Long Ironing Poems
Long Ironing Poems. Below are the most popular long Ironing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ironing poems by poem length and keyword.
Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
I load the washing machine up with my dirty wishes
Found myself lost and broken in the kicthen
All the writing on the bathroom stalls
Surpasses the shoppers at the malls
And why must I write about you at all
You come before me and you think it a lark
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
Swimming in odd-houses while cutting class
Grown up thinking pew is a piece of church furniture
Watermelon basketball salmon crochet patties
Wring on the sidewalk with a broken bleeding thumb
Picking up harden day old chewing gum
You come before me and you think it a lark
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
Now while you are trying to comprehensive and make sense of my lines
Don't condemn me because my words don't make sense
I'm no more or less educated than a bowl of pink grapes
Bet you gonna try and fluctuate and define my lines of morphemes
And why must I worry about you at all
You come before me and you think I am lost
it's circumstances Folding Flowers While Ironing Rocks in The Dark
11/25/17
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
The kids are in bed - there are dishes to do
Some washing, ironing, paperwork too
Children, office, housework, sometimes I think life’s hard
But it isn’t really, not when it’s compared
To my mums, who rose up early and who was never late
Lighting the coal fire, sitting in the grate
She then cooked breakfast on a range,
Haven’t things for me, now changed?
Over the range for hours mum would slave
Cooking meals, whereas I have a microwave
And a vacuum, to clean this house of mine
Mum used to beat rugs on her washing line,
I have gas central heating, to keep the house warm
For my waking up to electric alarm
Then straight into the bathroom to have a shower
With instant hot water, mum had to wait hours
For the water to boil in her dolly tub
With its mangle, her weeks washing to scrub
A washing machine, daily, washes my clothes
What I’d do without it, heavens knows
And only a larder and pantry had mum,
No fridges or freezers, with meals ready done;
Between rudding steps and the range black leading,
She always had time for games and for reading,
My children don’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, I feel this is mine
But, on reflection, of the life my mum had
I consider myself lucky; my ‘hard time’ is not so bad.
© Janette Fisher – June 1995
I wrote this poem about 15 years ago when I was a bank manager and my girls were about 12 and 10
George worked in a construction company. He spent all his days walking the steel beam but when he got home, he became the master of inventions. One night he borrowed his wife's ironing board and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich by pressing the iron to the bread. It was an ooy-gooey delight. While all the other men sat down to crusty bread, George pulled out his panini forkini pastrami alla bellini. He bit into it with great delight. The mozzarella sang to his tonsils, "Eres bella, Eres bella" Tiano's boombox voice was heard, "Heh George, there are 4 of us," which translated into, "Yo George, where is our bench pressed sandwich?"
That night he got an earful from his wife Juanita Delacruz, the Spanish Queen of complaint. "Dam it George. The ironing board is full of melted cheese and it smells like recycled beef " It was time to take the invention to new heights.
He made a mean machine of good taste. This is how George Foreman was birthed. In George Papadopoulos's shed. Though he was no son of a priest, he knew a blessing when he saw one. He was recompensed by a happy wife
and a jolly foursome crew.
There are rumors going around that it was really invented in some other form or way. I for one will stick to my story dear readers. If I fudged is just a bit please forgive me. Its a tad more entertaining, don't you think ?
Now here is my research paper on the matter, short and sweet.
"Truth be told ? It was promoted by a former boxing champion George Foreman. Since its introduction in 1994, over 100 million George Foreman grills have been sold worldwide.
Inventor?: ?Michael Boehm, Robert Johnson Inception?: ?1994"
I saw an old lady at home
Whose habits bizarre when alone!
She thinks she's abroad
On her ironing board
Surfing tides in a wavey zone.
Her arms and her legs were well spread.
Her curlers tucked neat on her head.
Her pearls sparkled bright,
She squealed with delight,
"Well I can't do this when I'm dead!"
Affectionately dubbed "Silver Surfer"
What a spirit for any to care for!
A tonic indeed
When humour's the need,
And for it the board ain't much worse, awe!
Written 14th July 2022
For the "Limerick" contest
(For a picture of a lady standing on
an ironing board, poised like a surfer.)
Sponsor: Lisa YY
Mrs. McDowell went nuts on Tuesday last.
She did some crazy things, which was a blast.
To us neighbors, who ran over to look.
First she tore pages out of an encyclopedia book.
Then she launched herself off the kitchen sink.
Her husband was embarrassed. His cheeks turned pink.
She’s getting ready to jump off the ironing board now.
We all gathered to watch. Someone yelled out “wow!”
Mrs. McDowell put on quite a show that night.
We still talk about it, and we laugh at her husband’s fright.
Terrified, he finally packed up and walked out the door.
Now she does not have to put up with the slob any more.
