Best Strainer Poems
My muse is a sieve
it pans for gold
it’s a strainer
a skimmer
a fat separator
it tumbles boulders
until pebbles are formed
it can chew on a feeling
for days weeks or years
til it spits out a poem
my polished
my crystallized
bits of awe and woe
Categories:
strainer, me, muse, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I found her jacket folded 'midst the drift,
Atop her shoes but 'neath a ribbon, red,
Tied to a strainer that she'd used to sift
The sand, for treasures left by tidal shed ...
The streamer I had given her that morn,
Around a bunch of flowers and the ring
Upon which all our promises were borne -
Our romance and our future, taken wing ...
Her note had led me here so I could find
Her single set of footprints on the shore,
That to our special spot, did slowly wind,
Then disappeared into the tidal bore ...
That answer, I can now ne'er understand -
The words 'I'm sorry' ... written in the sand.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Footprints Old Or New For A Prize" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "English Sonnets" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = ten per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
Categories:
strainer, bereavement, ocean, proposal, sea,
Form:
Sonnet
A steady blanket of funereal rain fell for days,
From the wintry heaven, onto the ground.
And by about three in the morning I was woken by
A screaming pleading sort of sound.
I had clumsy boots and akubra, and a blood scratched Drizabone
To walk me towards this holler.
And then I found her on her side, in labour,
Rolling with defiant mud amongst the squalor.
This wasn’t good, no time for medical expertise,
Or people who have studied what to do.
She had dystocia, she hadn’t dilated enough,
Her baby was too large to break through.
She’d stopped trying, but on my knees I could see
The feet of her baby were out hanging still.
“She’s lost her baby. She’d given up hope. She mustn’t die.”
I needing all of my skill.
Immediately handy was the wire fence strainer,
That could be used to ease out her beautiful infant.
My hands were cut, my lungs were full,
She wailed but I remained focussed and persistent.
First its head, then its body,
A purge of everything else soon followed all over my feet.
And I leapt to its mouth to try and shock it to life,
And it breathed a breath sounding so sweet.
Within fifteen minutes the cow and the calf were standing,
Drenched in the mud and the rain.
And I returned to the house, cooked a billy of tea,
On my coat just another blood stain.
Categories:
strainer, farm, growth, love,
Form:
Quatrain
As the temperature starts to rise
A surprise I see before my eyes
Lots more tiny golden speckles
the mystery and beauty of freckles.
once at school my friend said I look like
I had been sun bathing under a tea strainer
now I see what she meant, hundreds of them on my arms
the hotter it's getting more are appearing LOL but it's just another blessing from God
Categories:
strainer, funny
Form:
Rhyme
In the Australian vernacular
he was a ‘flea-bitten’ grey.
Not dappled like a dream horse
but speckled like a rock and not a
fine large horse like Tom Cable’s
roman-nosed, Major.
Dad had traded for him- with Tom -
two rolls of barbed wire and a fence strainer.
He came with a used saddle and bridle and
the high spirits of the seldom ridden.
Dad knew, that before he would let me mount him,
he had to take the 'curry' out of him -
rode him hard through a ploughed paddock.
Rode him until he stood in a foaming sweat
ears sideways, subdued.
I can’t forget being led, those first few rides
“Don’t let go of his head, Dad” I’m not ready yet,” Dad
and I knew the horse sensed the trembling in my being,
until one day, his bone- jarring trot, became a solved puzzle.
I felt a gathering- a sense of balance
between the pony’s mouth, the stirrups and the reins
and suddenly from a secret fulcrum
I was posting, “Let him go now, Dad,” I shouted,
A sweet transition to some rhythmic, magic floating
Around the homestead once and back I was cantering.
I pulled the reins, “Whoa boy!”
That first halt obeyed filled my head for days and days.
Categories:
strainer, adventure, character, child, father
Form:
Free verse
The hardware store's a dying breed
As big box stores invade.
They used to have just what you'd need,
Each item U.S. made.
But now they face a growing threat
'Cause though they're down the block,
Most people hit their cars to get
A wider choice of stock.
You need a hammer and some nails,
A spatula or strainer,
Home Depot's got it - never fails;
To most, it's a no-brainer.
The old and dusty hardware store,
Which passed from dad to son,
Might rate a look-around before
The day there will be none.
Categories:
strainer, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
I keep investing my time
Like a prospector on a gold rush
I keep panning and panning
Hoping to get one glimmer of gold
To help me to survive in life
Instead I keep getting fooled
By all that shines
I see and love
Fools gold...
Men who I can't take to the bank
Men who are all pretty and sweet
But inside they are all fake
And they leave...
ugly green stains on my heart
When will I finally strike it rich
With a man who is 24 Carat pure gold
Who has love for me
That is priceless...
A love that will help me to survive
Life's toils and strife
When will my panning days be over
It seems..
My heart is weary and water logged
From hoping against hope
Holding the strainer of my heart in my hands
Hoping to find
True golden love...
instead of constantly being
Played like the fool
With this river that runs
full of fools gold.
Categories:
strainer, allegory, angst, love, passion,
Form:
A strainer for milk or for juice, a window shade
Worn as bibs, diapers, or a kerchief
Turned into skirts, blouses and slips
Plaited into rugs of many pieces.
In kitchen used as dish towels, cover for dough
Helping to pass pans so hot, to tie up dishes
To clean and polish stove and table
To abraide and to scrub from cellar to gable.
In bedroom, to dust the bureau and bed posts
Turned into costumes of October scary ghosts
Waive me to say” hello” to a distant neighbor
I am that durable and practical flour sack.
