Long Laundry basket Poems
Long Laundry basket Poems. Below are the most popular long Laundry basket by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Laundry basket poems by poem length and keyword.
Let’s drop the baby out the window fifteen stories down.
I stare into the child’s eyes; why would I do that?
She trusts me. I ponder it but not meaning to.
You are a wimp. Just do it!
That voice again.
Who is it?
Why would they be telling me this?
I run with the baby
To get out of this hotel room
To get away from the voice
Of course she follows.
Screaming even more loudly.
I feel relief when I hand the baby back to her mother.
Not in her arms of course
Because then I would be arrested.
Police are all over that floor.
I leave her in the hallway in a laundry basket.
Hoping the right person will find her.
The voice is screaming as I return to my room.
50 cartridges of Nitrous oxide
the old drunk called it hippie crack
One spun case after another
dozing in the bed
His brain pulsing, blood starting to boil
Menudo from the spiritual Mexicans cured his hangover
smoked some weed
covered the stillborn kitten with a laundry basket
Sipping bottom shelf gin
Eyes half open
slurring words through crooked grins
cracked teeth exposed..
He kisses the sacred heart of Jesus
And chugs the backwash
From the empty cans
Lining his bedside
Lola comes home from saturday mass
He can smell the familiar smell
Of pork adobo creeping through the vents
Half asleep
He joins her at the table
“BLESS US O LORD, AND THESE THY GIFTS, WHICH WE ARE ABOUT TO RECEIVE, FROM THY BOUNTY, THROUGH CHRIST OUR LORD…”
And before he could say amen
the feeling of vomit coating his mouth
Stops him in an instant
She makes his plate
And stares at him in silence
As if knowing
But never says a word
When he wakes up
He can smell the lit candle that sits
In the corner of the wall
Where she prays
Next to his bedroom door
Ave maria, Ave maria!
She looks to the holy mother
talks to the statue
about the sins of her sons
And goes to bed with a tired heart
Whiskey bleeding through his pores
He feels a pull
toward the tiny baptist church
Near the center of town
on the corner of Pecan St
He throws his shoes on
slurs the act of contrition
and goes to sit amongst
the honkie kin of Luther
The thought of communion crosses his mind
still unsure whether its withdrawals or the spirit
pulling him to partake in the sacred blood
He invokes St Joseph
reaches for the rosary in his pocket
fumbling its beads
as they collide with beer caps
from the night before
After the service
he walks along the hwy
committed to the act of penance
each step a pilgrimage
going nowhere in particular
faithful to the spirit
regardless..
Do-B-Do was my first cat as an adult.
I really wasn’t sure I even wanted a cat.
My ex wanted a kitten and I gave in,
we picked the sweet fluffy female one.
She was a grey tabby with yellow eyes.
I soon fell in love with her, she was feisty!
She loved to lay with me at night and
snuggle up to my chest, purring for hours.
She was my best friend and made me laugh.
She had a unique cry, like a Siamese breed.
My ex was not very kind and sometimes explosive.
He became angry and I remember hiding her,
she quietly stayed put in the laundry basket.
I think she knew what was happening, that
I was protecting her from the monster.
She was with me through some dark times.
She helped me through deaths and a divorce.
She cuddled with me every night for years.
She was very jealous of my attention to others,
but warmed up to my husband right away.
She adapted to having six cat siblings
and moving to a new place to live.
She loved to chatter at the birds.
She would sit and wait at the window to watch.
I never let her run free outside, afraid to lose her.
She lived to be twenty-two years old.
Her kidneys were failing, we tried to save her.
I remember looking her in eyes that day.
She said to me it was time to let her go as
I saw a vision of an orange colored tabby.
I was so heartbroken after her death.
I decided it was time for another female cat.
I went to the animal shelter and there she was,
a beautiful calico cat, I knew this was the cat for me.
That day Ru-B was adopted and I felt at peace.
8/8/2020
Contest: All Pets Go To Heaven
Sponsor: Constance La France
“Oh my, the weather out is real nice!” Said the Papa Turkey.
“Hey Mrs. Gobbler get the kids. Lets go for a nice Fall stroll.”
“Line up now. Listen to your Ma.”
The rafter of little poults wobbles by like Russian stacking dolls.
The gaggle gobble around the apple orchard,
pecking at fallen bruised apples and protruding worms.
Smoke comes from the farmhouse. A woman is hanging clothes on the line.
The farmer emerges from the woodshed carrying an ax.
“Hey Papa," said Mrs. Gobbler "look at the ole coot all bare-chested."
You have a better pair of breasts than he does!”
The Farmer's pace quickens, as he nears Mrs. Gobbler.
She flies laughing onto a branch an apple tree
which overhangs the duck pond. The kids scatter.
Papa does a running take off from the dirt path landing on the Farmer’s bare chest,
pushing him and his ax into the pond. Mrs. bombs the Farmer with dangling apples.
The kids pick up acorns and pelt the farmer in the head with them. There he sits surrounded
by bobbing apples and flaoting acorns, spewing water and wiping the hair from his eyes.
“My, my, my” says Papa Turkey.
“Sure does look like a tasty Farmer stew! Too bad we don’t have acorn biscuits.”
