Best Soaped Poems
Me barber’s still one of them blokes who lives the school of old,
using methods quite old fashioned to what modern trends unfold,
so with scissors, clippers, hot towel, then lathered with a brush,
he’ll shave you with a cutthroat, though never in a rush.
And he offers further benefits, if you’re that way inclined,
for just a couple of extra bob, you get your shoes well shined,
and while waiting for your turn, you can read a magazine,
or tune in on conversation, while his razors shaving clean.
He sells those huge cigars as well. I think the Cuban brand!
And there’s Californian Poppy that the young won’t understand.
Wafting through his barber shop is the smell of after shave…
And today there is one customer, who wants to misbehave.
He’ll be in the chair before me; I have to put up with his rot,
his voice is loud and won’t shut up, intimidating all us lot,
so when his time had come, we hoped he’d give us all a spell,
then he demands a shave and haircut and to shine his shoes as well.
I watched the barber lathering, before he beckoned with a call…
then this beautiful young woman came and stood in front of all.
The barber mentioned “Here’s a customer, wanting you to shine his shoes”
and when she bent down to do the job she gave some awesome views.
The loudmouth couldn’t help himself; he had to open up his gob.
He mentioned to the pretty lass, that when she finishes her job,
they ought to sneak away together, and book themselves a motel room,
but from the lass who shone his shoes, a shock’s about to loom!
She smiled into his soaped up face, and gave his shoe a pat,
“I’m sorry sir, I’m married and my husband wouldn’t like that.”
“Your husband!” Scoffed the loudmouth, “Use your commonsense!
Tell him you’re working overtime and I’ll pay you the difference.”
The lass raised her brow and gave a grin, then his shoe a final wipe.
She stood up and took a deep breath before replying to his hype,
“Your offers pretty good” she said, “I’ll go and get my hat and coat,
but you can tell him if you like… he’s got the razor at your throat.”
©2005 Lindsay Laurie
Categories:
soaped, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Don't say you love me with a rose, your generic lines of poetry reading off like a gift card from the dollar store, your hurried scrambled lines of apology jotted down with a dying pen, Promises of going out for a treat later the next morning. Don't say you love me with a rose.
If you loved me you would know, that being greeted with my favorite flowers was a first, and the smell would be so sweet tears would spring into my garden eyes, you would know that five minutes of careful thought, written on a plain piece of paper would be cherished more than a dollar fifty seven card, and your changing actions and regret filled eyes would speak more words than your scribbled apology of meaningless words.
You would know I would rather be greeted in bed with a kiss good morning beautiful, and the ability to curl up warm against your body again, than risen from my sleep to get a seven dollar breakfast meal at a diner, coffee never sweet enough and a five dollar tip to our waitress, who can't seem to take her eyes off you.
You would know that the way you wash my hair and run your soaped hands over my body beneath the warm water would slip me into a heaven so heated I would not feel when the shower went cold, and that your gentle touch and the growl in your throat would distract me from all earthly things. You would know I'd much rather that, in our cramped little shower, than spend a day at the spa for a treat.
You would know, lying asleep in your lap, my legs dangling from the couch, the overbearing heat of the blanket tucking me in to peaceful dreams, and the ability to kiss your brow and brush your cheek when you were haunted by your dreams, would be much preferred to me sleeping alone on the couch, and you on the floor looking to make me comfortable.
You would know, by my eyes, that I looked at you, like you were all the light in the universe, and without you, I was just an empty abyss. And that you couldn't possibly look down on someone you loved like that. You would know that I deserved more than a generic rose, and store bought card, an apology and a broken heart.
Categories:
soaped, heartbroken, i love you,
Form:
Free verse
...for Ted Kooser
A reminder of my father;
more antique than useful it was tucked
inside my tool box ever ready to be used.
Soaped and sharpened many times
the blade was keen and hungry.
I took it with me everywhere
'til pure gave way to power,
and through the years it waited,
I could never give it up.
The skilsaw superseded; a cold,
efficient implement that did as it was told,
never a slip. As my effectiveness
fell short, my eyes became unsure,
my hands bore witness to the times
I slipped and sliced until I bled
when choosing my old friend.
Museum pieces, he and I,
both worn and put away;
I still recall the touch, the feel,
the smell of yesterday.