======================================
November 17, n2013
Form: Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place win
Contest:Any poem goes #27 by Linda
Categories:
strainer, social,
Form:
Free verse
Adam and Eve, the parents of you, me and Steiner
Defy God’s wish, go to market, and buy a strainer
They strain the streaming sin from the fruit
the fibres remain, the seeds to uproot
They yell Ha the sin’s out seeds out we’re free,no-brainer
Categories:
strainer, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
It's fifty miles to the city
And fifty home again,
Around that pothole on Depot Road
Into the arms of the lane.
Old George has left his hay down.
A day or two since mowing.
Pink shadow of the Grange Hall,
Blind in sun's last glowing.
The cows are gathered to the barn,
Tail switching at the gate,
Udders glossy ripe with milk.
Supper'll have to wait.
Take down the bucket and strainer,
Rite of the ending day.
Bury the sound of city streets,
In the sweet whisper of hay.
Bow your head to the great brown side,
A choir in the gentle refrain:
Fifty...miles... to the...city,
Fifty miles to the lane.
Categories:
strainer, animal, city, farm, home,
Form:
Rhyme
A pan of boiling water,
On a flame about medium high,
Waiting for water to boil,
Before you add the noodles and stir,
Steam lifting up,
Putting moisture in the air,
This is how you cook mac and cheese,
So just focus and prepare,
Once its done boiling,
And noodles are tender,
Not chewy,
Grab your strainer,
And begin to drain her,
Once drained and clear,
Put back into pan,
Add cheese milk and butter too,
Mix it well,
Mix it good,
Now you can serve me up a plate,
Just as everyone should.....
Categories:
strainer, funny,
Form:
ABC
I’m the unopened container, pliers and blades,
I’m the beaters, light globe and egg ring.
I’m a can opener, small strainer, straw and a hammer,
I’m all that you need, everything.
If you ever need pens that don’t work,
Broken pencils, used candles, cotton thread.
Then come and see me any time of the day,
I’ll give you those pills for your head.
But be careful don’t annoy me or treat me too bad,
I’ll be everything that you never need.
I’m the second drawer down in your own little kitchen,
The storage space for your small bag of weed.
Categories:
strainer, simple,
Form:
Quatrain
Tonight I have died,
As I silently screamed inside.
My well of tears has run dry,
And I no longer have the strength to cry.
I have killed the part of my heart I so freely gave you,
Now it the deepest pain I am going through.
The only part of my brain...
Where I have truly gone insane...
Misses you more than the flower misses the dew...
The part of my brain that stupidly misses you.
If I knew last night was the last time the words "I love you" would escape your lips,
I would have clung to them with a death grip.
Now as I sit here wondering what I did to destroy "us",
The wind begins to gust.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
I shall lay my head down and do what I must.
I must begin to let go of the awesome love I was just getting to know,
Before you decided to let go.
In your arms I felt safety like no other,
I was ceratin nothing could tear it assunder.
Why did I have to give you my heart so you could tear it into pieces small enough to
fit through a strainer,
What did I do to provoke the love god's anger.
I'm afraid that an autopsy would show,
Nothing but a black hole.
When I didn't hear from you it was like a knife to the heart,
Was that your plan from the start?
So tonight I died,
As I silently screamed inside.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Remember that you were my most cherished Love.
MO:DPS
Categories:
strainer, death, lost love, sadheart,
Form:
Rhyme
Friends used to say like an elephant I never forget
these days I have the memory of a goldish or amoeba
often find myself staring blanking into the fridge
wondering what I am doing there, what I’m looking for
The building that once housed each of my living moment
Sometimes like a faulty computer recycles information
It is there, somewhere, just takes longer to be accessed
Like my missing utensils, its all stored in some kind of bin
It’s that thing, you know that thing, that thingamajig
then I discover what it is called, oh it one of them
well, who uses a tea strainer anyway these days
Or people’s name who I know well
‘Oh there’s you know who, what’s her name again
If I’m lucky something about her will bring it back
That actor, the one being interviewed on Lorraine
Who is he again? come on Jude, you know who he is
after a few minutes of intense brain activity, it hurts
right in the centre of my forehead
Oh yes that’s Phil Mitchell, him off Eastenders
married to Sharon, has a son called Ben
In conversation a random word erupts without a thought
bearing no vague relation to what I have been talking about
metaphors and other over used sayings come out all mixed up
the early bird gathers no moss, why cry over spilt milk
you can save it for a rainy day, get what I’m trying to say?
Walking round the shop hoping for a visual clue on the shelves
there is one thing I know I desperately need but what can it be
as always I have forgotten the darned shopping list at home
then as I open the door on my return, it comes rushing back
loo rolls that’s what it was, kitchen towel will have to do
………….. if I need the loo
History is very often reconstructed when I retell it
Churchill met his Waterlo
Thanks to Google, I can search for useful facts and information
Talking of technology, as an aide memoire Alexa is great
When I ask her what the weather is like today, she’ll say
The Prime Minister is Theresa May, I’m none the wiser
in fact more confused, back in the day I’d just pop outside
The alarm I set on the to remind of some important event
thinking the mobile phone yes that will not let me down
next thing I know the alarms just gone off, its two days late!
Yep, I had set the wrong time and date!
Categories:
strainer, memory,
Form:
Free verse
Life, come thou unhurried to me,
Said she, it’s long buried, to me.
A strange sorrow once married me,
Wonder who’d it carried to me.
Once a bubble dared laugh at me,
Blown soon, it looked harried to me.
Where’s the strainer that filters sins?
The query stands parried to me.
What all my joys can sweep aside,
Such brooms have never worried me.
___________________________
Ghazal |05.09.2025| sorrow, sin, joy, life
Categories:
strainer, evil, joy, life, sorrow,
Form:
Ghazal