Best Mop Up Poems
There once was a housewife named Claire
Who shook out her mop in the air
The dust whirled like stars
The Earth, Moon, and Mars-
Who’s shaking a dust mop up there?
I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless.
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger.
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death!
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive.
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”
I feigned taking a bite
attempting, of course, to convince her
oatmeal was yummy, "good for her"
necessary etc.
I made rhymes of moons
and spoons
oats and boats,
little girls wearing coats
She smiled, but refused to take a bite
as she had nearly every day now
for months
I turned to reach a paper towel
to mop up the inevitable drips caught in the palm of my hand
spoons and cupped hands
they are the same thing, right?
I never heard a death rattle
of course, these old ears of mine...
The hospice nurse gently closed her eyes.
I said, "Goodbye Mother,"
and wondered how it had happened so quickly,
those sixty-nine years we shared.
At the station Paton stares at me from the train bound for Johannesburg
He leaves a note to remember to mop up where the roof leaks
This is after the British take Achebe and I's gods away
before sitting back down on their buttocks
When I take their son in Taylor draws my black skin being thrashed by the wind
I feel the kid burying me before the ship comes
I resurrect, thanking Wendt for at least some power and glory
before stupid maggots come and eat up my winnings
Orwell hires me to feed his pigs when I'm broke
I want to kill them when they stand up on two legs and talk back to me
Smith and I meet at Catholic school and ditch Boys' Club together
His brother catches him and I hide across the street as he gets a beating
I run into Fitzsimmons who's looking for Les Darcy
I tell him, 'I'm not his girl, go ask Winnie where he went'
They make Ihimaera and I run errands at the family gathering
I tell myself we're either cousins or enemies: don't fall for him
That same night Huxley and I get high on soma
He passes out on the beach and I run back home to sleep it off
The stabbing wakes me up in time to tell Selby to go tahell
He gets up in my face and tells me plainly to be honest with myself
It's strange after that...just me and Bukowski waiting for a bus
He puts up with me and I fall in love with the pungent smell of him.
There’s an empty space at the table
I have a ready meal for one
It’s the first year without you
I can’t prepare a meal
Now I’m on my own
I’m grief stricken
Sweet angel
I miss
You.
This
Christmas
I’m alone.
My family
Live so far away
They sent me some presents
But they remain un-opened
There’s bound to be white handkerchiefs …
They’ll be useful to mop up my tears.
Checked with how many syllables - 45 per stanza
It’s Christmas Time Again Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
11-28-17
If I have the time I’ll clean the kitchen
then tidy round the rest of the house,
I’m due to see the vet with my pet mouse ...
Ted’s lost his fur and he can’t stop itch’in!
My little pet mouse Ted I just adore
I’ve had him since I was a small child,
alas his itchy skin is driving him wild -
he’s shedding fur all over the floor!
I carry Ted in his cage when I visit the vet
and Ted plays happily on his small wheel,
Vet’s hand enters the cage - he emits a squeal
when he gets bitten by my traumatised pet!
I mop up his blood, then hold Ted in my hand
as the vet examines his scaly red skin,
He pokes and prods much to Ted’s chagrin -
if he can be cured it would be so grand!
Vet gives Ted a shot and applies some cream
then presents me with an enormous bill,
the medication works well, Ted’s no longer ill
and his fur’s grown back just like a dream!
If You Have the Time for an Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
12/23/19
Feigned love cut you deep,
left your heart bleeding profusely
Blood red, rose-colored stains,
drip, drip, dripping trail leading out the door ...
time to mop up this mess of a relationship
Wring all the tears into the bucket,
flush it out of the system ... get clean again
Can't let hate infection set in,
your fragile heart has to mend
Stunned by the deliberate stab,
a betrayal of a lover's trust
It hurt even more
when a twist came with the thrust
No one ever told you that pain
would be a derivative of the pleasure game
In your weakened state,
delirious passions swirl in your mind
Flashing images of past sated desires ...
