Long Laundry Poems
Long Laundry Poems. Below are the most popular long Laundry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laundry poems by poem length and keyword.
Glass shattered Saturday afternoon tea for S I L E N C E
holding steady raven momentum for its own r i p p i n g
fire from heartbeat slashes its void to tumble wounds of
wisdom weeping slow dirty tears of biting burns inserting
into wordless flesh of waiting before window panes were
smashed with stone docile ornaments, rampant afternoon
unvoiced holding a blank white canvas for dripping
bookshelves tumbled, poems torn to sheds, laundry strewn
with glass splinters as lead, aphonics slithering into dried out
stewpot waiting for maniacal tsunami to cremate emotions
tweezer them from dna soiled in possessive prisons ridiculed
Divinity spoke in all pervasive silence on testing timeline taut
holding breath to His nostrils imbibing a billion frequencies
I chose to brave open His serene lips for unutterable L O V E
lashes He crafted brushed breathy implicits with assent
for missions of courage traversed embracing solitude
observed in stillness whilst across eerie forest moss
carpets I deciphered “They Don’t Care about Us”
hush self wears a daisy cloak from heavenly dew fields
luminosity unzips not as lies hop chaotic across
spiderwebs it can chameleon transmute into gentle
streams to soothe that which hides for right timing
~ first bud of white rose birthing delicacy or benign
waters over pebble backdrop quietude
biscuit baker feeds jealousy, deceit, shame, guilt, indecision
escapism ~ swampy keys of stagnant quagmires will too utter
her heart’s eclipsed light breaking egoic invisibility as
softly I breathe her shadowed taciturn s t e a l t h
quiet petaling garment breaks open blackout mission
regurgitating quantum memories incubated in beckoning cell
fertility for decades perhaps centuries, marching crusades of
soul conquering ancient lands, majestic mountains, raucous
seas, ports, yellow spices, when women with babes gagged
anguished longing for men to taste their honey in serenity
hot crusted bread speaking truths of labouring backs bent
cows chewing cherrywood cuds ~ what could be a more
knowing t r a n q u i l i t y ?
now wafered soundlessness is lamb yet diamond piercing
raw, a lark offers sotto tones as harmony cupped in two
musing wings to ascend where it can quintessentially
quiver, hover in expectant repose for another silent mission
I'm a simple guy,
I like video games, music and succeeding without trying,
So when a man comes up to me and tell me he can save my life,
Who am I to turn down a free book from a generous passerby,
Strange how after hundreds of Reddit articles I find these red words the most astounding,
Each verse saturated with a truth beyond my understanding,
I embraced the scripture in my new-found belief,
Ditching skeptics and scientific contention for a biblical motif,
So with my newfangled faith I embarked on a holy endeavor,
To sift through a lifetime of personal uncertainty to uncover the answer,
I found myself under bottomless pizza boxes,
Buying time stocks from the evolutionary clock,
Discovering purpose through glimmering game discs,
Fashioning polygonal personalities into personable obelisks,
Uncovering the depths of my psyche excavating mountains of dirty laundry,
Rinse on, dry off, purging both physical filth and emotional quandaries,
Sharing walkways with speeding cars enslaved to a monetary duty I can't shirk
A journey of a thousand steps every pilgrimage to work,
My blood a bubbling brew of ambition and potential,
Yet required to surpass insurmountable credentials,
Ignoring the marked symbols in newspapers they seek to brand on my forehead,
Subjective opinions of civility and idealism dropped on me like warheads,
Cryptic predictions of personality and fate,
You think I need a dice roll to determine if I'm straight?
Countless evaluations to rationalize the psyche and soul combined,
What makes their opinion more viable than mine?
I'm taking buoyant steps upon the swamp to reach my destination,
Swapping carnality for divinity to achieve the ultimate self-preservation,
Cremating my mortality I seek to ascend,
Past primitive understanding of a purpose I cannot comprehend,
This road we walk is coated with trip-wire and paved with scorching coals,
Watch out for those flaming hours in your 5-day forecast so find the nearest foxhole,
The burden on our shoulders has already been lifted so there's no reason for us to be aching,
We're on the path to eternal salvation why aren't we skipping?
