Clotheslines Poems | Examples

the storm was not satisfied yet

The storm sneaked into the valley
She had no forethought of what she might do
But the more she thought about the town
And what they had done to her trees
The angrier she became

These morons had cut down almost every tree around her meadow
There was no windbreak, so she figured they deserved an EF5
She came in quietly, just a little wind at first.
By noon the clothes were blowing off the clotheslines
The chairs were blown off of their porches

She had worked herself into a frenzy
Before she was finished there were twelve hundred dead
That should have satisfied her, but she was getting a taste for blood
This full blown tornado approached the next town, laughing in thunder.

queen of my world

my daddy built me a tree house
in the back forty of our property
between two cottonwood trees

I used to take seven books up there
with a pillow and read for hours
during the summer when I was eight,
nine, ten, eleven and twelve

there was such comfort watching black ants
travel up and down the bumpy tree trunk
listening to the neighbors chatting and laughing
they met at their clotheslines

I always knew who was watching tv
I could see the lights flicker from their windows
I knew who was arguing too
Queen of my world

Sunday Thinking Cap

I wore my thoughts on my head like a ball cap today

Ready to take off and disregard

or to turn around, tilted in the opposite direction

Easy to grab at, to throw away, to steal,

to sneakily hide a lost trinket underneath.

I am unbalanced like a scale

trying to measure dancers

as they prance about unwavering to any schedule or song.

I am a thrash of discombobulated noises and symphonies,

never harmonizing quite right but still quite beautifully 

Imperfect.

I wore my heart in my hair today, let it ruffle in the wind

allowed the speed of an old beat up car roar its engines

like it was reliving her glory days

and I was alive again.

I hung my past up on the clotheslines in my backyard to dry out,

but it rained and that seems to be the story of my life. 

At the end of the day

my thoughts are all but worn out completely

ready to be chucked away like a sweat drenched Sunday thinking cap.

Whatever, Kaitlyn, and you too, Joe B

    Why is my salary any business of yours
       or yours any business of mine

    Remember when we aired out our laundry
       on strictly private clotheslines

Clotheslines

The old timers complain nowadays, 
about how modern technology.
Is stealing away all their secrets and,
selling everyone's privacy.

Information is left up for grabs,
exposed for all of the world to see.
By touching a finger to a glass,
while they are hiding behind the scenes.

As my mother would always tell us, 
“You do not air your dirty laundry.
But back in the day, if I farted,
she would know about it before me.

But I never could quite understand,
how anything could possibly be.
Less private than hanging my holey,
underwear outside for all to see.

If you're thinking that your 5G phone,
might be the fastest thing in the land.
Then you have never met my mother,
with a rotary phone in her hand.

Clothesline of Life

our extended clothes
         so many stories hanging
           on  clothesline of life

Portions

Across the lakes

Through frozen flakes
 
They come in storm, 

Whose breath be warm 
 
To change a freeze 

Into a tenderness, 

To fall and splatter, 

With applause

To somehow matter; 

Offer cause,

Hard against the clotheslines of 

The earth of every yard.

Spilling a releasing warmth 

To all frozen tongues and 

Flowered root that soon 

From canon stalks will shoot 

The sky with both barrels 

Of new brightness. 

Seizing every eye,

As spring is born. 

Pages torn, windows flung, 

Songs sung and

Sun splashing warm kisses 

Onto cheeks that blush 

With wishes 

For only more.

A day or two of lasting pleasure

Amore’, 

This too, a part of 

Our forever story.

I will sit outside tomorrow 

On a tiled balcony

Have my breakfast, 

Scrambled eggs 

And caviar, 

Portion out a peace

To share with God.

A Change In Their Voices

Sitting in my tree house on a perfect day
I am listening to the neighbors as I read seven library books
I am twelve, and this is my summer joy, seven is library's daily limit.
We are at the top of two cottonwood trees where my daddy built my tree house.

My twin sister has given up trying to lure me inside
She knows I will come down to go swimming in the afternoon
But this is my time between gardening and swimming and no one bothers me

I pause occasionally to listen to the silly conversations of two neighbor women
Who have met at their clotheslines to talk 
This time is different. There is a change in their voices.
They begin to yell at each other.