you moan feverishly in the night
Love withdrawal has such a narcotic bite
And time doesn't heal the wound quite properly,
you're left with scar tissue on the soul
Touch it gently with your mind,
and feel the oddest sensation ... like phantom arousal
It sickens you that you feel pleasure
from neural memories
of when your two bodies pressed together as one
It frightens you that you still have these type of feelings
for someone who merely regarded you as a sex toy
Then cast you aside,
and tried to kill your soul and steal your joy
You must face your fears;
the thing you desired so, almost was the death of you
But you lived on with a scarred soul,
and much wisdom gained:
from disfigurement, your true beauty now shines through
Sweat drips from little dust covered faces in the grim back-alley factories
No time for rites of passage other than fingers nimble enough to spin and
Balance wheel spool spin and stitch regulator to their master’s instruction
Anyana is not unique but one of the ‘fortunate’ ones
Gloved hands mop up droplets of perspiration from a lace veil and seduce
A myriad of lovers before she even enters an intricate parquet dance floor
Takes a cue from the orchestra and whirls on stilettos and rhapsodic flair
Chantelle did not purchase her dress at the charity shop
Their stories unite as neo-liberal gangsters spin a yard on wheels of fortune
While their procession fails to trickle down moderate glimpses of hope
Some stride on the cat walk of privilege and others are scavengers in rags
Exposed nipples are rather dissimilar but follow a different path
Anyana gathers her virtues and sends love across the boundary of despair
Her shoes bear no fairy tale stories when midnight strikes at the fashion
Of stolen passion from sweat shops for garments scented with perfume
Cause and effect cannot moderate nor gloss over amoral fabric
03rd November 2019
What could have been more expected
from a system created on greed
Where the donors all make legislation
via Congress they constantly feed
When a country is poisoned by money
it no longer looks out for the small
It is owned and controlled by the richest
who’ve decided that they want it all
Our history, bloody and violent
was a preview of what we would be
Just because we can’t see all the bodies
doesn’t mean that their spirits are free
The obsession with money and power
are the perfect dictatorship blend
Void of love for the land or the people
who are merely a means to an end
They all file in the chamber like robots
and their leader looks on as he gloats
The decisions made by all their donors
turn into the Congressional votes
They say capitalism is wonderful
but who is it wonderful for
It is not for the factory worker
nor the people who mop up the floor
It is not for the ones who build buildings
or the secretaries or the clerks
It is not for the drivers of buses
or the ones who toil in public works
Capitalism is poisoned
it is not for the poor or the old
It is not for the cooks or the teachers
or the soldiers, as they have been told
The system is for corporate donors
who get rich on the taxes we pay
We all work to provide them the money
which they triple on stock market play
I try to be the best wife and mom
Yet my patience is running thin
There are bills to pay and screaming mouths to feed….
Oh, Where do I begin?
Just too many duties
In the course of a day
And did I forget to mention
My earnings... “NO PAY”
Laundry, shopping, cooking and dishes
I have no time-
To even scratch where I’m itching
“Can I have a dollar please?”
“Mommy I have a terrible wheeze!”
“Mommy she called me a “Name”
“Mommy can we play a game?”
The dog keeps messing on the floor
My kids are always crying poor
Or something on their body’s sore
I want to run right out the door!
Homework, cupcakes.. due tomorrow!
"I have a date..The car can I borrow?"
Answering the door and phone all day long
Confined to a punished for doing nothing wrong”
I can’t find a soul to take out the trash
Off to the doctors for my daughter’s butt rash
I wipe up a drink. I mop up the floor
Only to find that my daughter spilled more
Entertaining a birthday party sleepover
Picking up the guest like i'm a chauffer
I have to scrub the toilet and sink
I only have time for one eye to blink
I finally get home to rest on the sofa
In hopes to catch a glimpse of some Oprah
Instead I'm entertained by Spongebob again
Rehearsing the lines inside of my head
Nick Nite and MTV,
Is just about killing me
Between Rap Music and big bootie shaking,
I pray that my sight and hearing is taken
Ohhhh........
Where is the time for me to be “ME?”