So why don't you tag along with me on this self-realization odyssey,
I can't promise explosions or tentacle-headed aliens but I know it'll at least be interesting,
Just you, yourself, me and I,
The most dynamic duo to ever breach the sky.
I spend time with a friend
well, a pseudo-friend
an acquaintance of sorts
no, I guess he'd be a friend,
****, who knows
one of those types you never really share your heart
that authentic trembling you
I guess
he's more like a radio station
on a long lonely road trip in the night
or late night cable when the kids have left
a thousand channels
bright flickering nothing
we meet after hours in the deepest of dives
I just sit, listen,
curl myself into that hunching shape
looking like someone piled old laundry on a stool
and act as chaperone
an escort of sorts, you know, like those fresh faced kids in college
earning some bucks walking lifesize cartoons around for pictures
and with a bar top slap, I know he's got one, he's revved up
a steampunk machine running on old rye and spasms
"know this! I have faith in our sacred family values, our brave military and our cellular plans!"
(it's hard to not chuckle a bit, enjoy the aerating effect a good laugh does to spirits and your pallet, just avoid aspirating too much or you bellow and cough like an amateur drinker, good god don't show weakness in a place like this or the crows will circle and I swear the shadows lengthen under the bar)
most times, as I sit next to him, removed from his sphere
detached observer that I always find myself
I notice he talks to that small sliver of himself seen between the dirty glasses
piled up against the old mirror with faded silvering
and the blackened spots frame his face
like an old time picture
representing a vast loneliness of a nation
this goddamn solitude we find in crowded rooms
"My opponent here is working with Chilean miners, violent video game makers and angry chefs, goddammit"
once curse words are added, we'll be on our way soon
the barkeep's tips weren't that big
and the mutterings from the corners are beginning
as his outbursts begin to chisel into the hazy bubbles of regulars
I pull him out into the night
away from cheap wine and leaded glass
red faced, blustering,
cool air confusing him for a moment
and, lightswitched, he walks with a purpose,
back to the maindrag and streetlights,
calling it a night with a wave and one last holler:
"I want an America where Somali pirates and Rupert Murdoch yes-men cannot corrupt our precious environment!"
I just stand and wave back.
I'm a firm believer
In limerick fever
(This isn't news)
"It'll cure the blues!"
Says Jan (who is no deceiver)
Written by Jan Allison:
Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
But show me someone
Whose not dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’d depart!
Written by Lim'rik Flats:
Does art mimic life or life mimic art?
Don't ask me, I'm not too smart.
It seems the soup
Has the same poop
As watching the news (or a fart).
Drama and trauma, factions and foes,
Smiting and fighting, (hard on the nose),
Saves me the trouble
Of viewing double
Saves time, and less grief I suppose.
Written by Ray Gridley:
Raise a toast to this collaboration
Whatever your race or your nation
Just write on a whim
Lim'rick Flat's bound to grin
They are all going to be a sensation!
Written by Daniel Turner:
I know a guy called Lim'rick Flats
Writes limericks at the drop of a hat
Jan is his pal
She's quite a gal
They met in a laundry mat
Jan makes jokes about poop
he puts them in alphabet soop
drinks from the bowl
with no self control
which makes him a nincompoop
Also written by Daniel Turner:
Write all the limericks you want
but don't fart in a restaurant
people will laugh
call you riffraff
even if you're a debutante
Written by John Lawless:
oh the limerick it ain’t quite a sonnet
and the learned, they look down upon it
for they cannot grasp
its head or its ass
nor the cleansing effect of its tonic
Written by Terry Reeves:
Late for work she flew out the door
Took an express elevator to the 29th floor
Let some discreet killer farts
Nearly stopped all their hearts
Left them gagging; she'd evened the score
Written by Tim Smith:
Nonsense is here found out in the alley
Five funny lines we'll add to the tally
a smile or two
we laught till we're blue
so put out your best and join in our rally
Written by Alexis Y:
Hey what's going on in the soup?
Lim'rik Flats I want the scoop
What do you have to say?
You got poem of the day
Congrats, I shouldn't have flown the coop
Written by Jean Murray:
John is always fun.
His poems and their puns.
If you need a lift.
