Best Toothbrushes Poems
Poised to dive into the drink below
the deodorant on the shelf above put on a show
while the toothbrushes looked on with a big grin
the deodorant dove like a champ and took a swim,
The toothbrushes held up all their signs
most of them giving his dive a nine
not satisfied he had wanted a perfect 10
he stood above the toilet ready to jump again,
But before he could jump he quickly froze
hearing the man of the house shuffle in and impose
turning the light on he quickly went pee
the toothbrushes averting their eyes quickly,
Finishing up he flushed and put the lid down
leaving the bathroom the deodorant had a frown
the toothbrushes said don't worry we'll fill up the sink
so the deodorant moved above it ready to jump into the drink,
All eyes were fastened on him poised above
knowing that swimming was one of the deodorants first loves
the deodorant concentrated and then leapt off
giving him a perfect ten for a triple somersault!
After awhile they all got tired and went to sleep
taking their positions on the shelf above the toilet and sink
the man of the house soon catching on to their hijinks
putting a "closed for the season" sign on the toilet and sink,
But that didn't stop their bathroom shenanigans
they just came up with a different plan
this time they were extra quiet as they filled up the tub
but the man of the house caught on and pulled the plug
So swimming was now a gone past time
so they constructed with dental floss a zip line
zip lining from the top of the shower to the floor
that is till they heard the creak of the bathroom door...
RISING FROM THE ASHES
Wordancer
The eyes of the dragon seen through the trees
Mesmerize minds and cause bodies to freeze.
Which way to go, which way to turn;
No time for questions when the trees burn.
Just jump in the cars and flee towards town
But the road is cut off as the wind swings around.
No way to go, no way to turn;
An acceptance of fate, as the trees burn.
The fence of the paddock does not impede
The scorched car that flattens it, picking up speed
Away from the flames, away they must turn
Desperate with fear, as the trees burn.
The breath of this beast lights fires with no flame
The heat of its breath burn all just the same.
It’s tail flames on, it’s head, see it turn
Back towards town, there are more things to burn.
With fire, smoke and tears these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
A call for assistance, now the schools turn
To grey squares of ashes; and more townships burn.
The calls went out across this wide country
And the offers came from all and sundry.
What do you need? What can we bring you?
They were told, so they went; what else would they do?
Hand towels, toothbrushes, soap and shampoo
To clean away ashes; the soot, and tears too
Through fire and smoke, these folk have learnt
To rise from the ashes; spirits singed; not burnt
The towns’ people will labor as long as there’s need,
They’ll listen and learn and plant as they weed,
While their houses and schools, fire stations too,
Rise from the ashes, and stand good as new.
The February Dragon has left for a time,
But hope that heals the scars in the minds
Of the people there, is strong and alive,
They have rebuilt their towns, their dreams and their lives.
©
An eerie calm settled o'er Normandy Beach that solemn summer's night.
The debris of battle was strewn 'neath the full moon's silvery light.
The tide cleansed the beach of the blood of men who were in the fore;
Brave men who'd faced the hell of war on that ravaged Norman shore!
Those who gave their all, lay awaiting removal from that embattled strand.
With lifeless eyes and boots pointed t'ward the stars, they slept upon the sand.
Fathers, brothers, sons and husbands slain during the conflict's ebb and flow,
By the inexorable Scythe of Death in the battles of Pointe du Hoc and St. Lo!
What might these heroes have become if fate had not dealt them so?
A teacher, farmer, doctor, a minister? Alas, we shall never know!
They left farm, shop, school and hearth to cross the billowing sea,
And forfeited life on the Altar of Honor that others might live free!
The moonlight revealed treasured items strewn about on the ravaged beach.
Final letters to loved ones lay fluttering in the breeze, now beyond their reach.
There were wallets with photos of wives and children who are left to grieve.
Only the memory of his close embrace will their empty hearts now ever cleave!
Toothbrushes, razors, bloody shoes and socks were gathered by grieving mates,
As they tenderly cared for fallen brothers who've gained the Pearly Gates.
The moon glowed brightly that night o'er Normandy Beach as it paused on high,
To caress the cheeks of brave men as it passed on its eternal bourne in the sky!
D-Day 6 June 1944, Normandy Beach, World War II
Entry for Jamie Pan's "War and Heroism" Contest
Cousin Donald Comes to Town ...
Elroy was all cock-a-hoop cos
cousin Donald was a-comin'
a visiting & they were so darn
chuffed & tremblin' in anticipation
that friday night the seven of them
in the one bed had a real problem
actually sleeping.
Ma got out the best crockery
& had it laid out on the flag
hoisted down from the old
post by the front door &
Jebediah had just come back
from huntin' with some real
dandy lookin' coons.
