Long Washboard Poems
Long Washboard Poems. Below are the most popular long Washboard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Washboard poems by poem length and keyword.
Washboard Waltz
Is a washboard musical when scrubbing socks on its metal ribbons?
The woman in the basement was not aware of anything other
than the soap suds, steamed-up windows and the sense of hopelessness
when working on a Saturday, a day of rest from the factory floor.
Other women, too, did laundry day, gave her a feeling of pride
to see her washing on the line was cleaner than theirs.
She sat by the window in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the washing
smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from a mug with her name
and wondered if children knew her name was other than Mum!
She had to look out for the weather, May when it can suddenly rain
If it clouded over, she would take the clothes in, even if they were
only half dry, put them on the kitchen table and wait.
She had boiled the potatoes with the skin on, healthier she had
told the children; she had to do was to open the mackerel in oil
she had nicked at work; heat, the canned fish call the children
the children would mash the mackerel and potatoes on their plates
to an unsightly mess, hastily eat, and run back into the street again
where a ball game was going on.
The rain kept away clothes that could hang on the line till morning
before taking them in, she liked the smell of the sun and hygiene.
On Sunday, she would get the children up early, give them slices
of bread with sugar on it and sent them out to play, ah, the peace
she could open a magazine and read about famous people.
Scratched music of hillbilly washboards
From the scraping wings of the Katydids
Aloft in the Oaks
Reborn each night just beyond dusk
After the cicadas finish their warmup act
The Katydid return is glorious
Their little sound so loud
It overwhelms
The alarms of main street stores a block over
And the roar of trucks on damnable nearby I-96
That never stops its pipeline of crashing deliveries
No matter the time
I don’t know why these green creatures
Went completely silent last season
But I missed their rickety noise and worried about them
And us
I tossed and turned sleepless
When the wind was stolen and driven just right through my windows
Maybe it was the masting grunts of acorns throughout that summer?
But the thumbnail insects have returned
More symphony than I’ve ever heard before
Finally I can fall asleep
As they strum their instruments under the applause of planets
Until 4:00 AM each morning
I read somewhere even insects go to sleep
Though they don’t have eyelids
Imagine them exhausted
Stuck
Staring out to their little narrow world of swaying branches
If only they knew what we know
The expanse they do not understand nor comprehend
As they dream
Of love and music and the cool brush of feathered trees
In a religion they call Warm Dark Summer Breeze.
Let’s bring back the GOOD OLD DAYS
Grab that washboard and some lye soap
Hang those wet clothes on a limp rope
Chop some wood, build a fire
The kids new swing a worn out tire
Park that car up on the front “lawn”
‘cause all the gasoline is gone
Wash your dishes in a bucket
When ya poop don’t dare to flush it
Separate and please recycle
returning home on your BI-CYCLE
after dark, laundry’s still damp
where’s my NEW kerosene lamp
I’m setting traps for squirrel and rabbit
Meat eating’s such a FILTHY HABIT
I read a book, I’m such a scamp
Under an incandescent lamp
Gotta go, it’s almost sun-up
Gotta go and guard my turnips
But first I’ll eat my Covid Era Pop Tarts
And get arrested for my Methane Gas Farts
Always unexpected, spring arrives.
Water and warm spring air raises grass
On hills before the sheep and llamas graze.
Rain falls and tries to glaze fields of yellow hay
Stippled by the husbanded animals and deer
With their round mouthed chewing into cud.
Now, farmers can stop trips to buy extra hay
In town, pickup trucks with rolled hay bales
Jostling down the washboard country roads.
Spring calving and planting
Easiest of clichés:
Renewal, and I watch the fields green.
Queued up around the edge of the nearest one,
A stand of bushes and though there is no wind,
One quakes and shivers as if it’s cold.
I inspect beneath its outer leaves
To see two birds fluttering feathers
And jumping from branch to branch
Picking dark berries off,
Pecking them out of shape
And with broken neck gestures
Shake their heads from side to side
And eat them one by one. (4/9/21)
Reaching a fork in the old winding road...
Our difficult choice, is to withhold admiration.
A turn to the left?.... Or a turn to the right?
Decisions! Decisions! Which will earn our attention?
Turning heads to the right, there are potholes abundant!
Reversing our eyes, in the opposite direction,
Is a washboard damnation that seems noncompliant!
Perhaps a rotation, will take us back home !!
__________________________________________________
For the contest sponsored by Kim Merryman "Road Trip" 8/23/13
REPORT CARD - FAUCI U.
I. Self-Reporting Section
A. FEELINGS Engendered on a Daily Basis
Offended often
Triggered frequently
Unsafe 24/7
B. TREATMENT at Hands of Faculty
Inequitable constantly
Discriminatory more often than not
Unjust in every way
C. PERCEPTIONS Noted
Police Brutality - Hourly occurrences
Systemic Racism - Baked into the system
Islamophobia - All Caucasians
II. Courses - Grades
A. The Art of Zen off the Coast of Walden Pond A
B. Polish Pride-fests in Japan during WW2 A
C. Music: Playing the Washboard and Flugelhorn A-
D. Lockdowns and Lock-ups (Drs. Fauci and Clinton) B+
E. Composition 101 - The Essay F
F. Remedial Algebra D
G. Ukranian 101 F
H. Photographing Elephant Jokes in Outer Space A+
I. Pronounilization Among Seaweed C+
Class Rank - Top Ten Per Cent
Please turn in their Report Cards to he after checking with Zhang about
zi reaction to her instructions. Thank za
Tide out ...