He has the gift.
Lim'rik Flats is number one.
psst. How could I not add this to the string? ~ john
One night about a year ago, we heard whimpering at our door.
One of us had to get up and go, didn’t reckon for what was in store.
A dog, with a note “look after our dog we don’t want him anymore.
We know you are good people, we have watched you at the shops.
Some were shaking their heads and demanding all that noise stops.
We saw you give a woman with 4 screaming kids a bag of lolly pops."
Referring to the dog, tied to our veranda lattice, the note went on to say,
"He isn’t a bad dog and doesn’t eat much, its just that he won’t ever obey.
We can’t control him, and he never stops crying, right up to this very day."
It was a cold night, so we brought him in after we finally got him untied.
At midnight he was warmly soaking in the laundry tub, once inside.
To warm him up, get him clean and to kill every flee that we spied.
Wrapped him in an old towel and realized we had a big decision to make.
The burning question, what to do for the poor dog and for our sake.
We hadn’t planned on getting a dog. Quite a responsibility to undertake.
Finally he stopped whimpering, and on a blanket settled down to sleep.
We would sleep on the burning question whether to give away or keep.
In the morning we were surprised, we got up and didn’t hear a peep.
My husband said good morning he called the dog ‘Bandon’ to my surprise.
“Well” he said “he is an A Bandon’d dog,” Which sounded quite wise.
Having a look at him, he was a handsome dog with large bright eyes.
A metal dish we used for BBQ’s had already been painted with his name.
It seemed we had made “our” decision, a majority of one just the same.
He ate well wagging his tail all the while, and when we called, he came.
Now it was time to work out a budget to handle our new expenses.
Dog food, vet, registration, lead and collar Had we lost our senses?
And then the matter of building and fortifying all our gates and fences.
Well that was all a year ago and time has past and I am happy to relate,
We have a terrific friend. If he sees it left open, he closes the gate.
He was a Bandon’d , now daily, for us to get home, he will sit and wait.
We love this little fella, his happy ways give us more than we give.
He learns something new every day. Home is now such a fun place to live.
A bag of lolly pops made us eligible. To those that gave him up we forgive .
you never told my other mother anything
id be looking
for the real thing
you never told my other brother
we would be confused by reality
and the fairytailes
would lead us
to a destiny
unwinding the hands of tick tick ticking hands
hello time bomb
whats happening
did they notice the words i never held in my head
the sorry of the cold heart
you blew away
no substitute
for the gold
in the afterlife
you keep hunting after
substutute for the immortality
sickness of immotality
humbled pie actually
mutually gratified
and i thought
i thought
thought we were in love
thought we were in love
thought we were in love
everything you said
was nothing to the darkness insidfe the light
i held to the hollow
the hollow pitying myself
consequnce of the substitute
for the pleasure you recieved
see subsection fourteen
paragraph four
nevermind what it was you saw in the movies
that was a master of illusions
there will be more left for you
stand behind me satan
theres a real disaster
coming for me
real propoganda
real destitute
endless tears
endless prayers
no fears of their bottomless
you never told my other father id ever catch on
to the drama
of what he was
the charde of all that stuff
the solitude of never enough
never thought id ever give up
but i did
i did
i sold myself out
cashed in
bought myself a wild card
to hide from you
a starshine
a patronising shiner
something to fall into
but you wouldnt ever stop
begging your neighbor
i wanted it for me
you should be happy
its your sow
all yours
the greed of what i would have kept for myself
you have for you
the nothing it is
the worthlessnes
of pointlesness
i couldnt sell it
and now neither can you
waste your time too
wwaste your time too
string you along to come unglued
fool by fool
never twice shy
just once to be true
you never told me
the cops were never going to be on the look out for
the missing children
when they grew up
and went looking for their resal parents
even if they had memories of their other mother
their other father
couldnt get away
couldnt get away
locked in my room all day
\soory for the dirty laundry mom and dad
scream and cry all day
the police just told me no one would be looking for me
you got away with it
the perfect crime
no ones looking for me
im a lost boy
It was a sugar maple.
Fairly average in size, a good
Number of branches, some
Low enough to climb for a
Child like myself.
