Long Laundered Poems
Long Laundered Poems. Below are the most popular long Laundered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laundered poems by poem length and keyword.
What compares to the present?
The present is like a needle
Time threading through its eye
A needle on a phonograph
My record is now on the B side
Still, I can't listen to the present
The future is encrypted
A symphony heard as conspiracy
The past nostalgically stained
I search for the exquisite
The elusive present ever pure
The past is a sweaty t-shirt left behind
Time is a tall drink of glass
Ever replenished on repeat
What is full will be emptied
Time is a shirt forever laundered
The cherished stains washed
Only to be cleansed of your sweat
I'm apart from you now wondering
If I stay present could I be with you
Be the needle whatever record may play
Be the laundromat to any stain
The praxis of now seems futile
The future conspires against me
On the B side how old I've become
The present is not immaculate
The present is not kind
It ages just like me
Even needles will dull
Even washing machines break
This past is vinyl to MP4
New generations care not for the old
The future is not ours to hold
My present is a past for the young
My mistakes are fodder for seedlings
The young will also be compost
I shouldn't think futile thoughts
Wait for younger philosophers to fail
Just like me and generations before
We search for the exquisite present
Ever elusive and requisite present
For us to find love in the present
When the record is done
When the needle lifts
I'll be tucked in my birthday jacket
When my stained shirt is washed
Bleached and bone white
I'll be put on the shelf
The present like love is perfect
The search is ever futile
The record and shirt gathering dust
After a thousand years or more
Only God will cherish
Specks of dust
outside, it was raining
as it was inside
drinks spilling onto the floor
from incessantly topped-up glasses held by
forgetting, gesticulating hands
spittle flying from mouths attached to people
in love with their own voices
their little huddled audiences salivating
over every word or the prospect
of taking their turn as court-holder
the room drooling with
go-to anecdotes and jokes
rehearsed at a hundred parties like this one
disgorged from speech bubbles like fat storm clouds
filling dead air with stories on life support
sudden thunderclaps of laughter
precipitating further precipitation
the floor must have been wet but thankfully
not gleaming like the pavement twelve floors down
the rain let up outside
I slipped out onto the balcony
and between sips of my stale beer
gulped the laundered air
As Freshly Laundered Linens
Secured By Pins On a Back Yard Clothes Line
Airing Out In Daisy Aromatic Breeze
Set to Dry Under The Friendly Not too Hot Sun!
I Sigh, For this is All In My Mind
Sitting on My Granma's Front Porch
In Refuge From the Grueling Rays
Urging Me to Bare My Thoughts and Pen What I'm Thinking
Front Porch Resort, High Noon, Anti Sun Bathing
Dehydrating My Will For any Outdoor Frolicking
I Sigh, For While I Sit In The Shade
Cool Northern Breeze Blithely Tickles Laughing Leaves
Birds Chirping Chapters About Disappearing Honey Bees
Propound Is the Scenery and Serenade
Convenient Atmosphere For Shadow Work In the Shade
I Penned, I Sigh
I Think When I Pen and Pen What I Think
Seated On Granma's Old Wooden Porch Chair
The Chair She Once Sat On, She Ascended and Left Her Earthly Effects Here
I Sigh, Sometimes I Shed a Few Tears
Empty Nested, Time Tested
Constant Gratitude for Granma's Love And Energy Invested
All of Nature Singing A Song I Wish To Remember
Chorus Of Natural Equilibrium And Profound Splendor
I Sigh, Audibly In Silent Relief, Nature's Song Soothing Grief
As the Sun Sets, I Am Soothed, Settled, Nested in Peace.
f
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was written in response to an assignment in my online poetry class: “Why does an ordinary life feel like a failure in today's world?”
Because Instagram is a museum,
and we are the unpaid janitors
of our own lives~
mopping up the spillage
of seemingly
unremarkable mornings.
Because someone’s balcony
is always brighter,
their coffee more artful,
their sadness more cinematic.
Our sadness arrives
in discount sweatpants,
unphotogenic.
Because the algorithm whispers:
You could be the main character,
but the plot demands
a montage, a twist,
a soundtrack swelling
as you jog toward redemption.
You are still tying your shoes.
Because the word ordinary
has been hijacked and laundered
into something suspicious~
like a plain envelope
in an age of glitter bombs.
Because we forget
how the spine of a day
is built from quiet commas,
not exclamation marks.
How the heart keeps
its most sacred receipts
in the pocket of an old coat~
a ticket stub,
a note that says come home soon,
the way the light looked
when it was enough.
F For hyperinflation is the friend of darkness
T The ball rolls in the casino of stock markets
S Shares greed thrill accounts and false gold
E Essentially one cannot feed on bills and coins
F Forlorn investors reap their miserable harvest
T Transfer laundered money and loose count
S Stitch up tax heavens and evade their dues
E Exist for only one purpose which is self-interest
F Fallacy however is not corrected by profits
T To spread love kindness and compassion
S Surpasses deceptive credit balance scores
E Endless caresses embrace my lover and me
F Friends and compassions cannot be bought
T True essence is not figured out without caring
S Sharing wealth of emotions not zero-sum game
E Everyone is a winner when our empathy rules
11th June 2021
Half a home, half a home,
Half a home conjured.
Into the jaws of skip
…….goes all we plundered.
Clear out the crap we said
Make like we now are dead
Into the jaws of death
…….our waste was thundered.
