idea wide
lee differing from my initial intent won
during how to write an elegy to mister son
describing, how aye felt enervated with run
hills of beaming solar rays, oh how none
synthetic drug to bathe,
enhance, suffuse away mon
day moody blues,
and now...gotta tend tummy hun!