Categories:
soaped, tribute, writing,
Form:
Verse
Halloween Two Oh One Nine
By Franklin Price
10/31/2019
Halloween two-oh-one-nine
Not what it used to be
As when I trick or treated
And the candy was for me
There were no giant super stores
With costumes by the score
No internet, no Amazon
For delivery to my door
I wore a sheet, went as a ghost
For candy took a sack
Did not have an I-phone
That my parents then could track
When young, my siblings took me
Was the youngest of them all
They were too old to trick or treat
So they took me to the ball
They wore masks, just to please me,
To show me how to play the game
When doors were opened, with the candy,
They held their sacks to get the same
No one would refuse them
For they had a tyke in hand
And did not want soaped windows
Or a place for eggs to land
Today is so much different
Trick-or-treaters very few
Might be taken by a pervert
Maybe even poisoned too
Trust is there no longer
To trick or treat from door to door
Back in the day, when we got home,
Dumped our candy on the floor
Was not put there for inspection
But to see how we had fared
From the trick-or-treat providers
Who gave us goodies 'cause they cared
Categories:
soaped, halloween,
Form:
Rhyme
"canon service"
“We follow the rules here”, he said incorruptibly
like he was untainted as holy water
from the incorruptible font,
he had an upward inflection in his voice
at the end of every punctuated point,
delivered like a canon service
his gun and bullets were larger
apparently...he was high, the pulpit lofty
far above the soaped-up sinners
some of us inside were grinning
too much alter wine
he was probably juiced,
then unctuously he shared his fat sermon
as if to convey to the congregated
a good and proper sluicing,
the service was poetic
no hymns in this church
salvation tamborines
to beat the devils out,
some of us inside were grinning
Candide Diderot. ‘23
canon.
cannon.
Categories:
soaped, dark, humor, muse,
Form:
Free verse
"A Game of Snakes and Ladders"
It’s like a game,
a game of
Snakes
and Ladders,
some spend their lives
climbing ladders
up the corporate sticks
sliding all the way
back down on their sore
sweet and sorry revelations
soap boxes thrown and burnt
like needles lost in hay
we all become
redundant at some point
on some slippery soaped-up stage
greeted by the Dickinson himself
holding all the horses’ reins...
“She parked Silver Lady by The Road's side,
placed the keys in Her pocket
Her hands were warm Her eyes were cold
She smiled a tight smile
You know, full of passion, full of ire -
Her heart was an inferno,
inside her was a Wicker Man
Her heart was burning up, on fire
Ferociously She slammed the car door
and walked into the Woods ...”
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity – “
Categories:
soaped, journey, muse, mystery,
Form:
Narrative
Although you don't mean to be,
you're funny to behold
and when you pull those faux-pas,
my laughter can't be controlled.
First you tie yourself in knots
and then climb up the wall.
I find you in the laundry
or in the shower stall.
Once you rolled across the bed
and then fell on your head.
Looked at me as if to say
"If you laugh at me, you're dead."
Tried to jump to sit by me
and you missed the chair.
You just turned and stared at me
like you didn't have a care.
You perched on the curtain rod,
the queen of all you see.
but when you lost your footing
you got up and glared at me.
When you tried to get a drink
and in the toilet fell,
almost choked, so not to laugh,
but I knew that you could tell.
When you find a paper bag,
you think that it's your house;
crawl inside and try to hide,
like you were a tiny mouse.
When it's time to have a bath,
you howl and scratch and scream.
When you're soaped and soaking wet,
your eye takes on dang'rous gleam
You play with bathroom tissue
and really make a mess,
but I just put up with you,
'cause I couldn't love you less.
When you make funny faces,
I really want to laugh,
but I do restrain myself,
because you don't get the gaffe.
All in all, I have to say
that cats are comical,
but all their crazy antics
make life so wonderful.
Categories:
soaped, cat, funny, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Of whooshy bottoms I do speak,
Across the tub they do squeak.
Cheek to cheek over tub and tile,
My little girl likes to slide in style.
She invites folks over two at a time,
Splits their quarters,
And keeps a dime.
Sets her friends up at the tubs far end,
Makes sure bottoms are soaped for a slide to the end.
Speed trials have always been fun,
Until the soap holder came to an end.
Categories:
soaped, 3rd grade, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
BY ANY OTHER NAME
Turned-down petals ready for kissing. Her glove
So velveteen; and with unseen love
A teardrop of silver dews on her gentle curve nigh
In hope that a lover may pass close by.
I hesitate to touch so fragile a creature
For she may be the last of summer,
In a once jostling garden proud and crowded within.
