By late July,
the Texas squirrel has begun
questioning the architecture of the universe.
He sits on the fence,
tail wilted like a forgotten feather duster,
and watches the sun perform
its daily act of unreasonable brilliance.
He wonders
why any deity would design a world
where a creature with a fur coat
must endure temperatures
that make asphalt sweat.
He contemplates free will~
specifically his own decision
to move to Texas.
Was it destiny?
A cosmic joke?
A clerical error in the Book of Rodents?
He wanders the yard slowly,
as if each step is a meditation
on suffering,
identity,
and the location of the nearest shade.
At last he pauses,
gazes at the shimmering horizon,
and arrives at a revelation
worthy of a tiny Texas monk:
“Heat,” he declares,
“is the universe’s way
of reminding me
to get my life together.”
Then, after a long, solemn silence,
he adds,
“I have also concluded
that I cannot go to hell.
Texas has already shown me
the trailer.”
With this,
he nods wisely,
as if he has solved
one of the great mysteries of existence.
I think the best attitude adjuster
is a stick and not a feather duster.
The lunatic left tried
and were duly denied
but it’s time to nuke the filibuster!
There is a man that I am aware of, who delights
In our 'old blood and guts' he says he'll fly that
Flag forever.!!! Now some may well think him nuts.'
Yet he quotes about lines of lin-iage and of an
Australian commonwealth law, of treaty called
For and ratified in Versallies 'is this all for sure?' He
Speaks of God king and country, of indissolluble
Rights.? And that we have a freedom to bear arms (indeed to fight) in our countrys protection, for our own lives..And those of familiy and friends ( now are we all kings in our country? If this is right lets get on the mend)
Is this what he is 'speaking today?' Is he right and
Sincere.? Should we lend him our ears.? Are there
Gems in the claims he portrays? Should we all raise (the duster) that is also called the 'blood and guts' that has seen us often to victory.' Is that
All it takes as such.? What if a tbousand law savvy? 'i am talking now credible folk' gave him some room, and consultation? To try his claims now.' To see.' will this all hold up? for there may well be truth in the bloke.?
An utterly Useless Tale
On a big round oak table in a living room, a vase, in its small crack, lived two house ants. They were sitting outside, considering a box of matches on the tabletop.
“if the box was empty, I’m sure I could push an inch or two the first and said. “Yeah,” the other snorted.
A man came into the room, took a matchstick out of the box, and put it back on the table, this time by its edge, and walked out.
The first ant giggled and said, “If we both push the box, it will fall on
the floor, no one will know how it ended there.”
They traversed the vast expanse of the table, pushed the box off the table, hurried back into their crack, and laughed heartily.
They had been frightened
people usually kill house ants at first
sight. The man came back, saw the box on the floor, shook his head, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. Our ants were in stitches
They were tempted to push the box on the floor again
but gave it up, the risk someone could come in with a duster
was too great
Back at their crack, they went to sleep
I shudder while peering at sepia photographs,
showing visits to my maiden Aunt Hilda’s house.
Even though I was very young
it was clear she didn’t tolerate children.
I was to be ‘Seen and not heard.’
Pa said I wasn’t to utter a word.
I loathed being pushed and forced to kiss her.
Aunt's wrinkled leathery skin looked like
she’d been pickled in vinegar.
As she waddled around with a damp duster,
wiping at my finger marks that only she could see,
the wooden floorboards creaked like old bones
for she was grossly overweight.
Her buxom breasts smelled awful
and emitted a musty, moldy, cheesy smell.
Stretchy tan tights were never able to camouflage
the vivid blue bulging varicose veins
which snaked from her calves to her fat ankles.
The old sour puss passed away when I was six
Now, as I reminisce, I will no longer remain silent!
Pushing away the mop.
Instead, watching the fan blow dust around.
Everyone whispers about spring cleaning.
I filled a bucket with soap and water.
The sun is rising earlier.
And setting before I can finish.
Drops spilling out.
And the water is cold now.
Moving the furniture around.
If I had super strength, it would be easier.
I live alone, I live here.
I wish I could levitate the furniture.
And float all the chairs and tables away.
Do-do-do-
Dusting around.
The softness of the duster,
Do-does-doesn’t-
Do much against the hardened layers of dust.
Coughing and sneezing.
Endlessly.
Spring cleaning.
I wish I hired someone who cleans carpets.
There’s too many stains.
Everywhere.
Every spring.
She is still here.
Why do I have to see you everyday
It's timely every morning I passed by
It's timely that I see you at the beach
Before I coming to sea for fishing
I see you picking sea shells with that 'lil basket
Wearing your usual abaca hat and that flowery duster
The curves of your body shape by the passing breeze
That made my chest gather its heavy breathe
As usual a fake countenance cannot see on my face
As morality teach us not to fend feeling to a foreigner
But those encountered scene troubling my mind at sea
Leaving some guilt and fun moment registered here
Why do men so weak on women temptation tactics
Even in the middle of the sea that woman's beauty is painted.
