Best Vacuum Poems
Once a hippie with a "high" demeanor
Made a big "Bong" from a vacuum cleaner
The dust he forgot
His coughing throat caught
Now there's no pot, and his face's much greener!
...so as the universe expands
I’m left at its existence end
Uncertain of my place in it
To keep aspiring in spite...
Appeasing it in a father figure
The sun - the lit end of a cigar
Feeling like an abandoned child
I let my imagination go wild...
I write with powerful imagery
Something like atomic energy
Self-assurance that my life does matter
Hoping that someday it’ll read my letters
I’m wondering where and when it all begun
When or if it’ll all ever get unspun
So with pen and paper I give it a face
In the silence of the vacuum of space
08-13-2015
For Contest:
John lawless's DON'T FIGHT IT.....WRITE IT!!
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Written on 18th April 2004, a Maundy Thursday, one of the three
sacred holy days forming the Christian spiritual calendar: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Mark. A contemplative piece set in Shakespearean sonnet style depicts profound human transition from spiritual exhaustion to divine surrender. It talks of stripping away the external ego to find internal sacred peace.
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When hope feels thin, and your horizon far,
When righteousness your own for little counts,
Broken and bruised and battered when you are,
When your wasted shadow forever haunts;
When rites and rituals robbed are of magic,
And piety nor pilgrimage might please,
Belaboured worship loses all its logic,
Divine grace seems to gasp for fresher lease;
When you are keen to off-load your old self,
To fill life’s vacuum with His holy presence,
Too keen to leave behind all power and pelf,
The heart whilst craves a deep unending silence;
Ready thence you’re to embrace divine bliss,
To fill your life with fullness that is His.
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Sonnet | 13.04.2004 |
Don’t go near a vacuum,
Stay clear of empty space,
Don’t look at the dark side,
But watch the full moon’s face.
Don’t fall into a pit,
Or get stuck in a hole,
Avoid incompleteness,
Learn to worship the whole.
Don’t slip into a chasm,
Place your footsteps with care,
And always make sure that
You’re spatially aware.
Nothingness is harmful,
Keep barren thoughts at bay,
Harness your potential,
And you will win the day.
Let your thoughts be whole-some,
Thinking much less like Freud,
But most of all remember to -
Avoid a void ...
Red furry vacuum silently goes across the floor
Consuming dropped homemade southern biscuit
Then looks up with sad eyes beggin' for more
Just for fun!!
You make my life so easy
sucking up the dirt and fluff,
hair that makes me quite queasy
and all sorts of unmentionable stuff.
You never get tired or wheezy
and help when things get rough.
Or when I feel rather uneasy,
you show you’re always tough enough.
Theme 2
48 words
Ugh, Why Must The Missus Vacuum At The Crack Of Dawn?
(circa: early December 27, 2018 morning)
There appears to be a
virulent (possibly deadly) strain
of housekeeping virus
Hoover ring in the air
asymptomatic tentatively linked to rein
deer droppings (micro-organisms) blare
ring and trumpeting beyond
the threshold to humans, though plain
lee send audible wavelengths
to symbiotic species clear
as a bell, which organisms don
nano size MAGA hats, and main
lee set up shop in carpet threads,
and chiefly thrive on deer
pellets, where one bee bee
gun size bullet serves long lane
of critters unseen can easily
make headway into ear,
eyes, nose, et cetera other
orifices, and Kane
inject unsuspecting vacuum sealed
byproduct to forswear
unsightly piles of dirt, debris,
dust bunnies, which Jain
Dharma would find
appalling horrifically glare
ring at desecrating supposed germ
carrying pests calling utterly inane,
the constant effort
to keep house beautiful heir
ruled ding disinfectant resistant,
whether mite tee Germaine,
or itty bitty teensy weensy siblings
many named Oh Fair
Roe One Wade for me, nonetheless seek
out porous fleshy terrain
allowing, enabling and providing
pinhead size portal
i.e. vector to engineer
transmitting a fast
acting alien entity
without any explain
nation, an immediate urge to spruce up
the place applying interlinear
trigonometry (of course adhering to
Feng Shui when rearranging), without drain
ning, lessening, zapping,
et cetera, but meer
really loose sing a whirling dervish
(mini tornado) fiercely
finding the spouse on feverish spree
to clean entire apartment chain!