Get rid of all the ****
we must not keep one bit
Time now to throw it out
…….in the skip laundered.
Sorted before we die
Life’s reason flying by
Ignoring plea full cry
…….clearout was ordered.
Memories to right of us
Memories to left of us
Memories we now must push
…….why so we wondered.
Things that we knew so well
Things that we could not sell
Into the jaws of hell
…….all now was lumbered.
Stripping our house near bare
Why then do we despair
Should we now even care
Shedding the things we wear
…….necessity hovered.
Plunged into frantic haste
Plunged into needful waste
Choices on logic based
Leaving our life unlaced
…….why are we bothered.
Old memories never fade
Of the shared choices made
Even when you‘re dismayed
don’t count the price you paid
…….when sunshine was thundered.
Back from the jaws of hell
New home that suits us well
Honour the choices made
Memories that never fade
…….not shattered and sundered.
Ivor G Davies
Not amazed at the transformation from one whom,
not so far away,
only laundered his own clothes,
into one who launders our clothes,
late into a Friday night,
gratefully,
without stretched-bone resentment,
without so much as glancing back,
without any interest in what smaller self had been suffering
on pre-child weekend hunt to gathers.
So profoundly in love,
blind to his own bleached metamorphosis.
No longer comprehending life without
abundant heaps of mess,
soiled cherished artifacts,
much less imagine alternatives to life
that could unfold full
and rich
and fresh
and worthy
without Friday nights with laundry.
Wheres the common ground
You remember
That ground we both stood on together
Through thick and thin
Whether lose or win
We were both all in
Sink or swim
Or stretched too thin
We boldly took a stand
Walked hand in hand
Claimed our land
And feared no man
Whether in the fire or frying pan
We stuck to the plan
Did the best we can
But look now
How far youve wandered
My tender heart now laundered
Our happiness squandered
For a moment of bliss
From a strangers kiss
Tossing to the winds the true love you missed
Left with shattered memories to remeniss
Wondering how you could do this.
But i wont write letters
Nor will i phone
Ill just bow out gracefully on my own
Sit quiety destroyed but never let it be shown
How much it hurts to be alone
Holding back tears and inner groans
Until comes the day
I finally wear a smile
Thru all the painfull lonely miles
Maybe its been destiny all this while
And perhaps to learn from all these trial
So God can lead me to truly smile.
And put uncommon ground in a far away file.
Ever since I experienced being significantly monetarily sidelined...
(how about that topic for a change of pace?)
Yes back to getting walloped, decked
and clubbed courtesy cold hearted brute,
who casually, glad handedly, and royally
flushed out mine tailored pricey suit
wherein every pocket
once stashed, and lined with loot.
Ever since scamming imbroglio
(three weeks ago today -
July eleventh two thousand twenty three)
yours truly, a formerly
happy go lucky wordsmith
immune to the plethora
of devious shenanigans
courtesy predacious traitors
to the bywords of honesty and integrity
scamper away with laundered money.
Mine fantasy modus operandi to cope
regarding falling prey
to hoax gullible guy
to surrender crisp greenbacks
entrapment like a dope
no matter poet of Penn Valley
at the end of his figurative rope,
when fraudsters shill and scope
out crosshairs stunning
persons exhibiting naïveté
the following escapist ploy adopted.
E'er since I (a reincarnated cavalier
or gentleman snubbed
by sought after Southern Belle)
at night suicidal ideations
visit psyche as haunting spectre
sublimated death wish
permeates thru mine every cell
courting the grim reaper
to carry me back to carry
me back to Old Virginny,
where lovely bones
of me Confederate ancestors dwell
upon bloody fields farewell
to arms and legs
mounted battlefields when groundswell
of internecine warfare
made life on earth
wind and fire created a living hell
he who fleeced me
vengeance doth impel
to imagine him gunned down
as enemy numero uno.
Moribund courtesy online heist
me entire being feels
chopped, minced, and appallingly diced,
hence no surprise
sheepishly admitting to ewe
how yours truly still feels blue
aghast at passivity prevailed
how grievousness flourishes
checking and savings accounts
frankly zapped analogous
how David regarding Goliath he slew,
yet impossible mission
to know your enemy
with absolute zero details,
cuz the fly by night scamp
flat out sold pack of lies
of course I voluntarily
must admit straightaway and true
mine fingers converted cash
to bitcoin currency
yet entranced, kickstarted, seduced
as Harvey Specter
did courtesy sotto voce woo.
I have had a great life, but I am truly not done.
We’re surely in this world to have a little fun.
People who know me, truthfully and happily say.
This woman is always sure of a really fine day,
I advise you to do something to issue some play
I will spice up my cleaning, to happy up my day.
I set the timer when I clean the filthy kitchen.
Then I race the clock, like a switch that is a twitch’n.
Play wash the counters with a new, freshly laundered rag.
To collect enough dirt to make a cleaning freak gag.
Cleaning bedroom closets seems to be my biggest chore.
I do after all of the hanging clothes are on the floor.
Have many wonderful hobbies that keep me happy.
Write poetry, limericks, couplets, but nothing sappy.
Have lived many years, and the best idea I’ve found
To get energetic is to keep children around.
If children are not accessible, which is often true.
You can always find a man; a long-time husband will do.
Scads of men have no problem bringing fun to their life.
Leaving the cleaning, and the cooking a to-do for their wife.
I learned long ago, to stop all this nonsensical cleaning.
Because painting, dancing, and writing are all much more freeing.