Years ago, in a time that seems like a past life
I never thought I would ever see people from Ukraine
Up close, nor serve them even cookies and donuts from a shop
Even before seeing a children hop like happy bunnies
But now I have, and it was a good experience- maybe better than good
Even though the reason for this new experience may have been an awful
World occurrence that should have never taken place especially with haste
I am thankful to the instigator of that world disaster which was not a duster
For the experience even though there were not enough donuts- should I feel guilty?
Although this good experience sometimes seems like an illusion
And if it was real, there the question of how they found Westport
But regardless of the answer, which might never really be known
There will always be a new experience of some kind- be open to having one
And freely feel at peace!
Why is that bolt of fabric bolted to the ground?
I did not realize the guy was a werewolf until he turned around.
I wanted to bolt, but I had to be politically correct, right?
His teeth were enormous; they gave me a Halloween fright.
"It’s got witches on it, they come alive," he growled toward me.
His two canine teeth were gleaming bound to rubber bands I could see.
I wanted to bolt now, but I stood my ground and asked innocently
“How do witches come alive from material, if you please?”
He said let me get a bit of dust out of the way my dear.
When the dust flies in the air as I dust, it will become clear.
He took a feathered duster from the pocket of his duster.
They floated into the air and spelled “Muster Cluster Buster.”
This told me nothing, but I wanted to bolt nevertheless.
Werewolves are storms I do not want to weather, no matter how pure.
I weathered away quietly, as you may have guessed.
That’s the last time I will go into that fabric store for sure.
Water,
Most valuable thing
In the nature
It is nothing but
a simple matter
healthy bodies
route maker
for so many diseases
best duster
Water,
It is our
globes glitter
beautiful shadows of
every picture
many lives
one and only manufacture
every where earth's
lovely furniture
Water,
Continuous running of water
just like
decency of great writter
confidence of freedom fighter
SAVE THE WATER..... SAVE THE WATER........
JUST LIKE EVERYONES DAUGHTER ................
- PAMARTHI NIRUPAMA
The maid busy cleaning the library
by any means necessary.
Jerry and Berry, the Macaw parrots
sitting on their tree perch
waiting for their tidbits of carrots;
When the maid got closer to the dictionary
with her wooden handle feather duster
They got excited, with high-pitch squawks,
heads switching side to side,
start fluttering their wings with the warm sun
around her red hair, and
they howler, " Where are our carrots?"
4/30/2023
'Writing Challenge - Words with 'X' -' Poetry Contest 7. excited
Sponsored by: Constance La France
jay is different than he has ever been
a neatnik of course, and he is my twin.
whereas I am a beatnik, messy and thin.
he is a cleaner, a duster, no dirt on his chin.
I am slovenly, a messy hoarder, a collector, a slob.
my dungarees are usually filthy, rolled up in a glob.
no one is dirtier than I except maybe our uncle Bob.
bob eats like a hog sloppy buttery corn on a cob.
my brother’s cleanliness is annoying; it gets in my way.
he is way too serious, always cleaning, never has time to play.
his skin is sun-deprived, he stays inside to wash down the fray.
a beatnik, I am the exact opposite of my neatnik brother, Jay.
Today is a time that is like no other,
For the virtuous wife and bless’ed mother,
While her husband works the ground to yield,
She works beside him in the field.
She is his help, his right hand man,
The world on his shoulders,
she is his stand.
Baring his seed, expands his name,
defends his honor against all shame.
She mends what’s broken in the home,
Holds down the fort when he is gone.
Guards house and home both night and day,
never once relent to pray.
Accountant, cook, and housekeeper,
Duster, polisher, and home sweeper.
Scold the naughty, spank the mischievous,
Discern the truth teller from the devious.
Teaching her daughters to make them wives,
Her sons to live godly lives.
She hires the help, gives helping hand,
Handy lady to the handyman.
She’s the only one who goes, without a pay,
Though she’s rewarded every day.
She then adorns herself, for her handsome King,
To reward him warmth within her wings.
To whisper strength within his ear,
that if not for him, her heart would fear.
The wife and mother today, is as soft as strong,
She is everything right amidst all wrong.
My feather duster shed a plume,
From overuse, you might assume,
But you’d be wrong; my living room
Is good at hiding dust.
Yet that stray feather made me muse
On how the furnishings we choose
Provide our visitors with clues
About us they can trust.
Our décor, modern or antique
And ostentatious, plain or sleek,
Allows much more than just a peek
At what’s below the crust.
Though birds may decorate their nest
With shiny objects they’ve finessed,
Like us, they hope they have impressed
By how they’ve fluffed and fussed.
I wouldn't say I like dust,
But dust loves me
All around the house, I see
Dust.
Dust everywhere,
On the table and the chair
Nothing can compare
With my war with
Dust.
I use a soft cloth
To wipe all that pesky dust off,
I turn my back only to find
Some have settled on the blinds.
Dust
Why are you so thick?
Is it what makes you tick?
Softly sifting around the house,
Like a sort of invisible louse
Dust
I feel irritated by you, so
If only temporarily, you must go.
Come on, duster, wipe away.
You are not welcome. You have outstayed your stay.
I must get rid of you,
Dust!
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