To sit in quiet at my own TV
Or take a hot bath, even read a good book
These things are so much overlooked
Well I have to go
Someones calling my name
“MOMMMMY” …The underpaid dame
(Can you relate)
Mist on the park you remind me of home
My home, an old home, long land of white cloud
Wistful regret of a lost rolling stone
Blurry strained view of a new weekend’s crowd
Next door to a dream in an awakening tide
Decorum with caffeine but overly proud
Soupy thick bawls exit mouths on the side
Ball mired heavy drives moist huff and puff
Back of the net with a trip and a slide
Carousel balance scares adult voice gruff
Punctures the air with familial line
A stumbling giggle is grabbed by the scruff
Place hands on your hips and presence of mind
Be kind and mop up with a waste of time weave
There’s wet on the slide and damp kid behind
Layers of grey fade where light looks to reeve
Raising the white flag for surrendering dew
Disappointed departure like cold on a sleeve
Jump off the swing and a left behind shoe
You belong to me mate ( Intro )
And that be that!
Get on board
And grab your hat!
The ship was aghast at its new passenger ( Verse )
Like disdain for the lives that they now left behind,
Newcomers were scarce
And they never would last
But I held up my chin nice and high.
The bloke who took me screamed ( Pre-chorus )
“Mop up the deck we’ve got things to do!”
But I said sir,
I’m just a boy and don’t know what’s to do.
And he said ( Chorus )
“Drifting mainly
Sailin the shores
Taking what’s mine
And leaving what’s yours
Cause you know, we ain’t dead yet.”
Taking the seas for more than eight moons
We found islands and loot
That was bigger than most.
The taste of sea air
With its wind in my hair
Took me away to this new life I lead.
After mopping the deck
He grabbed my hand and screamed
“Steer this ship boy!”
But I said sir,
I’m just a lad and don’t know where to go.
So the crew yelled ( Chorus )
“Drifting mainly
Sailin the shore
Taking what’s mine
And leaving what’s yours
Cause you know, we ain’t dead yet.”
Surprising to me
Was my unshaven face
The captain looked on
And smiled with grace,
We stopped at a place
Where the women were loose and didn’t mind
If we took a peak.
He said “Now you’re a man so let’s get on that boat,
We got places to be and some people to rope,
So grab that sword and drop that mop
Cause you’re no longer a boy in my eyes.”
I practiced the duel with the men in the crew
The captain took eye to my devilish pride,
And he took me aside and said
“Even in death I’m gonna miss you boy
But don’t let it strike you
Or kill your spirits
Cause even time can beat out the Grim.”
Then in the darkness came fire and screams,
Our vessel had stopped after fourteen years,
The crew fought hard and beat most of the men
But now, my Captain was dead.
We took the new ship watching ours sink deep
Saying goodbye to our drowning escape,
The crew turned towards me and asked
“What do we do?” and I smiled,
And they did to.
And we yelled ( Chorus )
“Drifting mainly
Sailin the shores
Takin what’s mine
And leaving what’s yours
Cause you know, we ain’t dead yet.”
She wouldn't want to bore ya,
but there's something about Nora.
Things physical, not audi
fly away from her body,
Fail to nail the counter,
hit the deck all around her--
A zillion spills to mop up:
coffee grinds, egg shells, & catsup.
"Magnificent Uncoordinated
Movements," an old boyfriend said,
In and out of bed. Still, There
Was Something About Nora.
'Blame It On The Rain'
Well, I'm gonna' show you my redneck trainin',
An' I ain't gonna' have to do no strainin'
To pick you up an' throw you outta that door.
Well, I've had just about all that I can take
An' girl--you've gone an' made you a Big Mistake.
I'm gonna' use you to mop up all this floor...
I ain't takin' no more.
And I don't give a rat's ass where you come from
'Cause I know you and you ain't nothin' but scumb
Tryin' to act like you are real High Class.
You been callin' my man on the telephone;
Goin' to his house and won't leave him alone.
Brace yourself! I'm here to whoop your sorry ass...
I ain't takin' no more.
Now I ain't the type that likes to cuss and fight
But somethin' in me's just gotta make things right.
I ain't sayin' nothin' else--it's all the same...
So we can do this here or take it outside
Or I can take you down the road for a ride.
An' I don't care if you don't think you're to blame...
Just blame it on the Rain!!
deborah burch©
4/09/2012
Taxis used to poop in the days of old
Street cleaners would have to mop up the road
A stinky job oh yes
Whatta a mess I guess
Hope they were paid by the stinky load