in 1950 the rage was to be a housewife
cleaning and cooking were deemed the best life
you would have to wear a sundress and keep your hair pretty
you did not have to be intelligent or the least witty
in 1950 women were expected to dress up for a man
they did not have jobs usually, and they knew how to can
They had gardens, and hung laundry daily on a clothesline
This was expected, and we girls pretended it was more than fine
The pot boils. I have made it boil.
You eat what I set before you
and call it love, or Tuesday.
I smile the smile I keep
in the knife drawer.
A detour, from off her time's
Shop-haggling usage.
Aligns with, through abuses
Working for a wage.
Snaps one back again, into
The old pleasantries.
Child's childish; with these about;
Hoppers; winged for bird!
And for rooks, as rantors heard!
Fun, fun parodies.
the 1950 housewife wears her best dress to clean
and pearls from Hawaii with a slick dazzling sheen.
In her polished high heel shoes, she prances in the kitchen.
Making food for her family without help and never ’n.
The 1950’s housewife cleans and vacuums with delight.
If there are any messes, she keeps them hidden from our sight.
She is gloriously giddy to spend her day mopping and scrubbing a sink.
In the evenings she goes to nightclubs wearing diamonds and her mink.
The 1950’s housewife never complains a bit about her marvelous life.
So eager and thrilled to be called Tony, Larry or Dickie’s little wife.
Anticipating her husband’s needs, putting them in front of her own each day.
If you cannot find the 1950’s housewife, perhaps she has run away.
She’s a dolled-up housewife, poured with Honey’s money.
Only likes to glamp in secret; Meet her “Daddy”.
When stealthy escapes became her wild musings,
Each of those sleepless nights, she is slowly losing…
Her vows are filled with betrayal and deception.
Actions become an impure rage and obsession.
Breakfast lies are best served when the clock stops at six.
“Call me tonight and let me feel those warm licks”.
Oh, a dolled-up housewife poured with luxury!
Never cares to leave everything and say,
“Bye, bye, Honey.”
oh, wow! The housewife handbook
given to me by six people in my husband’s family
they all got thrown out the window the same day
from an apartment we rented ten stories up from the sidewalk
have a drink ready for him when he comes home
have his favorite music playing
have his dinner ready to serve hot
do everything you can to make him comfortable
they got pitched after I had endured six hours of a screaming baby
my headache was killing me
my back was breaking
and he was still at work, enjoying peace and quiet.
Charlotte kept the house cleaner than anyone else.
She washed and scrubbed and vacuumed until it was an obsession.
Her husband wanted her time, but she had none to spare.
As a housewife, she was determined to deep clean daily.
Her house was her kryptonite; she was super cleaner.
Let’s go on vacation, he would say. Let’s stay in bed a little longer.
Let’s go out to eat. But she was determined to be a success.
She successfully ran him out of her life and her clean house.
the housewife looks out
stained window, sees herb garden....
soul journeys through pane
Written: November 10, 2020
caged parrot....
housewife
enjoying no freedom
Guess which word irritates me in this poem?
If you do not figure it out, you can read my notes.
Who has the most clout? A carwife or a housewife?
Do we have to factor in the dollar amount paid for the car
and the house?
Would the two million dollar housewife be worth more or less than the
one hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars housewife?
worth less because she probably can afford to hire help,
so does less of the housework?
or worth more because her house appraises at a higher number?
Shall we go ask the 1950's carhusband?
When was the last time you said "how was your day?"
Or simple hello bae
All you care about is your fame
Your picture in the frame
While my heart you tame
Daily I shed tears on my pillow
Since you have suddenly turned my source of sorrow
Probably you may change tomorrow
Your job I everyday I blow
But my body you daily blow
If I had known from the beginning you are a boxer
I would have listened to my mother
Or at least listen to my sister
Maybe things would have for me been better
I am not regretting loving you
For you were/are my heart desire
But am I still the special wife?
I must have left the window up
For a creature came inside.
She was bright and beautiful, with ornate wings;
You would never believe your eyes.
"What are you doing here, little thing?
The meadow is your home.
You are much too stunning, lovely, wonderful,
To be in the dreary dome.
But you might just be the perfect thing
To give this house some light."
So I fetched a jar of transparent glass,
And lured her in without a fight.
She flapped and fluttered in her crystal lodge,
Inducing the cat to the table.
I then moved her up to a safer place
Where she was seen but not obtainable.
This should keep the critter safe;
Secure and snug in her own bubble.
No dangers shall she ever face:
No killers, no storms, no trouble.
A week had passed with my radiant guest
Though I hadn't much observed it.
I was far too busy tending other things
To notice every flit.
Then one day while knitting it was grimly silent,
And staleness filled my mug.
I sat 'til I finished my husband's sweater
Then got up to check the bug.
How long was she like this? I gasped,
As I cringed with utter disgust.
Nothing was left of her but folded wings,
For her body had turned to dust.
Love her lingerie
as she moves in towards me
pleads fasten my bra
© Harry J Horsman 2016
The poor housewife
He steals her chickens
The township tsotsi
Tsotsi: a thug
Dressed in an old tee and sweatpants
hair unkempt in a careless ponytail
changes nothing but multiple hats
honestly, too many for a day.
Cook, cleaner, driver, gardener, and teacher
switches avatars in the blink of an eye
nurse, physician and also cheerleader
all tedious jobs without a pay
Fiercely ambitious she was once
supporting the kids and her man now
accused of being a parasitic dunce
by pointy fingers who know not her skin
Smelling all over of onions and Windex
as she finally creeps into bed
desperate she is-but not for sex
just a loving hug,a lingering caress.
Desperately wants her man to hear her heart knock
to not dismiss it as the ticking of kitchen clock.
Written on 06/08/2016
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.