The woman drops her laundry basket and falls on the ground laughing.
“You Ole fool!” She says.
“You better try the chickens! This year the turkeys have your number!”
“But watch out for flying eggs! No yolking!”
Sock Returns
The washer absconded with a sock
Then went into an agitated cycle
Blamed the dryer for the missing thing
The dryer accused the weather
Said it never saw the red and yellow item
Or the hole at the top between the toes
The one that gave it a distinctive glow and character
When pressed on the point of having so much knowledge
About an object never seen
The dryer screamed, shut up and closed its lid
A lawyer was called in
A detective became involved
Washer & dryer refused to cooperate
It was too late for that
The washer washed
The dryer dried
The world turned in its style just the same
When the red and yellow sock turned up
Hole and all, in the laundry basket
Nothing drastic to report
But happy that the sock returned unharmed
To join the other waiting there
No less the wear to make a proper pair
Throughout the animal kingdom,
There are commonalities, don’t you think?
One of the strongest among them
Is an inborn maternal instinct.
She wouldn’t leave her litter
To go outside and save herself;
Instead she stayed beside them
And barked and howled for help.
He rushed into the burning building,
Not sure of what he’d find;
The smoke and fire very thick,
Making him practically blind.
He followed a path to the sounds
Of the barking, howls and yelps;
Being a dog owner himself,
He knew he had to help.
He found them in the laundry room;
A mother dog and her six pups.
He used an empty laundry basket
To pick the newborns up.
She stayed close to his side
As he led them out of harms way;
He checked out each of her little pups
To make sure they were okay.
Sometimes we wonder if animals feel
The same emotions that we do;
The lick she planted on his face
Sure felt like gratitude.
Throughout the years this fireman
Had rescued many souls,
But the rescue of this dog and pups
Is the one he most often told.
NOTE: In verse 5, instead of "mother dog" I wanted to use the accepted term for a
mother dog - "b_tch", but PS would not accept that word - damn, I mean darn!
A vision seized me, before
The marriage of my kin.
Betrothed to a faith apart,
Like a stray from the hallowed ground;
where forefathers had etched:
A devout Catholic and a pioneer,
A premonition of life truth.
I wandered through the paddy field,
Where crystal water surged;
Fishes of all sizes I had a huge catch.
Between, a river parted,
As white as a snowy flake and high;
Down and below, muddy water reaches their neck.
A laundry basket, brimming over their balanced head
I waved them to join me where abundance flowed.
But they insisted on not coming,
For they had decided their life: shallow and creek
They'd to fetch the water with a small mug.
Life's destiny weaves one's tapestry
And no external forces can confine us.
Everywhere I turn,
a new memory visits—
a simple hair tie
sitting beside the hair clip
in the medicine cabinet.
A Bright Eyes t-shirt still lays at the bottom of the laundry basket.
The blue nursing uniform, and the pink stethoscope—marked with the initials “K.C.”—
a treasure,
a marking of a calling so great.
The letter from the hospital offering a placement
to a young, bright-eyed nursing graduate…
the “thank you,” and “love still lives here”—
a memoriam to a young life gone too soon.
A pink baby blanket, catching my tears,
lays by my side—
a comfort,
a promise
that was once a new beginning.
A gallery of pictures keeps your memory alive.
Plagued by memories of yesterday
when you were here with me.
Thank you for those memories
that will carry me forward—
until we meet again
in the big blue sky,
where every day I will hold you,
and the memory of the pain of losing you
will no longer torment me,
but will be a distant dream of a life
millions of miles away—
where my days were spent plagued by memories of you.
Everywhere I look,
you stare back at me—
a mini me,
gone too soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
we built them in closets with worn out bed sheets
and couch cushions heavy as boulders.
the flashlight’s beam cut through the dark,
a knight's sword, our citadel against bedtime.
the carpet was moat-water,
broomsticks and mops our armored steeds.
We drew maps on pizza box lids—
Here Be Dragons in red crayon,
Mom's vacuum sketched as a sea monster
with fangs of dust.
there were no stone towers, just laundry-basket turrets
and battlements of stacked books where
discarded milk crates became our thrones.
we knew the magic: how a blanket draped just so
could turn December drafts into mountain winds~
they stood until Monday, these cardboard kingdoms—
until recycling bins swallowed the ramparts whole,
leaving only carpet dents where dragons breathed.
And us—we still smelt of marker ink and dust already
scanning the garage for next Saturday's unconquered country.
Once we were a matching pair, some days we’d get downbeat
as we both couldn't abide the stench of sweaty cheesy feet!
Our male owner would pop us in the washing machine
with warm soapy suds we’d soon smell fresh and clean
But now my ‘sole mate’ has gone missing and I am bereft
I was worn on the right foot, and he was worn on the left
Our owner removed the washing machine gasket
then checked the tumble drier and laundry basket
Alas my companion is still missing, life just isn’t fair
a single sock is useless, and I’m filled with despair
So my owner’s sock stock has now been depleted
and with my partner gone I’m feeling de-feeted!
What use is one sock, maybe one day I’ll be ‘heeled’
if the sock monster’s secret stash is suddenly revealed!
So for now I am consigned to the back of a drawer
with other odd socks and I'm sure there’ll be lots more!