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.
Washday at the Zoo
Peg out the elephants!
Hang up the hippos!
Let the bison and wildebeest
blow and billow in the wind!
Fluff out your flamingoes
with fabric softeners.
Stick the swans on a pre-wash
and get 'em whiter than white.
Rhinos can go in on 95
and they'll still come out
a disappointing grunge of khaki-grey.
(So much for the blandishments
of the adman).
Do tigers and zebras
on a low cycle
or the stripes will run.
Take care with gerbels,
they're liable to shrink.
Sort out yer primates
and read the labels --
howlers are different from chimps.
Oh! And watch out for snakes!
They tend to slither about
at the bottom of the laundry basket.
One emerald green one
amongst a flock of pastel doves
will cause untold havoc!
Margaret Clerici
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
One day a laundry basket felt rather full. Heavy. Weighted. Lots of mixtures tumbled together. Not placed. Just thrown in. In no order. How could it be that the ironing board had nice neat piles whilst he the dutiful laundry basket had a mish mash assortment of colours and fabrics. Strewn. Some even caught in his lovely sides. He considered them elegant. But sometimes he had been left in a kitchen and a pig had gone past him and oinked at him and left rather a nasty smell. Always a smell. Even when the clothes came from William washing machine they had a strange aroma. Oh dear. Must find a way to get outside and stay outside. The clitter clatter arrival of the pans spoke the time. Dinner. Great. Here they all are. Trudging past me. Overlooked. Kicked out of the way by the younger ones. Filled I sit till that lady puts the clothes in. But William is broke and badly needs draining which will mean a very wet floor. Great. Well at least the clothes can be thrown down to absorb some of William's waste. It must be a paper packet that has stuck in a pipe. Put in a pocket. Or one of those bright bags that goes out with that dog. I like that dog. He does not woof at me or growl. He always is smiling. Now I sleep. It takes ages for them to cook. I assume it will be tommorow that I am upstairs all day. But for tonight I will rest here on this kitchen stool. And I do hope the pig does not snore too loud. Sweet dreams all. Love from the laundry basket. X
Form:
“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!”
Backyard Fences
you want to plan a murder ?
your mind is racing
its the cause for religion
in certain circles running
Light of illumination
who gets the getaway car ?
running through loop holes
in vested portals,
the glamour girl with big florescent eyes
a vast mirage to the never world
the whole host of togetherness
yet we still barter for socks
a derision of a laundry basket filled
toilet paper down to the final roll
we clasp our hands then long to amuse
outside we see the backyard fence
broken bottles line the vast expanse of its decorum
the conclaves of caged barbaric remnants ensue
what has become of the earth
what has become of her pale sister
let us bask in the vast array of logical persuasion
come to the inner realization that you are light
a beacon of hope to a hurting world in search of love
the varnished creatures are all in search of blood
taunting through the exploits all alone
yet searching for a new way to discover
its the in tuned harmony to the hidden beasts reality
society has lost its way in the night
sounds of laughter once filtered through the air
today we are left with a toast of sullen brevity
time will tell when the water will boil
a challenge to be free is a question of time
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!
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.
An Ideal Wife
By Elton Camp
She keeps her house spotlessly clean
No irritating clutter will ever be seen
The laundry basket empty will stay
Clothes folded and neatly put away
Crisp, fresh sheets will be on the bed
“It needs changing” never has to be said
About the kitchen, hubby needn’t think
No dirty dishes found piled into the sink
Delicious meals she will always prepare
To serve leftovers, she never will dare
She would not think of being so rude
As to have in the fridge spoiled food
The shopping she always keeps done
To the store, her hubby needn’t run
Dust on the furniture is never to be found
Sparkling windows are the cleanest around
The bathroom tile, including all the grout
Is shining and free of mold without a doubt
The cleanest toilet bowl is her ambition
And she leaves the seat in the up position
She strictly limits all her telephone chat
As she hasn’t time to waste like that
The in-laws’ visit she is glad to see
“No need to call,” she will decree
To a household budget she’ll adhere
So the bank account is always clear
In addition, she holds an outside job
Never can she be called a lazy slob
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)
His shoes by the front door make me cry
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...
Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?
A cereal bowl waits in the sink
The laundry basket overflows
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession
That's how he lived; that's how he died.
But Dad...
I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness,
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
with the turn of a faucet.
Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.
It seems, somehow, that there should be more.
^ ^
. .
= ^ =
~
Cats will sleep anywhere
On a couch or in a chair
Table top or window ledge
On the top or near the edge
Open drawer or empty shoe
Or anybody's lap will also do
Those card board boxes too
Any size cat's able to fit into
Laundry basket of clean clothes
Making bread with their toes
Spreading around all that hair
Because cats will sleep anywhere