Long Housework Poems
Long Housework Poems. Below are the most popular long Housework by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Housework poems by poem length and keyword.
1. THE EARLY YEARS
It was Nineteen fifty seven, that’s the year that I was born
It was in a northern town of England, one early January morn
I thought I’d be an only child, with no-one else but me
I have two sisters and a brother, they are my siblings three
Our parents, they were working class, and the life was somewhat hard
We all lived in terraced housing, with no gardens, just a yard
My mom, she was a housewife, she looked after all us kids
My father worked repairing cars, to help keep us off the skids
Our neighbourhood was close knit, a place where people cared for everyone
They’d watch the kids out playing, whilst you got your housework done
And if trouble rose its ugly head, between you and someone other
The neighbours would come storming out, and take you home to mother
I remember well the neighbour’s dog; they said his name was Snuggles
I’d climb over the backyard wall, to give him loads of cuddles
I loved that old grey sheepdog, he was furry, big and gentle
Each time I climbed that backyard wall, it drove my mother mental
I remember when they told me that poor Snuggles had passed away
He went and crossed the rainbow bridge, that last and final day
I asked, could I go and see him, because I didn’t understand
That all earth’s creatures go with god, to his own celestial land.
A is for abolish housework forever
Make it illegal to clean everything
Graduating college engineers clever
Do your part, design houses where clean clings
Maybe a strong wind tunnel designed right
Could blow the dust out once or twice each week
While owners go out dancing for a night
Or a shredder next to a chute when bills pique
Engineers design concrete houses sleek
With built in water cleaning system fine
Compartments styled water proof with mystique
Each to house valuables closely enshrined
Let's abolish housework, freedom we all need
Unrestrained abandoned to write poetry plead
Written: Thursday, March 31, 2016
Inspired by contest: The Alphabet Contest/ Letter A
'Quality is Job One' is a great marketing tool for the Ford Motor company.
Until a cure is found, quality of life becomes secondary to survival itself.
After survival is achieved, life, as usual, becomes a matter of discussion.
Rationale and certain constitutional rights are also set aside until the cure,
And until then, like an orchestra, the world must act as one great ensemble,
Never quitting or compromising but working in concert to maintain life and order.
Time for unity is critical, even if it means giving up usual places and spaces.
Isolation is not the goal of a world in lockdown mode, but disease control
Necessitates measures unlike any I have seen in my entire lifetime.
Economies all around the world are suffering from hardships, and people are afraid.
"Deliver us from evil" is more than a memorized prayer; it is the cry of the hour.
My latest doctor's appointment took place over the telephone; I was heard but not seen.
Yesterday, I transported my daughter to the grocery store and missed my church
Services over the internet, but I did not miss my daily meetings with God.
Technology is great, and high tech fellowship is lovely, but I arrived home too late.
Outdoor opportunities have been curtailed, but I'm doing my exercises indoors.
Retirement is still serving me well, but I'm praying for others who are really suffering.
Yearning for better days is not a good recipe in quarantine, so I am doing housework, yard work, and praying more.
033020PoSpCtest, Quarantine Poems, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver. 3P
I hate you mum
You are so mean
Why do I need to keep so clean?
I don’t need to wash
Can’t you see
I don’t have time
I’m on the Wii
I hate you mum
Not sausages for tea
Mashed potato and baked beans
I want cake I want chocolate
Jelly and cream
You really are horrid
So old and so mean
I hate you mum
Why did you forget
To take my old jeans
To the launderette?
I was busy at school
You were only at work
Why didn’t you do it
You know how to hurt
I hate you mum
I’m not going to bed
You really are starting
To do in my head
Always telling me what to do
Homework and housework
They’re jobs for you.
I’m sorry mum
I’ve cut my knee
Please can we have
Sausages for tea?
Can I show you my book?
Will you teach me to cook?
Can I have a hug?
I love you mum
Form:
If I were a boy - I would be a son
If I were a boy - I would not use a pink dummy
If I were a boy - I would be a brother
If I were a boy - I would not wear ribbon in my hair
If I were a boy - I would have been a young man
If I were a boy - I would not walk with high heels
If I were a boy - I would be a lovely man
If I were a boy - I would find me a wife
If I were a boy - I would drop housework
If I were a boy - I would have been a husband
If I were a boy - I would have had ten children
If I were a boy - I would be a father to my children
If I were a boy - I would read fairy tales in bed for all my ten children
If I were a boy - I would be the grandfather of my grandchildren
If I were a boy - I would sit in a rocking chair smoking my pipe
The best thing about being a boy would probably be
that I do not have to pull down my pants when I am going to pee
05.03.2012
A-L Andresen :9
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
As a genie, I would get myself a horse ranch, which is odd as I fear horses.
I would bring all the dogs home from the shelters, and let them run free
On my new non-horse-dog-ranch.
If I cannot be a dog in my next life, let me linger as Barbara Eden
Of course I need her body and her blinking eyes.