I was never very athletic,
Hated all sorts of sports,
But this tree, this one tree
I could climb.
I would scramble up her
Branches in spring after
School, and tell her all
About my day, in my head
Of course, because who
In their "right mind" talks
To themselves?
In summer, after I
Completed that day's
Workbook assignment,
I would sit between the leaves
And read the latest book
I had checked out of the
Local library, my second
Favorite place to be.
When her leaves began
To change in fall, I would
Climb her cool limbs
In my puffy jacket and
Let the crisp October air
Flow through my hair.
He (the wind I mean)
Was my other best friend.
But the sweet maple also
Kept me high up, away from
The house below where
Mom and Dad would yell,
Where Dad would throw
Plastic cups my Mom got
From the nursing home,
Where Mom would sob
And pray he would stop.
And I prayed then, too.
Prayed I could one day fly,
Take to the sky like the
Birds in the feeder below.
I would pray for friends, too.
Human friends, I mean.
I don't think God could hear,
Even high up in my tree.
The tree isn't there now.
As I grew up, it grew sick.
The leaves fell earlier every
Year until one spring, they
Just didn't grow back.
And so the laundry lines
Were cut, and my old,
Sweet sugar maple tree
Became my uncle's firewood,
My Dad's smoking chips.
You can't see where she was
Anymore. The final remnants
Of the stump have rotted away.
Only grass remains where
Once my friend stood, where
The wind whispered sweet
Nothings in my ear, where
The setting summer sun
Would trickle through the
Jade-green leaves, the
Leaves that turned upside-down
When a storm was coming.
Now I've moved away from
That house. Two-thousand
Miles away to a desert that
Has never seen a sugar maple.
I can't climb trees anymore.
Seems that skill died with
My friend. I think I feel what
She was feeling. Still relatively
Young, but health slipping
By every year.
Someday my stump will
Rot away. No trace of me left
To tell you I was there. But
Maybe, someone will move in
With a child, and I can listen as
She tells me her dreams,
And we can watch the stars
Together.
Why can I not write?
I am overwhelmed
By the minutiae of everyday life!
Dawn comes, and I awake, but no!
I pull the covers over my head
And close my eyes tightly
Against the coming day.
I am not ready yet!
When I can avoid it no longer
I sit up and dress, reluctantly,
Take the dog out, bring
Him in and feed him,
Give him fresh water.
Give him his pills and
Spray his poor shaven rat tail
With anti-itch lotion,
(He has a hot spot!)
And put some ointment on it.
I fix some breakfast,
Wash it down with yesterday’s coffee.
Take the cats some fresh water,
Get them their breakfast,
And clean the litter,
Wipe Sweetie Pie’s eyes
And put drops in them.
I’ll comb out both Sophie
And Sweetie Pie later on.
I make my bed and
Clean up the dishes,
Get out my big green backpack
And put Doug’s clean clothes in it.
Oops! I forgot to start the laundry
I brought home yesterday!
It’s already 10:30, and I
Have to leave by five to eleven!
Spray on the sun lotion,
Check that I have my Patriot ferry
Pass and the SPF 50 lip balm
Doug asked me to get.
It’s hot and humid, but I trudge
Twenty minutes to the ferry
For the half-hour boat ride
That I actually enjoy!
Just me, the water, sun and breeze
For 30 minutes of quiet
For my not-so-peaceful mind.
Three hours to have lunch with Doug,
Bring him up-to-date with
All the news of friends and family,
Watch him in physical therapy
And learn what I will have to do
In a few weeks when he gets home!
Back to the van, back to the Patriot ferry,
And another brief time for myself.
I walk home, hot and tired.
Take Andy out, finish the laundry
And hang it out on the line.
I think it won’t rain tonight.
Run to the store for some
Necessities, cat food in particular,
Check the e-mail, answer some notes,
Water the parched garden
Take Andy for a walk, and
Then feed him his dinner.
Time for MY dinner, but what?
Let’s see. I sauté a couple of
Chicken tenders in the small pan,
Slice up a whole tomato,
Add some cantaloupe and cottage cheese,
Eat some of it and fall asleep
In the chair in front of the
Fan on its highest setting.