Her bouquet is subtle, is freshly-washed skin:
I feel the perfume of her soaped damask
On the warm air of evening. She does not ask
As the sun withdraws his glowing approval,
But here I remain - her only admirer and thrall.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Poet ~ Destroyer’s Contest “ any rose will do. ....... (poems of roses contest)”
Categories:
soaped, love, may,
Form:
Couplet
Albeit cold shower with sudden zoo
ming onset of
brisk fallen temperatures
may not be amenable to you
dear reader, but after Matthew
sets to washing
creating substantial lather,
visited with healthy slew
of frothed shampooed hair do
(cuz - jest like
Spongebobsquarepants,
I like abundant suds),
which initial shock
of cold water jolts mine
body inducing "Whew"
to escape soaped over mouth
(here, lemme lean in
so yukon get a whiff)
this self proscribed
quasi (very diluted off the
Peco boo grid) deprivation
of hot H2O tolerance,
qua minimal self
elected survivalist
modus operandi value
bull electric kool aid acid test
undertaken in the
event devastating adversity
(mainly an electricity
power outage) doth render
livingsocial uncomfortably
cold to the bone and sinew,
where mind over matter decides
riches superfluous,
especially if parvenu,
when scads of back up
generators conk out
total unbelievable wreckage,
sans the overnight
natural germane Blitzkrieg
imposes savage apocalyptic
devastating hellacious milieu
(on account of a mega disaster
such as hurricane Michael), who
doth not indiscriminate
toward gentile or Jew
obliterating entire infra
structure super glue
equalizing economic disparity hew
wing fair playing field reducing
whether disposable wealth harkens
from "old" money, and/or nouveau
riche, this sudden
catastrophic event brew
till lee decrees indeterminate
penury, and trappings
of theoretical leisure class
bon voyage every stitch of cloth,
and other material goods
forcibly bade i.e. adieu.
Categories:
soaped, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Hail Mother full of beauty and graces
Give us this day our butter and white bread
Hear our chorus, our cherubic faces
Without thee our bellies would sing instead
While in tears and in fears we still moped
Our heads bowed, for all that we have transgressed
With her hair this dirty floor she has soaped
We shall spend the day in corners recessed
Shall we plead our case until thee will deign
And Mother may thy hymns sing of thy home
Our sin thee forgive, we hail thee again
Without thine voice, forever we shall roam
We bend our knees low to thee, our wishes
That thee would heal our harms with thy kisses
------
Happy Mother's Day
Categories:
soaped, children, mother, mothers day,
Form:
Sonnet
Although you don't mean to be,
you're funny to behold
and when you pull those faux-pas,
my laughter can't be controlled.
First you tie yourself in knots
and then climb up the wall.
I find you in the laundry
or in the shower stall.
Once you rolled across the bed
and then fell on your head.
Looked at me as if to say
"If you laugh at me, you're dead."
Tried to jump to sit by me
and you missed the chair.
You just turned and stared at me
like you didn't have a care.
You perched on the curtain rod,
the queen of all you see.
but when you lost your footing
you got up and glared at me.
When you tried to get a drink
and in the toilet fell,
almost choked, so not to laugh,
but I knew that you could tell.
When you find a paper bag,
you think that it's your house;
crawl inside and try to hide,
like you were a tiny mouse.
When it's time to have a bath,
you howl and scratch and scream.
When you're soaped and soaking wet,
your eye takes on dang'rous gleam
You play with bathroom tissue
and really make a mess,
but I just put up with you,
'cause I couldn't love you less.
When you make funny faces,
I really want to laugh,
but I do restrain myself,
because you don't get the gaffe.
All in all, I have to say
that cats are comical,
but all their crazy antics
make life so wonderful.
Written 9/9/16
Categories:
soaped, cat, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
...for Ted Kooser
A reminder of my father;
more antique than useful it was tucked
inside my tool box ever ready to be used.
Soaped and sharpened many times
the blade was keen and hungry.
I took it with me everywhere
'til pure gave way to power,
and through the years it waited,
I could never give it up.
The skilsaw superseded; a cold,
efficient implement that did as it was told,
never a slip. As my effectiveness
fell short, my eyes became unsure,
my hands bore witness to the times
I slipped and sliced until I bled
when choosing my old friend.
Museum pieces, he and I,
both worn and put away;
I still recall the touch, the feel,
the smell of yesterday.
Categories:
soaped, dedication, devotion, friendship,
Form:
Verse
My thoughts are laundered,
all soaped up and soaking;
cold and hot water rushed
round and round in bubbles.
Dirty and clean blend in the soup
swirling in the mixed myriad of dreams;
lost to its original form and use intent
faded colors mixing in the froth.
A word spoken, taken back again, slips and slides
mesmerized by the true reality guides
of wash and rinse, dry wrinkles unhinged
as life adheres to the cyclic spin.
Categories:
soaped, analogy, appreciation, life,
Form:
Rhyme
...for Ted Kooser
A reminder of my father;
more antique than useful it was tucked
inside my tool box ever ready to be used.
Soaped and sharpened many times
the blade was keen and hungry.
I took it with me everywhere
'til pure gave way to power,
and through the years it waited,
I could never give it up.
The skilsaw superseded; a cold,
efficient implement that did as it was told,
never a slip. As my effectiveness
fell short, my eyes became unsure,
my hands bore witness to the times
I slipped and sliced until I bled
when choosing my old friend.
Museum pieces, he and I,
both worn and put away;
I still recall the touch, the feel,
the smell of yesterday.
Categories:
soaped, inspirational, uplifting,
Form:
Verse