As Eula was busy a-skinnin'
& all the clan was gatherin'
in their finest quilted smocks
& threadbare suits usually
kept for best & courtin' on
Saturday afternoons.
Cousin Donald's limousine
had a problem gettin' up
the windy road so Sam &
old Benjamin were carrying
him along in a sort-of-home-made
palanquin constructed from
pine poles and a large
crate that mama usually
reserved for storing the
winter jams & pickles,
All the boys started a-hollerin'
& a-whoopin' as Cousin
Donald turned the corner
& his loud Orange face
broke into a broad slightly
deranged grin for he knew
that the moment would soon
come when the shine would
flow & they'd get down to
some serious jigging &
fiddlin' but of course he'd
not be the fiddler on account
of his tiny fingers & innate
inability to be able to learn
one damn thing at all.
Cousin Donald restored in them
that pure American ideal of being
able to make it big in this world
& they all told themselves that
if Cousin Donald could do it they
could too meaning a golden
crapper & shiny brocaded
curtains & silver toothbrushes
& diamond watches & silk
drawers & leopard skin pill
box hats.
Oh Cousin Donald inspired them
just so oh yes he surely did & this
day would be re-told over camp
fires and cross-burnings for months
no, years to come,
... the day Cousin Donald came a
visiting.
Oh so blessed, blessed day
& thankyou Sweet Lord Jesus,
thankyou.
To diary:
Mama, by now, I suspect you are on my trail
to Phoenix, however I do think you figured
it all out-the red herrings... and are instead
on the right path to Seattle. A part me wants
to challenge you. As much as you are in
pursuit of me, I am in pursuit of reading
about Evelyn Lau, teenage runaway and poet...
for the second time.
To diary:
I Got tree sap, aka hotel front desk worker,
for another blanket. It's too easy, mama. Watch."Ma'am,
my mother in room 101 request a blanket and pillow,"
and like clockwork she gave it to me, then I pause,
"ma'am can we also get some toothbrushes and toothpaste"
and like clockwork she gave it to me. What a tree sap.
Although this time our eyes met and I think she's onto
me. But that didn't stop me from taking a green apple
and newspaper. mama, let me tell you these come in
handy... let me tell you... oh, oh i just figured it
out, the lobby's the first floor there can't be a room
101. She's playing me. What else is new.
Today I went to the library
sitting at a nook
quite contrary
reading a book
the staff was cold as ice
i say screw the kiddie section
my answer not so nice
why is this the wrong direction
it's hard being eleven
where their prying eyes
on me being adult smart
they try to befriend and spy
the books I read
the information I consort
the knowledge I feed
the ideologies I support
baby girl plays the sham
changing the Lau book
with green eggs and ham
and returning their looks
this is all too irony
sleeping on the streets
dealing with their tyranny
and trying to be upbeat
I pass these books and nooks
I say She who forges her own path
being mistook
wields her own fate
with upending wrath
to being one of the greats
Paris Pachecho
connie pachecho
12/30/16
Over the past five days I have eaten nothing more than one thousand calories.
My hunger fueled me to keep going.
The stomach pains made me feel beautiful.
Doing cardio would make me light-headed, and it made me proud.
Today I had two glasses of chocolate milk and a bag of chips.
As my stomach inflated with the foreign food, my self-esteem inflated with disgust.
Disgust for my weakness, disgust for my weight, disgust for me.
I desperately tried to use the sick feeling in my stomach to rid myself of the chocolatey sin I had gorged myself with.
I learned that the use of fingers, toothbrushes, or violently pounding against my abused stomach wouldn't convince the food to come back up.
The pain streamed out of my eyes, as I pleaded with any god out there to please, let me throw up.
Shame and anger fill every inch of my being when I realize I won't be able to rid myself of the calories.
I won't even be given the mercy of this small victory.
As disappointment pools in my stomach like the chocolate milk, I promise myself two more hours of cardio tonight, hoping it will be enough to put my self-destructive conscience at rest.
Excuse the poorly written poem, I'm writing this during a nervous breakdown.
It was a day or two before the smells came
Silent moments of déjà vu
In which the walls whitened in sympathy
The tiles laughing their cracked guilt
How did they find me here? Stowaways
In bottles of surgical spirits
Their cold indifference stifling
They watched me from the bathroom cupboard
Gripping this last vestige of panic
Its clinical stench the smell of God
I list the words for fear in lines of nines
Our toothbrushes lying side by side
If someone asked me if I were crazy I’d say yes.
And if they asked me why did I think so, I’d say
“because I feel sorry for non existing characters and toothbrushes.
Is that enough or should I continue ?”
Enough.
Funny thing about that word,
it’s like if it didn’t exist for them.
They never have enough.
They’re like vampires.
Never suck out all your blood,
just leave you in agony.
