clothes blow in the wind
catching the scent of summer
no dryer sheets used
Laundry
his socks my socks
everything in between
a match made in heaven- except
reds, pinks
An Ode To Our Hanging Laundry
Like the colorful banners of knights of old
Surrounded by their heralds and mesnie bold,
Our laundry doth wave on the clothes hanging lines
As if it too is meant for heraldic signs.
The socks are displayed like pennoncelle.
All our intimate secrets playful to tell.
Our underwear are our prideful banderole
As if we are knights-errant out on patrol.
Our banner of arms are our shirts hanging free.
They declare our wealthlessness for all to see.
The pants are hung as our heraldic standard.
In them we are wont to go a wee dandered.
Without our clothes hung for all to gaily see
How are we to know who it is that we be?
The Laundry Room
Aprons folded flat, tablecloths left lying on their back,
Black patent baby shoes piled in a stack
Against the tower of towels needed for a bath.
Dusty duvets rolled out of use
Toilet mats, underwear , socks all loose.
An ironing board, stands full of abuse
The sadness I feel is so profuse.
Laundry Room
The central activity in
the laundry room isn’t the action of
washing and
drying my tatty, smelly clothes, it’s
the Daily Redback Spider Race.
Also, the laundry basket leaks
gas. The linen cabinet doors in
the laundry sometimes turn the
dazzling colour of a
butterfly.
acid washed blue jeans
hang on the rusty clothesline
in the morning sun
wet laundry hanging
on the line in the garden - -
he sips a cool beer
Feeling if you see
Drab laundry, you already
Get tired and feel sick.
In the drawer, a pair did reside,
Same color, same stripes, side by side.
They danced and they walked,
Till one vanished, no trace to abide.
To the washer, they went, hand in hand,
To rid themselves of dirt and sweat so grand.
But alas, in the dryer,
One sock was a crier,
For its partner, it searched every strand.
Weeks passed, and the mystery unsolved,
Till in a T-shirt armpit, the missing sock evolved.
It found its way back,
From the laundry track,
With a lesson, its tale has resolved.
So remember, when laundry's the task,
To keep pairs intact is no ask.
For a panty hose snug,
Keeps socks in a hug,
And romance in the laundry won't bask.
Dirty.......Dirty
to fall
wash with strong soap
beaten with a bat
water with water
rinse away finally
shakes with both hands
weary and weary
tired families laundry
in the calm sunlight
droopy
take an afternoon nap
place to enjoy
wavering clothes line
by full of
mother laughters
swing dancing.
The kitchen's disinfected, the worktops squeaky clean,
The laundry's in the wardrobe and nothing's left in the machine.
The crockery is washed and dry, it's stacked in cupboards, looking neat.
There's just one nagging problem, I've got nothing left to eat!
angry thoughts
sad and sour
laundry day
which is clean
which is not
no matter
it will come
out in the
wash cycle
NB: Other form – Tricube: 3x3x3, 3 syllables per line, 3 stanzas; inspired by, but not entered in, Sara Kendrick's Tricube Poetry Contest
She measures his time
With the soft sounds of the machines,
The whirr,
The small thumps,
The humming.
Her husband
Sleeps in their darkened room
Just down the hall
Room 217
From my mother’s,
Room 221.
Before-
Her five-bedroom
And all the kids
The big laundry room
Where she spent
Hours with the scents
And touches
Fluffing, folding
Carefully into piles-
Like she does now
But with one small load
Over and over
Watching and guarding
Carefully keeping his moments
Going one at a time
With the turning
And tumbling
While he sleeps.
(For Naomi)
She is brave
enough
to hang out her words
on the line
long past
the last fluttering square inch
is dry
and the neighbor’s
have closed their blinds.
My clothes smell like the green grass
I wash and watch and watch time pass
Another dollar spent
No time to repent
Heaven sent but hell bound
Hell no dont make a sound
More flames seen in my eyes
This gin tastes like the skies
More truth unspoken
This ash is smoking
Still in a way I'm hoping
But for now,
This light im toking
Passing in poverty
Oh the audacity
Lights in the city
A pitty. Sit
Hells pit
Another day washing clothes
Like Dam, only lord knows
So, I continue
And clean, so new.
Still its these dirty shirts
Thats what hurts the most
One simple wash
It all spins through
Dirty till Clean
I still miss your smell...
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