I wake up with a start and make
Myself get up and clean up the kitchen,
Afterwards, I watch a couple
Of mindless television shows
While I make mental lists
Of what I have to do tomorrow.
Here we are again
With me with my small voice
smaller still than it was before
Reaching deep into the darkness to find you
to give you my hand and tell you that you are not alone
Here we are again
with me believing with all my heart and soul that I can help you
my voice cracking and you can't hear it
but my heart's so strong
Reaching out
so tired
so weak and yet so willing to reach for you
even in my own fatigue and age
to reach out for you
to let you know you're not alone
it's going to be okay
everyday is such a miracle
do you not see
if you look for how beautiful the morning is
How incredible it is at end of day
the sun sets
and this beautiful sunset
is it not more beautiful than you can believe
is it not worth living for
just to see it
I didn't
I don't want to ask anything more from one day than a beautiful sunrise and a beautiful sunset
and
that I did I do something
I got off the couch I did something
I accomplished at least one thing that I really wanted to accomplish in any day
That's how you survive
You get up and do one thing
One thing at least
that makes you proud
Dishes, laundry, paint something, fix something, help someone, clean something, brush your teeth, wash your hair, anything
and then go on
one step at a time
one day at a time
not like the alcoholics call it but just believe in every single day
Give thanks for your pillow
Give thanks for your sheets
Give thanks for your water
give thanks for showers
do you know people used to only bathe once in awhile in cold water in big tubs...do you have any idea how incredible it is that we have hot water and you can stand in the shower
you want to give up life and yet the reality is if you just stand in the shower in that hot water you'll feel so much better and if you think about how much you should appreciate it
that
that alone is enough to get you through at least one day
Please get through one more day
And then each day is brand new...just one more thing...do just one more thing you can be proud of as the sun sets
Do you over and over cause I think you are incredible
I think you are beautiful
I believe in you and my love has no end
Just like love is supposed to be
Somewhere out here in cyber security space
God gets to say just what he wants to
I love you
Did You Learn Anything?
Go ahead.
Put your shoes on.
Walk outside and face the nervous day.
Know that your lungs will not resist you.
Know that your heart will still stir.
Put the key in the ignition.
Now turn the crank.
You are back there now.
As if in a dream so ordered.
It is 1937 on Hoover Street.
The oleanders are bleeding.
Perfumed orange trees spit white loogies.
Clean children emerge from green digs.
Mothers hang clothes on uncomplaining lines.
Your grandmother is back there.
She’s wearing black reptile oxfords.
Go ahead.
Walk down the long gravelly driveway.
Pass the back porch steps there.
Pass the red-blooming bougainvillea.
There she is, alive again as she was.
Unfurling laundry with old clothespins.
Singing an old Salvation Army song.
Go ahead.
Talk to her.
Tell her who you are.
“Baba. Baba, it’s me,
Your surviving grandson, Harry.
I wanted to tell you,
I am a poet now.
An engineer of the human soul.
A standard-bearer for the mad,
Dressed in mindful metaphor.
You look young despite the goiter,
There inside your sinewy neck.
It appears and seems as if,
The goiter is a python at sleep,
Scrunched up inside there,
All rolled up like kneaded bread.
I hope it doesn’t hurt you.
I come from the future, Baba.
I know that sounds crazy, but
I am visiting from the year 2020.”
The world of my time screams
In lockdown, like medieval Europe,
People of every nation and tongue,
Too afraid to emerge from their walls,
Too fearful of even breathing in,
Imbibing in, with lost enthusiasms,
Mountain fresh air from the antipodes;
Fearful of catching and releasing It - the
Corona Virus monster microbe moving
Silently across the terrified landscapes,
Devouring the cool mornings,
Aside the neon evenings, even
Robbing the noon day of hopeful turnings.
“Baba, can I stay here with you,
In this golden simple time of 1937?
May I remain here now,
A happy and relieved rider,
Astride this awful depression horse?”
Go ahead.
It is time to return.
Baba died in 1963 and cannot hear you.
Turn the key off in the ignition.
You are back now where you belong.
It is 2020 in the United States of America.
Baba is sleeping in the graveyard now.
You are being held hostage by a germ.
Kick your shoes off now and think.
Did you learn anything?