Long Cleaner Poems
Long Cleaner Poems. Below are the most popular long Cleaner by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cleaner poems by poem length and keyword.
Making every effort
To break cycles of the past
Determined more than ever
These moments can't last
He hated poor, poor as dirt
As he set out to hold gold
He got an education
Had a heart that would never fold
Clean, cleaner than bleached white
She detested filth and mess
She gathered and controlled
All that had possibility of tainting her dress
They came out of the camp
With minds shattered and torn
Not knowing how to be
They assembled where pain was worn
...like a cloak
Where, oh where
Will healing come from
When humanity breaks
And leaves it all undone
Where, oh where
Can peace find a home
When humanity insists
Better am I, being alone
Where, oh where
Can community thrive
When entities blister and pierce
All who remain alive
Where, oh where
Is heaven in this hell
Fire burns to melt
And water has no well
...like resource
(After the rape, and for the rest of her life,
Artemisia turned out canvas after canvas
containing disturbing images of women
beheading men - with obvious phallic
castration undertones.)
Judith and Holofernes
There’s only one way to be free of them.
The only good aggressor’s good and dead.
But should my righteous blade head for the stem,
or does the jeopardy stem from the head?
Sweet and severe, the certainty of steel!
I love its coldness, clarity: that sheen
which says, “the damage I dispense, I will not feel:
the pain you’ll take is curative and clean.”
There’s that in Man which is incontinent.
He seeps, exudes, secretes. He oozes filth
which is, once free of him, mere excrement.
Best cauterize him, to preserve our health.
So, pull him taught, for cleaner cut. Lay on!
For I demand the head of Jokanaan.
Poisonous air streams down
As plastic-laden waters choke
Fishes and Universal Motion's glow ...
So much has changed through time,
I wail against slow death of UV skin,
while plundered Mother Earth rakes
in her once fertile womb...
yet indifferent hearts care not,
incensed by greed and unrecyled junk.
O children listen; build a new earth,
Let your palms turn soil into a fertile bed;
And allow the forest to stand tall, uncut
By gifting them with a cleaner environ;
That each gracious deed will find blessings
Copious from heavenly skies.
Until each hour breathes through
A fragrance of one taintless expanse, blue.
This wide universe is our home,
Our manna of fields for every mouth,
And pure rain cooling quiet nightfall
With daylight's pattern soothing din;
To hail nature, may it never come to an end
As Spirit's Love refills our dreams!
Thomas Martin's STUFF
6/19/2015
She had a masters degree,
from Trinity Cambridge,
was brokering deals in the city,
with overheard talk re. financial leverage.
Whilst I’d a diploma
from a,
“technical” college.
A photographic memory,
from heart she could recite,
the Shakespeare plays and
the complete periodic table,
and her port and whisky bottles had their own silver labels.
A no mortgage flat, Persian cat and a cleaner,
a holiday retreat on some remote Welsh peninsula.
but despite,
the disparity in background and mental capacity,
we clicked and hooked up and for a while,
lived,
quite lustfullly.
To survive, comfortably,
in her social circles,
I needed to eliminate some of the hurdles.
The barriers that doubtless would have stifled,
my chance of becoming,
economically entitled.
A list was produced, and included employment and personal grooming,
but my care free attitude,
Is what attracted her,
I imagined,
what she found appealing.
But lust is short term and knowing,
knowledge is power I began reading her own books and with time on my hands spent hour upon hour.
I read 1984, so not to be a bore,
at her parties.
I read to Kill a Mockingbird, so I would be heard,
at her parties.
I read The Great Gatsby, because I had to be,
at her parties.
I read Death of a Salesman,
to be life and soul,
at her parties.
I read Great Expectations, to get
me out of situations,
at her parties.
I read The Grapes of Wrath, so they wouldn’t laugh,
at her parties.
I read Pride and Prejudice, to stop them extracting the piss,
at her parties.
I read Catcher in the Rye, so I could look people in the eye,
at her parties.
I read The adventures of Huckleberry Finn, just to fit in,
at her parties.
I read book after book,
but no one gave a flying f*** , about me,
at her parties.
Ironically after reading Gullivers travels,
almost as I closed the cover,
she told me to pack my bags.
It was all over.
I went up North,
got a job,
on a three month trial,
Coincidentally, as a trainee librarian,
at a private school,
near Carlisle.
The acceptance photograph displaying the Chancellor’s handshake,
new wife,village life
and my f*** you smile,
and a perfectly groomed new hair style.