I scoot closer to my window to hear better. 
They are really angry. 
I wonder if they will come out at the same time tomorrow 
To their communal clothes lines.
One does not come out the rest of the summer
Probably using a dryer, which Iowa woman do not usually use in summer.
I use my imagination to fill in the blanks. 
But I am only twelve, and I do not know much about life yet.

Scents and Mystique

No other city is more unique
than Napoli; around corners, 
you'll find surprises that intrigue  
eyes staring at monuments 
that have some mystique powers!

And walking through the very narrow and noisy streets
of various sounds: you'll feel a drop of casual water 
from the clotheslines above...ah, those scented sheets
waving while people eat treats and breathe the spring air
and listen to musicians improvising chords on their guitar!  

Come to the city where the scent of oven-baked
pizza lures: live the simple life of the Neapolitans... 
folks who sing classical songs that make everyone glad;  
even Venice cannot compare to the enthusiasm and thrills
of the locals while flowers are offered by generous hands!

Painting Freely By Memory

Abstract images dripping shadows
Through one's reveries--- cycles grasped 
by an artist's palm, scraping the easel--
Mosaic of  fallen birds caught within blended tints;
Acrylic pictures woven together, 
Hung through clotheslines... soaring like love unrequited.
Within edges of a framework, paint coagulates,
Full of stale cigar smoke as wax droppings
break from many nights' forsaken candles.



Broken Wings Contest-- Dust Off A Memory 
25th Oct  2017

Bare Hearted

Bare Hearted
Anne Morin

Moving backward in time,
there is new sunshine,
the forbidden delight
of disobedient barefooted prancing

through cool grasses,
freshly green and waiting
to caress tiny warm toes
and naughty little hearts.

A wicked world marches on
but not between our clotheslines
hung with spanking clean white sheets
flapping in the chilly spring breeze

where joyous abandon
cannot be kept inside
as cold, slender blades tickle our feet
and an ecstatic younger sister screeches,

“Look at us, Grandma!
Bare-hearted foots!”

Grandma’s switch was a lesson that stung.

Copyright:  Anne Morin, 2007

Rich Dimes

Let's walk down memory lane,
skipping past forgotten pain.
And recall what used to be
when games were most often free.

Remember when for a lark,
we'd play "hide and seek" till dark?
And small chores earned us rich dimes;
though our clothes dried on clotheslines.

We believed in Santa Claus,
superheroes, and just cause.
And fresh air held a sweet smell,
while water came from a well.

The bogeyman, just pretend;
and every cop was your friend.
Whenever tall tales got spun,
bad guys lost, and good guys won. 

Teenagers had loads of fun
without carrying a gun.
And friends only died in play;
they all lived; just yesterday.


(Rhyme)


8/4/2015

Faces of Storm

TROPICAL STORM

midday darkness heavy
    rain pounds, winds howl---
           trees topple as huts crumble



EYE OF THE STORM

blacked-out night
     eerie silence for miles---
          dog whimpers and hide


STORM’S AFTERMATH

sun shines bright on
    full clotheslines for miles---
        sad smiles from grief-stricken faces



*To all those who prayed for my country, the Philippines, thank you. The typhoon changed course and only a small portion up north was affected.  It is unfortunate however, that 2 people died due to electrocution, an effect no doubt of the storm.

KIM PATRICE NUNEZ
11 May 2015

Lifeline

Line after line of fresh diapers
A daily chore for years
Clotheslines held six dozen each day
Unless weather unclear

Two little ones not potty trained
Now grown and on their own
They hold up a lifeline of love
Since the soft nest they've flown 

Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Contest: Let Me Feel Your Lines
# 3. Clothesline
Written by: Sara Kendrick
March 30, 2015

Our Memories

Memories that behind 
glass windows /on the door sill, 
those carved in the wall and 
emerged with shadows 
Memories that whimper in the way of the cemetery, 
Memories abandoned on banks of streets,
Memories that stuck in footstep
Memories that laid on clotheslines
and also...
that slip from head accidentally
  
All these memories...
I am certain they will return; 
As they never eaten from rust!

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