I seem happy, but it is loss I sense
My smile betrays a grief immense
The day is bright, but what flows through my veins is fear
Why is silence screaming into my ear
I look around searching for a familiar sight
To see you, touch you, to gain strength to fight
I see you but you face the other way
So I drop my shoulders and trudge away
I am rudderless and lost in this sea so vast
Of sadness, and ghosts of my past
Haunt me and badger my every sense
My life seems an existential pretense
I am used to having you in every step of my life
Your words would always prop me up
But I guess my only friends will be silence
Loneliness, darkness and your absence
Wonder, if God thought of Mother’s pure love
Because He can’t hope to be everywhere,
Nor be where so His children's need might move,
Alone He can no justice do, nor care.
Among things well their worth upon this Earth,
Bare if a few man ever can replace.
Mother's love stands on top, what unique grace!
Why gods and goblins vie for human birth.
If among punctuations God's period,
Mother's love sure is exclamation mark,
All else may hope to be second and third,
In luminance, she's no less than an arc.
Sole saviour, nourisher of new life,
A silver lining in dark clouds of strife.
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Sonnets | 22.03.2017 |
The black hole took a bite of stars,
he dreamed a candy store.
He ate a hundred billion stars,
and still he wanted more.
When he had finished everything,
the universe was bare.
He put some stars back out in space,
to have an ‘over there’.
Life In A Vacuum!
Nobody seems to notice,
Nobody seems to care,
I live in a vacuum,
Where there isn’t any air…
And the heart in my chest,
Grows more and more like lead,
With my soul crushing down,
I’m left here with a frozen frown,
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…
It’s happening again,
Someone now says that,
They really like me and,
They’re my new best friend,
But no one seems to notice,
No one seems to care,
When there’s nothing more to give,
No one cares if I live,
Now with life almost gone,
I tried my best to prove this wrong,
The world’s full of people,
Who do not get along…
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…
We’re all out for ourselves,
We can’t see we’re the same,
Yet we don’t help one another,
but rather blow ourselves to hell,
Oh, No one seems to notice,
No one seems to care,
We all live in a vacuum,
Where there isn’t any air…
By My Gull Wheels On
a.k.a. Michael Wilson
Callously discarding,
talismans of heart and soul,
hastily scorching all bridges,
in a supernova burying me whole,
retreating into emptiness,
no salvation to be found,
sins too many to absolve,
drowning, in a freshly
dug hole in the cold ground.
Hollow, empty, barren desolation closes in,
asphyxiating me,
within the walls of my dismal room,
sinking into the abyss,
disappearing, fading, lost forever,
inside an emotionless,
vacuum
Somebody ought to go vacuum the moon
All the space dust is starting to show
Somebody ought to take care of it soon
For the wolves are all restless, you know
They say it’s too dingy to give a good howl
And we’re starting to get complaints from the owls
How is it that in the great “vacuum” of space
Someone still left dirty prints on its face?
it must be near the forest beds -
near! oh, near the forbidden beds
of ancient pigeons and sacred doves
that flock’d along the lofty niger beds -
and came she – sudden and sullen
came she with throat song-swollen
like some sands of fast and fluty men
singing like some sword-beak'd hen
that flock’d along some weird river beds -
and well-wrap’d were her strange signals!
and came she – a sinister creature wild
of baboons and monkeys - a like-mind
who must twist-blew in the wild songs!
who must sing and dance baboon songs!
and father thot a monkey could sing
drumming on the native ancestral drums
and mother thot a baboon could sing
dancing to the native ancestral drums
and death came, oh! young death came
wearing a cloak of fiery ferry of primates
oh, the stretch of lands under this tame
plung’d into the great wisdom of primates
and this death welds a sledge hammer
each son and each father along this niger!
some harsh bombs in a hand-shake
with my forests chas’d rest out of town
and in turn the baboon’s good estate
took such a lifeless state of a leaf-brown
where baboons and monkeys drench’d
in soft-humour of bloody strife
where whole villages lie fully sack'd
from ancestral lands by a new lord of strife!
and father a-jok’d of such a lifeless figure
and mother smil’d at such a lifeless figure
but the harsh bombs of lifeless bombardments
brought a silent vacuum in the forests!
oh, stubborn lords of my cut-throat gentr’y
my niger beds a-crop the sly seedlings of beauty
tho’ baboons and monkeys a-swim like the swine
in blood of self-immolation, a-crying … crime!
My microcosmos is really a false vacuum.
It may eventually collapse.
I read an article floating in the wind.
I become an unwritten novel.
I watch the ants carry the breadcrumbs
into the dismal soil leading into another world.
I look outside seeing pockets of pain.
I yearn to jettison out of my world on a jet.
A long voyage around the liquid abyss
where silent screams emanate.
The light dims outside.
I await deliverance from Epic Error.
All may eventually collapse into scurrilous beliefs
created by scoundrels.
Am I greater than the sum of my fragments?
I'm too exhausted to answer this.
Persistence is futile in the Kingdom of Pain.