Let go – Wake up at noon – Let go
Let go – Stop ironing your socks – Let go
Let go – Let the dishes pile up – Let go
Let go – Stroll round your house in the nude – Let go
Let go – Don’t micro-manage – Let go
Let go – Stop hovering and helicoptering – Let go
Let go – Delegate, empower people – Let go
Let go – Take two months off – Let go
Let go – Buy that Lamborghini – Let go
Let go – Dine out every night – Let go
Let go – Vacation on the Riviera – Let go
Let go – Feel the pulse of Life’s flow - Let go
A little snow and a little rain
Oops
Heavy snow and heavy shower
Ouch
Strong wind with thunder and lightening
Boom
The moon has almost completed its journey
around the world and is still searching for a
comfortable spot to radiate its beaming light.
It searches dark secret places
untie deceptive knots and withdraw secret plugs.
It burst chains and shackles with its powerful light
and smiles at us as it ripples through thick dark clouds
clearing rough spots unveiling secret patches,
repairing painful damages and ironing out crooked paths.
The bold moon is pregnant with rain it’s weeping for the
Mothers, wailing for the children and lamenting over the youths.
Animals are getting jittery they jump and prance in the middle
Of the night as the moon tries to complete its full circle.
Cows are on heat
radiation increases causing mankind to lose their sleep.
They become disagreeable and socially unreliable.
Farmers are anxious too they do not know which beam
The moon will disburse
If it rains moderately the crop will flourish
If it rains heavily the crops will perish
If the north wind blows it will overturn everything in its path
If the east wind blow we will be saved from its terrible wrath.
Prepare the land for the moon’s circle
Gather all the grains in the barns
If you sow corn you will reap corn
If you sow love you will reap love
If you sow peas you will reap peas
If you sow kindness you will reap kindness
If you sow compassion you will reap compassion.
Be prepared the full moon is about to complete its full circle.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Rainy day today
Rainy day Sunday
Sunday on par
Sunday too far
Far better now
Far to go
Go with wind
Go with breeze
Breeze dries clothes
Breeze dries hair
Hair curls softly
Hair curls tight
Tight rope walker
Tight rope act
Act one action
Act one scene
Scene from train
Scene from ship
Ship sail seas
Ship has captain
Captain steers ship
Captain flies plane
Plane glides in
Plane takes off
Off we go
Off to market
Market sales on
Market price war
War is unpeaceful
War is evil
Evil isnt good
Evil is not nice
Nice is sweet
Nice is better
Better is fortunate
Better is precious
Precious is valuable
Precious is priceless
Priceless is art
Priceless is good health
Health is important
Health is imperative
Imperative is urgent
Imperative is pressing
Pressing is ironing
Pressing is necessity
Necessity is Blitz
Necessity is fine
Fine.
Blitz
lust is a hash of eyes
lust is a hash of a beast
2 eyes is a hash of the beast
2 eyes is a hash of lust
2 eyes is a hash of eyes
2 eyes is a hash of beauty
2 eyes is the beauty of the beast
beauty is the ironing of the beast
beauty is the ironing of the eyes
beauty is a ironing lust
lust is a ironing lust
lust is a ironing beauty
lust is a ironing beast
the beast is the ironing of the beast
2 eyes of the beast is 2 eyes of a ironing beast
2 eyes of the beast is 2 eyes of a ironing beauty
2 eyes of the beast is 2 eyes of a ironing lust
2 eyes of the beast is 2 eyes of a hash beauty
beauty is a hash of beauty
beauty is a hash of the beast
beauty is a hash of lust
A prudent man walked intoxicatedly inside the temple gate
He sits on the door steps and hang his head shamefully
between his legs and whistle a somber tune.
The skillfully crafted temple hoisted on the outskirt of town
Once served as a pinnacle of hope now stands empty exposing signs of doom.
Thousand of spiritual warriors, carnal minded and material minded sinners
once paraded the corridors of the disfigured temple
Bathing in the spirit and dancing vigorously to musical songs.
I watched him lamenting in grief unable to hold back the tears
He held his hands towards the heavens and cried out loudly in despair.
Suddenly the day breaks ironing guilt upon shameless faces
Mocking perishing souls, smothering wounded hearts
And repudiating punctured bleeding vessels in the pews.
The blistered irony resonates from the pulpit
Spewing liquor, intoxicating believers and driving away strangers.
Age old rocks buried deep beneath the kingdom of doom
playing rock and roll at the piano and mumbling scores of honor.
It dribbles and drops, dribbles and drops until it finally made a stop.
Dozens of mighty men hang high up on the pulpit
Filthy hands, disdained hearts and treacherous ways.
They have blemished the pulpit and mutilated the pew.
Sin drapes like gangster in suits crawling under skirts
riding on collars ejecting deceptive agony
in the pews and turned the congregation into a bitter gall.
I sat in the pews for years listening to their stories
watching the endless drama pushing and shoving
bad mouthing and back stabbing and them praising their God
While unseemly retribution creeps silently upon their doorsteps.
Blinded by their own tyranny frighted by their own thoughts
Sunday after Sunday they flock the temple seeking for something that wasn't there
Suddenly a strange sensation ripped through the atmosphere
Pulling saints off their feet
And scattering material minded people in the streets.
©2014 Christine Phillips