Swells break far and creep slow,
sweeping tender 'cross washboard flats
where they used to dance -
where they lauded the ebullience of life
in purpose ... and pairs.
Beach ballerinas, flaunting perfect line ...
toothpick legs busy as Baryshnikov 'midst the billows,
leopard mantle still as stars
while they streaked and pattered forth-and-back,
never touching the hem of the combers.
Nature has no humor, they say ...
yet 'twas a game they played with the ocean's edge,
the sand they pranced was just as cold -
just as wet and wobbly and wild ...
it served no critical purpose to shun the wash in such diligence.
Yet they were masters of the art, and graceful,
as tho' it had been thus for eons ... and of course, it had.
That very game and dance is what I miss so dearly now,
tears disguised in the salt spray on my face,
as I pull another clump of plastic ...
From last year's nests.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest
I Cannot Weight To Hmm...
Be Pressed By A Dumbbell
Two fifteen pound
steely danse sing
wrought iron dumbbells
ill-tempered, impatiently,
and intensely a weight
their turn to hmm... press me,
and forthwith dense trait
heavy handed prestidigitation
to yours truly, this primate
currently attempting
to craft sad excuse
for a poem, sans far fetched
notion, aye trite re: late
engendering, foisting, and goading
bizarre lifelike qualities
to inanimate solid helpmate
to build (and/or oven
just tone) muscles bitterly, painfully,
resignedly wince, where washboard
abdomen long a goner
impossible to recoup,
whar hide didst narrate
ting hours sculpting great
former Adonis build
on these, now nada so lovely
bones, and experience
spiritual strife to oscillate,
perhaps witness sing
angst to esse skill late
heady feeling healthy vim within
myself, how just
with verily at least dedicate
half hour exercise can be great
for body, mind, and
soul triage, otherwise...
basic gravitational laws
of physics gladly
hand me unwanted fate,
how gradually physique
will eventually demonstrate
flabby, droopy, and
unwanted addy post tissue create
ting another reason to berate,
castigate, emasculate, where
self repudiation will germinate
(albeit, thence in extremis), yours truly
doth relinquish fitness regime
resulting sparking, and taste
testing casus belli dictate
tête-à-tête, viz hasty
unconditional surrender to
a void mortal kombat,
which latter, would exterminate,
the forces of yin and yang,
re: lee (I rub hurts) loch cur,
thence finding me fraught,
(yule hiss see - uselessly)
grant ting soul
option to disintegrate,
in the event emotional civil war,
rents asunder every fiber
of mine being, which
wrath wracked wraith self destruction
twill woefully satiate.
A former slender man (lapsed Unitarian anorexic)...
deplores adipose tissue gain
No Holiday music can soothe savage beast
washboard abdomen weight watcher's dream fleeced
skinny bag of lovely bones permanently leased
body snatcher somewhere amidst policed
madding crowd of carolers singing,
where mine sinking spirits ceased
rising today December 18th, 2020
analogous how unleavened bread
(i.e. matzo) lacks yeast.
I loathe shucking clothes,
(no matter eyes severely myopic)
in preparation for here goes
another warm shower quickly
relaxing this senescent
body ready to doze
soon after lathering
this blubbery body
most unwanted fat grows
on me, no matter healthy diet
of worms, or how I stand,
not so easy (Etsy) as add a pose
zing losing battle – Mary Jo's
if and geeze us of bulge ill flattering
particularly quiverly, sans white
"WALL" tire tread fully goes
steely belted around lower
abdominal area like lava floes
siring unsightly expose
yore squishy Jew dish priestly
punchy, plasma paunchy, gristly...
pillow like marshmallows
fittingly, rotundly soundly
identical with other schlep
tin (tin tabulation) grungy hobos,
this lap pissed lard (lord) Who Lee
bemoaning, how ilk readily knows,
where unwanted bulky flab...
most detested - hence Corp Yule Lance
leaves noth thin to noblesse oblige,
know bull eats obese,
anorexia nervosa or chance
barking out orders reminiscent, when he
hapt tubby a caller wannabe at
weekly square and/or contra dance,
now requisitioned to insulate
and excessively enhance
body electric can be mushed
into likeness of fleshy France
or repurposed into expanse
resembling any country,
whose name Kants
be easily pronounced, and historical
events glommed together recognizable
as Ataturk with a lance
bequeathed to rule World advance
sing gluttony as his divine providence,
thus requires deep dish allegiance
(non - fiber - binding contract)
for eats and make decadent
every fleshpot gourmand
stretching consumer cellular
skein to capacitance
bestowing guaranteed deliverance
with their rolling
ballooning massive circumference
into orbit with Earthly moon officiant
eternal fondue irrelevance!