I could blink my eyes and the housework would be done,
Which bothers me not a whit, but apparently bothers my husband.
I love surprising people; my blinks would murder them with surprises.
I would be flirty and cute, and ridiculously loveable too like Jeannie.
Major Nelson would not have a chance, and Roger would encourage me.
I would be instantly put on TV and become the darling of Saturday night.
People would tune in and worship my severe darlingness, and laugh at my blinks.
Money would pile up so fast, I would have to buy a new mattress.
Or maybe get myself a matching set of luggage, which I could certainly afford.
Of course I need her body and her blinking eyes.
The kids are in bed, there's dishes to do
Washing, ironing, paperwork too,
Children, office, housework, sometimes I find life hard
But it isn't really, not when it's compared
To my mum's, who rose up early and was never late
Lighting the coal fire that was sitting in the grate,
She then cooked breakfast on a range,
Haaven't things for me now changed.
Over the range for hours mum would slave
Cooking meals, wheras I have a microwave
And a vacuum to clean this house of mine
Mum used to beat rugs on her washing line.
I have central heating to keep the house warm
For my waking up by electric alarm
Straight into the bathroom to have a shower
With instant hot water, mum had to wait hours
For the water to boil, for her dolly tub
With its mangle, her weeks washing to scrub,
A washing machine daily, washes my clothes
What I'd do without it, heaven knows.
And only a larder and pantry had mum
No fridges, or freezers with meals ready done
Between rudding steps and range black leading,
She would always make time, for games and for reading,
My children son't bother to go out to play
They stay in their rooms, on computers all day,
I guess each generation has its 'hard times'
I suppose at the moment, this must be mine,
But, on reflection of the life my mum had
I call myself lucky, my 'hard time's' not so bad!
One day, I decided I will beat Tom and be the first one to congratulate Potd poet. I kept my eyes on Potd screen, refreshing again and again. After a long time, I finally found who had got Potd. I clicked on poem title to be the first one to wish. Much to my dismay, Tom had already wished.
I realized I can't beat the expert
Next day I thought I will write ten poems. If Caren can do it, why not me? With 11 poems, I can even beat her. I sat searching for topics, finally found one. It took me one hour to write that poem. I was out of ideas, housework was calling me. I decided to quit.
I realized I can't beat the expert
Yet another day I thought I will write a funny Limerick like Jan, Tom and many others. If they can do it, so can I. I thought and thought but no joke would come to mind. Whatever I wrote, my son dismissed as not funny. Finally after many attempts he said, Mom it is not your cup of tea.
I realized it is not easy to be funny.
Yet another day I though I will beat Regina McIntosh by writing an awesome contest poem before her. I sat with a pen and paper, thoughts would not come. Whatever ideas came were not so good. After few hours, I gave up. By that time she has posted her prize winning contest entry
I realized I can't beat the expert
One day I though, I will write a sonnet. If Andrea can do it, why not me? It will be smooth flowing and awesome like her sonnets. I sat with Rhyme Zone and How many syllables on. When rhyme was in place, syllables went haywire. When syllables were perfect, it would not rhyme. It seemed like mission impossible. I gave up.
I realized it is not easy to write a sonnet. Certain tasks are best not attempted.
So here I am writing what comes naturally to me. Yes, it is free verse written in simple language
We have many experts out here, each with a unique talent which no one can replace. We are all unique in our own way.
As you write poems remember, your poetry has something special which no one can take away.
Work Work Work Work Work Work
Long weeks with a boss who is such a jerk
The world might end if the words thank you left his lips, jerk
Nothing but a jerk I tell you, he’s nothing remotely like Captain Kirk
I’m a baker in a country bakery, I’m not an office clerk
Not even once a year do I get a perk
Week after week just like clockwork
Mondays and Tuesdays I am off work
While the rest of the world is hard at work
Weekends to me just mean more work
Always excluded from weekend parties, I go berserk
It’s been twenty years now, so really I’m way beyond berserk
I’m now an outcast totally forgotten by the network
I’ve never called in sick, duties I refuse to shirk
But the boss laughs and gives nothing more than a smirk
I dream of doing other things like fancywork, woodwork or artwork
But my weekends aren’t for much more than leisurely housework
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on February 23, 2018 for contest FRIDAY FEELING sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 5TH
My husband swears I am a man.
Is it because I refuse to do housework, wash dishes, vacuum or shop?
Possibly.
But I never liked any of that stuff.
I did it for over thirty-five years – things I despised.
He has taken over the housework.
Not that I care.
And the laundry.
Which I also do not care about.
I did all the housework, laundry and grocery shopping the first thirty-five.
That he has done it for fifteen does not interest me.
I do not care if it gets done.
Maybe I am a man.
Because I feel free.
After work I sit in a recliner and press the remote button.
If there is a difference between the expectations of man and woman.
This is probably it.
Call me male.
Just don’t call me into the kitchen.