Playing mind games everyday
What does that get us hurts only you
The one who runs the mouth
It ain't all about you it's all about them
What games you play when you are heading for the end
You be the only one that loses out
We go through our day
Like zombies at night
Praying on the weak
It's a game we all play
In some part of our lives
We want to roll first
We want to take them down
But I don't understand why
The games we play when love is at a close
Hurts only those around
The bigger picture is the one of a family before
It's not about pity choices
Who gets what
Who takes who to the cleaner
This game was played out of love
Out of the odds which weren't in your favor
But it does not have to end with an absolute victory
Because the price is to high
The ones who lose the biggest are your children
So look around just because the building has crumbled
Does not mean the foundation needs to fall to
Carry on and put the mind games aside
Because everyone has a chance to win when you play fair.
I need a forty
not in dollars and cents
forty years to get it right
for that is the message that God sent
forty years for the nation of Israel to step up to the plate
forty years of waiting because of their lack of faith
I need a forty
be it in minutes, seconds, days or hours
forty seconds for me to see the Glory of God's powers
forty minutes of less for the preacher to deliver the gospel
forty -eight hours or less to see my God do the impossible
forty days to cleanse my heart, my soul and my mind
forty years to remember the wonders of God's kind
I need a forty
no not ounces of beer
forty days of Lent so that my mind will become clear
forty days of fasting like The Lord Jesus Christ
forty days of purification in order to start living a cleaner life
forty days and nights of the great rainfall
forty days of sacrifice to give my God my all
Hedonism
There was a time when ships were hard to handle
a crew of thirty-four or more and boys of fifteen
were employed to do the washing up after meals
and clean floors
A fraught time when hormones rage blatantly
we boys met in a cabin for communal maturation
to see who could hold it in the longest
I lost and hung my heads in shame
There were many whores where ships docked
they liked to steal our youthful innocence and
naturally, we let them have their way
These days whores are sex-worker and respected
they even have a union
Our ship found its way to Latin America, what
a shock, people there were poorer than us
The loose girls were desperate to go to Portugal
we promised to do our best and write letters to
the relevant authority, warmly we're embraced
our behavior was exploration, for which I in later
years, regret, when the fun was over, we knew
we also were exploited
when I came home, I was briefly a socialist
demanding free housing, but I preached for def ears
I became a self-employed window cleaner
and in fulness of time bought a house of my own
selling a house and buying another become a habit
not so fretful lad, the prices, are always going up
" Sex without love leaves behind loneliness ."
Tireless feet treading for hours through heavy snow,
making long trails to escape isolation
with a longing for a cleaner sky over a weeping willow;
isn't brightness that sign of liberation?
I've noticed the worrisome canaries gather
not leaving their nests and venture far,
they have survived the snowfall and rejoice
with a faint warbling with minimal surprise!
They are waiting on that generous lady
who comes and scatters a bag of breadcrumbs
around and feeds them on the coldest day;
her breath turns into a chimney that smokes!
Her wrinkled face shows the extreme kindness of the frail,
someone who walks slowly and despite her declining health,
she repeats the same ritual to show her determination of will:
to do good to them when they aren't empowered by stealth!
Long after the winter's vengeful wind diminishes,
no bird fears its fury, it happily flies and warbles
and despite the dullness and the whiteness around;
they are assured that winter has surrendered
to spring making their goodbye a remembrance
of their struggle and the limited freedom of their flights!
Is there a longing for a clearer sky and the brilliance
of the sun that offers all creatures the gift of gladness?
Is there a new awareness that expands consciousness
to surpass the limits of freedom and perseverance?
Now, that the world is getting purer and cleaner
everyday
who clear incoherently harbour dirts and spillage around.
Is it not the hand meant for cleaning and washing
and working out this and some of the other things?.
And the mouth for eating and drinking and talking
and laughing and many ,many, many other wishes
of sort kind?.
And foot and leg for us to reach out the dustbin for
instance?.
The dirt can't be a waste products perse nor the hand
a part of such dilemma nor the skull a kick hell out
of a thing cup? nor what dramatic human right nor
political taboo?.
I have a problem and that is true is quite different
from I have problem and that is true?.
Why then these people pollute nature
when already it's suffers contamination and stagnancy
and spillaging and wasting like quacks and qualms.
THE CLEANER . . .
When I was younger, I just wanted to be a cleaner
After watching all the espionage films, I did gleaner
But, saying this all they did, was hand me a brush
Thinking to myself, you have got it all wrong mush
I swept the floors, thought this isn’t getting me far
When I said cleaner, I meant cleaner & not the char
I grew to regret my remarks, as more brooms I got
Until one day I thought, I’ve just had my flipping lot
Did 007 or Charles Bronson - start at the same level
If so, did they have the pleasure of a auto dust devil
Sucking in all the bad guys into their strong vacuums
While alas I’m still stood here holding all the brooms
So I thought just maybe, there is not a real difference
Just a different way in the art - of the hit deliverance
Sweeping away the cob webs, as if they are bad guys
As each bit of dust hit the dust, one of bad guys dies
Power of thought, is quite amazing, all said and done
But hiding in the bushes, sounds a little bit, more fun
Indiana Shaw . . . : )