Best Household Poems
These i spy with my little eye
tossed aside, two black-and-white die
silver glinting of a spoon
little green soldiers in a platoon
things you forget around the house
things i pick up, quiet as a mouse
a pencil here, a postcard there
pins and buttons to fill my lair
and ever so softly during the night
when the owl hoots and the moon is bright
when the house is still, there’s not a peep
and you’re counting little sheep
i pick these up, you’re unaware
but look under if you dare
what was lost will come to you
i’ll give them back, they’re overdue
but what a funny thing to know!
a few lost pins won’t stop the show
the only conclusion is that humans
love these small things, it’s proven
how strange! how odd!
what seem like trinkets to us gods –
may be one’s greatest treasure
The Man of the House
isn't forbidden housework
for this is our home
Growing Up In A Christian Household
My dad was such a FRAMER then that I oft just felt like a FARMER,
No alternative routes accepted, no reasons other,
Only their special Christian gospel that did mother,
Slippy slimy slowness, a slave’s sleeve slipped in for sloth.
17/12/2015
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.
Mother carved a pumpkin head
Boy, how it filled me with dread.
Laughing, "it looks so real I said,
It could be taken from the dead."
I thought she'd smile, but instead
I saw her flush, her face went red.
I asked "where is father, still in bed ?"
It was then that mother fled.
Entry for BOO - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Alexis Y.
9/10/2017
??
Over there in the rural countryside where I'm at currently....
Gravel road, water and electrical woes are challenges daily....
Hardly any economic activities that bring in cash money..
Barring the staff in the usual government machinery...
And those in some private enterprises and companies...
The village folks are really poor and severely cash strapped...
Saved those fortunate ones in the government or private enterprises...
So reporting average income has risen to rm6k plus...
Is downright nonsense and a gigantic lie statistically .....
Salaried workers are in abundance only in urban areas...
Using their incomes severely skew the worthiness of these figures.....
It paints a vastly different picture of the economic situations on the ground...
In simple English, only pompous supercilous coated bosses and politicians...
Can believe this propaganda that average monthly income has moved up to rm6k plus...
@#$//$$##!!!!
Note.... Reported in the news today, the average monthly income in Malaysia has
risen from RM5000 (year 2012) to RM6141(Year 2014)..
There is a hut,
I'm riding on a rut,
I hope it does not rust,
I don't need to be hasty,
Where things can in a hurry,
I am a bit blurry,
I made it on the top of a cherry,
You don't need to feel sorry,
I saw something shiny,
Soon, it will be rainy,
I hope it is sunny,
Until the water stream is runny,
I am not a phony,
I am very keen,
It is enough for me to be lean,
Keep me in the lane,
I carry myself a cane,
To show what it meant,
I'm trying to be sane,
I'm sitting on a pane,
I know it is such a shame,
Look what had come,
It is not Rome,
I know it is the same,
It is my other jam.
Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or
wage.
Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions
that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.
Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle
at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.
Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.
Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.
If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.
As i watch the gentle winds blow, back and forth to and for.
Give me compassion as i watch them grow.
When all else has failed and all things have passed away.
Mix compassion with understanding as I may watch these winds play.
Even if they blow strong or if they blow weak.
Grant them the desires of their heart and each dream they seek.
Grant them the knowledge to know what to seek.
Yet grant them the wisdom to know when to speak.
Then when they play and things get rough.
Grant them the serenity to know when enough is enough.
When rage is aroused grant them peace.
Ease one's anger and make the damage least.
Give them hope for what comes tomorrow.
Heal their pain and ease their sorrow.
If ever the time when a peace cant be found.
Sheild them in your love and just stick around.
I am but a man in need of divine help.
So that my household will flourish and your presence be kept.
I.
they say
there exist languages without words
without syllables yet pronounced,
like the sharp clatter of fork and spoon and knife against each other
at dinners in our family.
a vase shattered to the floor last night
at an hour way past our bedtime.
sister and i know that only one room in the house is embellished with a vase
on the first floor with a vase
of red roses—
ravishing over the edge;
laden with sinister thorns under—
but we’re vigilant not to cast a glance at mom or dad.
just stare down at your food
and gulp down the curry of guilt and fright.
a vase shattered but we choose not to clean the floor.
the broken fragments of glass aren’t ours to sort.
instead, we slice the whetted tension with the clatter
of fork and spoon and knife.