Conscious, with your hungry eyes wide open,
fully aware that they have taken all you had,
found every dark secret, every little glimpse of happiness you tried to protect.
Now you’re not crazy anymore, now you’re just a wrack.
And when your loud death rattle will fall silent,
when your soul will leave your empty, drugged body,
they’ll proudly say you’re cured.
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
backpacks, rugs, shoes, a couch or two, lots of junk from a junk drawer,
what kind of junk?
Just general junk.
Can you itemize it?
pennies,
scissors,
toothbrushes,
matches,
pens,
eyeglasses,
toothpaste,
combs,
dog chews,
nickles,
necklaces,
rings,
thread,
dimes,
a quarter or two,
balloons,
Scotch tape.
Not an off brand? Scotch?
I stare at the imaginary appraiser in my daydream.
What would I do in a fire?
I guess I had better never have one.
Or I might become a murderess as well as an arsonist.
Hurricane BP is coming, I don't see a fitting name(alternative)-
but to dub it such, the company that destroyed a coastal vista;
the hurricane will ravage the coastal towns and cities.
Then the gulf coast states will be renamed the black mess-
and I don't have a mop big enough to clean it.
I will however mail a package to the C.E.Os abroad and their faithful moochers.
A package filled with toothbrushes and a sponge, a certificate of incompetence-
and a badge of failure. Let them spend their last days scrubbing, let them give the stones-
a shine; I don't want to see a spot of black leftover, nor a single feather stained with oil.
Retribution is a cruel one but responsibility's divine.
The spoiled five year old in an old man's shell will be disciplined at last.
Poetry contests. How ridiculous. Silly even. It is like comparing:
dogs with underarms,
underarms with toothbrushes,
toothbrushes with giraffes,
giraffes with garden parties,
garden parties with throw pillows,
throw pillows with coffee cups,
coffee cups with light switches,
light switches with spitballs,
spitballs with cinnamon buns,
cinnamon buns with alligators,
alligators with rubies,
rubies with motorcycles,
motorcycles with sumo wrestlers,
sumo wrestlers with bubble gum,
bubble gum with swimming pools,
swimming pools with rabid skunks,
rabid skunks with toothaches,
toothaches with garter belts,
garter belts with police officers,
police officers with dinosaurs,
dinosaurs with sauce pans,
sauce pans with an art show,
an art show with a pumpkin pie,
a pumpkin pie with a speedboat,
a speed boat with a stepmother,
a stepmother with another step mother.
Poetry contests are silly.
I want to be the one
The special one
The one and only one
You want to be your one
I want to be the one
That your heart desire
And the only one
To set your heart on fire
I want to be the one
That you are dreaming off
your peace of mind
And your angel from above
I want to be the moon
And the stars in the night
I want to be the candle
Lighting in your life so bright
I want to be the rain
That makes the flowers grow
So beauty will surround you
Where ever you go
I’m not good with words
They always hide away
I want to say I love you
But I’m to shy to say
I want to be the grass
That’s under your feet
And the toothbrushes
That brushes your teeth
I want to be the breeze
Gently blowing thru” your hair
And when you breathe
I want to be the air
I want to be the sunshine
That follows you everywhere
And when you get tired
I want to be your chair
I want to be the detergent
That washes your cloths
And even that mosquito
That bites you on your nose
I know you’re wondering
What I am trying to say
I want to say I love you
But the words Gets in the way
I want to be the hope
In your heart and soul
And be your blanket
When you feel cold
I want to be the one
To complete your life
But most of all the one
You choose to be his wife
I Want To Love you forever
and never let you go
So now is the time to say
I love you so
Oooh look. Oh wow. Correlating jumping twists and combinations of bunnies,irons,toothbrushes and eye lash curlers. Turn then a stick. Rotational gravitation and melodically performed interludes. Such magnifications of a single note. Kissing a kindling to produce an even steady glow. Epitomising myth,fables and heavily guarded secrets. Yet seconds are counted by a tick tick tick. And if a lion says hello then one should not discuss crochet with a snooker cue. Balls then in many halls. Darkly dimming daring done. A persnickety perennial pineal gland. Hahahaha and the forts. Hahahaha and a day is one hour 9 minutes. Hahahaha cubes cantering. Xxxx zoologist zones. *** meteorological *** clapflap xx
.
. (A GROSS POEM ABOUT TOOTHBRUSHES AND WHITENERS)
W* T*** R** WHITE TEETH THE ROMAN WAY. THEY HAD BRUSHES MADE FROM BONES.
H * E* T* O*W WORSE THAN THAT IS A FACT LITTLE KNOWN THEIR WHITENER WAS URINE.
I * E* H* M*A * urine. Yuck
T* T* E* A*Y * urine. Yuck
E* H*** N** * urine. Yuck
Whitener was urine. Yuck!!!!