II.
there exist languages without words
without alphabets yet comprehensible,
like the silence we were doused in
at dinner two weeks after granny vacated the premises
of the little room on the ground floor with baby pink walls and a turmeric aroma.
no clatter this time.
from my peripheral vision, i espy a tear trickle down mom’s cheek.
we sham it’s a raindrop lingering on her visage from the doleful stroll she took an hour back.
sister and i look at each other every time the spoon visits our mouths.
with furrowed eyebrows,
we gulp down the curry of remorse and despair.
dad’s eyes glare into zilch lifelessly
like granny’s face lying on the soft pillow in her turmeric room
before i had to ring up mom and break the news in words
after which words evaporated;
gulped down, refrained, pushed away.
bite in your tears because unlike the sky,
we were taught to sway our storms.
III.
in our household
there are no syllables, no alphabets, no words.
they say there exist languages without words
and ours is silence.
we could scream or lament or weep.
but instead, we gulp it down
in silence.
Since I've turned 3 quarters of a century old
And have a hole in my heart I'm told
Sitting on top of that a small tumor
This definitely isn't a run away rumor
I am old and slightly fat(well some say obese)
Controlled diabetes on top of that
Hypertension makes its mark
Sometimes I even seem smart .
Then coronavirus hit the world
It set our lives in a whirl
So grocery shopping is done online
It takes me twice as much time
I carefully place my total order
After asking my husband if he needs water
And my grandson what snacks needed
Then click the button and I 've conceded
In a few days we ride to acquire
What the staff at Wally World think I desire
Well, I may not have tissue to wipe
my nose and my derriere but some grapes(what luck!)
Each week I play Russian Roulette
With exactly what I will get
I hope the circumstances play a part
For my husband likes me shopping a la carte
I may even buy a small camera
Slip it in and say I ordered Samera(he'd never know)
I could start getting more of what I desire
Less to cook so we can eat like a highflyer(get carry out)
THE HIPPOPOTOMOUSE
A rare and dangerous species
is the hippopotomouse
If you get one in your attic
Then you’d better leave your house.
Our own hagrid (in the corporeal essence of marital relatives) heaves livid rage
like real life harry potter dementors dead set on wreaking havoc
mainly from the zison matriarch in a mental and physical decrepit stage
attributable in part to her four score plus years on a depression riddled life
but mainly on account that her least favorite son in law lacks any income or
wage.
Venomous rage spews forth like a smoldering volcano about to explode
threats to vacate the premises likened to toxic emotions
that bear down like the sword of Damocles or how atlas bore earth as a heavy
load
which chronic onslaught of fiery livid (red hot poker) rage
sets the entire collective family psyche in an awful tortured soulful mode.
Animosity brewed and festered for well nigh going into the eighth year
scant mutually agreeable resolutions prolong this debacle
at the corners of our ability to cope do rent asunder and tear
and last shred of sanity that remains whereby nightmarish demons leer
like haywire bots with maniacal grins their trademark flair.
Wrath batters and assaults without merciless cessation lathered with blame
that we supposedly bleed dry this elderly octogenarian dame
criticism and insults indiscriminately hurled burns like hellish flame
no matter both myself and spouse experience inherent weaknesses
any explanations describing efforts to reaching goals accepted as lame.
Angst permeates while hopelessness drips from every cell
dealing with malice (from blood kin no less) with no salvation this place we dwell
synonymous with living among the dead in I did believe in hell
whereby these retaliatory barbs tossed like hand grenades pell mell
because the old lady this ramshackle house she wishes to sell.
If anybody who read this help us please
An affordable rent such a deal this guy would cease
as a permanent place to live our plight t’would appease.
In my mind
There lives a child
Scared, trembling
Wounds still bleeding
Young one, I did not wish this fate on you
But the world is cruel
There is no safe place to hide
They will always find you
Young one, do not blame yourself
You did not cause this
Do not blame the world
For you’ll grow bitter
No one will love a bitter soul
No one will love you with the hate in your heart
No one will love a scared little girl
No one will love your heart of a caged animal
Do not bite the hand that feeds you
Even when the hand
Smacks
Beats
Stabs
you
Learn to forgive without understanding
Learn to trust blindly
Hide your wounds
Bind them tightly
When you get hurt
Do not weep
You deserve this
You trusted too much
Young one, do not speak
Of the things you’ve gone through
Others have it worse
No one wants to hear the pain of the weak
Young one,
Have you not learned?
Love is a fickle creature
They will whisper “I love you”
As they rip you
Apart
The spread of poverty and hunger
is witnessed all over the world.
Even in these trying times,
God's heirs never worry,
making use of their
great privilege
to pray to
God for
help.