Mopping Poems | Examples

1950s Housewife

the 1950 housewife wears her best dress to clean
and pearls from Hawaii with a slick dazzling sheen.
In her polished high heel shoes, she prances in the kitchen.
Making food for her family without help and never ’n.

The 1950’s housewife cleans and vacuums with delight.
If there are any messes, she keeps them hidden from our sight.
She is gloriously giddy to spend her day mopping and scrubbing a sink.
In the evenings she goes to nightclubs wearing diamonds and her mink.

The 1950’s housewife never complains a bit about her marvelous life.
So eager and thrilled to be called Tony, Larry or Dickie’s little wife.
Anticipating her husband’s needs, putting them in front of her own each day.
If you cannot find the 1950’s housewife, perhaps she has run away.

Sweet and Romantic

It was just another , ordinary day
quite boring, some people would say
and her hair was a mess, and old jeans as her dress
and she'd just done dishes, fed up, she'd confessed

after his hard day at work, another room records playing
and she had no idea , what the singers were saying
then he came into kitchen,  and held her so tight
then kissed both her eyes, so very, very light

he sang her a song ,  while he looked into eyes
but she was so very, very puzzeled, as to the reason why
she couldn't hear much what the song had been saying
for she paid no attention, to the music that was playing

she had smudges on her face , from deep oven cleaning
and the floor needed mopping, that she kept on so meaning
and her hair such a mess and her ripped jeans as her dress
and she had been feeling fed up, she'd have to confess

and it was only much later, she took up the time
to read up the lyrics............ that to her,  he did mime.

*true story....
poem to my husband, l love you so much x

Guns and Roses- Sweet Child of Mine.

Janitors

People rush and hustle,
Mopping with gloved hands, tools of steel,
Wiping away blood and sweat from the floor,
Scrubbing the metal, blades, and hooks,
Sponges damp like the weight of sacrifice.
The work ends with a final cut,
Leaving the factory restored,
But the air thick with the scent of iron,
Machines hum like the march of the willing,
Tanks rise like the flag of duty,
Until the stench of labor fades.

Submit the Words

I'm going to submit the words
the words that drive my daily thoughts
past wastelands of dirty laundry
and heaped up dishes that scream out
wash me while the water's hot
we're important, writing's not.

I can not seem to find the time
for sweeping all the dirt and grime
when all my thoughts reign far supreme 
while bathroom thrones remain unclean.
priorities remain unclear
it's writing that I hold so dear. 

But many women's efforts fail
their thoughts lie drowned in mopping pails
their words get lost in flying dust
and sensing this, I really must
submit the words, before they're lost
submit the words, at any cost.

Clean

I’m busy again.
Dusting, organizing, mopping.
Everything is clean already.
We already swept up all her old food.
And mopped her muddy paw prints.
It’s clean, it’s clean enough!
They say.
We don’t get less sad.
The house just gets clean.
We remember her favorite treats.
We donated them.
I ignore their calls and texts.
I’m busy again.
And I don’t want to talk about her, anyway.

Spring Cleaning

While mopping the melted snow of winter.
I remember when I got a splinter.
My expression cringing.
My finger twinging.
But still I reminisce.
Of the fireplace’s caress.
While dusting the places usually never seen.
I remember being-
Next to a draft.
Feeling bereft.
Wishing for spring.
Not seeing-
Flowers that bloom.
Feeling like I’m in a tomb.
But nowadays I slip from my mopping.
Dust flying and never stopping.
I miss being lazy.
Even when it was hazy.
But then I open a window.
And love for spring rekindles.
Soon summer will come around.
Then I’ll miss the smell of spring that abounds.

Who's Gonna' Hold Their Hand

Who’s gonna' cook the breakfast,
after I’m gone.
Who’s gonna' wash the dishes,
or mow the lawn.
Who’s gonna' make the bed,
or do the laundry instead,
of watching TV.
Oh, I can just see.
They’ll all live in filth and poverty,
after I’m gone.

As I am mopping up the floor,
I ask you once more.
Who’s gonna cook their meals,
after I’m gone.
Who’s gonna' be around,
for them to lean on.
Who’s gonna' make the tea,
or fetch their glasses so they can see,
flush the toilet after they pee,
after I’m gone.

Living for the Future

Though curved like a question mark, 
she walks without a Zimmer frame. 
Will she ever veer from 
the narrow, 
nonsensical 
dirt road? 

She earns,
mopping, scrubbing, laundering, and currying. 
She’s often gifted with 
rice, tea powder, jaggery, sari, soap, 
and so on. 
Thanks to the munificence 
of her mistress. 
She saves and stores, 
living in parsimonious penury. 
She loses her delicious delights 
in spending tension. 
A schlock existence –
everything safely decays in her store. 

There’s certainly a spark of work 
(even at the dog-end) 
of her life. 
But when will she live on the earth?


First published in Native Skin, and then reprinted in The Literary Hatchet

Labyrinthine

With some reluctance 
I must confess to you 
I found myself  
At the Inland Revenue 

Opening the door 
To an enormous queue 
I waited in line... 
Forever. As you do. 

Filling in forms
Of great quantity 
Ticking boxes 
Writing illegibly 

Contradicting myself 
In the fine details 
Starting again 
Numerous fails 

Trying to recall 
Things I did 
While avoiding
A blatant fib

Tricky questions  
Mopping my brow 
Looking guilty 
Sweating now 

Escape at last 
Recover with wine 
From IRD forms
Labyrinthine

Scintillating

She spoke of urbane gentlemen
and friendly squalls of rain
yet thanked Christ
for her baked scones
and well rotted manure
and gratitude for not being a Lioness,
a cause celebre never in the making
mopping the Freemasons floor

King Chooses Worst Wife

The king was fair but he chose his wives in a haphazard way.
Subjects of his kingdom said king would one day “rue the day”.
It happened after wife number seven, an awful mean queen.
The ones who watched it happen, said it could not be unseen.

She wiped the throne room with the king’s decapitated head.
Who did that? Asked newcomers, but no one already there said.
For the red queen was a terror, who loved mopping the floor.
With others emotions, and she had more devilish deeds in store.

The bishops and knights ran off to other kingdoms, over the lawn.
There were no rooks in sight, and one crippled horrified pawn.
If chess was the game, I guess the queen had won, but not fair.
The last time I saw her she was climbing high on the stair.

I Was Going To- But

'Twas a week before Christmas 
And I've not done my shopping 
I was going this morning 
But first, my floors needed a mopping 

I was going to mop them 
But I first had to broom 
Then, I waited to sweep them 
Till I first cleaned the room 

With pots and pans messy 
From the cookies I baked 
And icing on the counter 
Where the cookies were caked
 
I wanted to run the dishwasher 
Before I swept the floor 
And I wanted to wipe fingerprints 
That were smudged on the door 

But I waited to do that 
Till I cleaned out my fridge 
But I figure I'd wait 
Till I ate me a smidge... 

Of waffles with butter 
All smothered in sugar 
But I lost my darn appetite 
When I noticed a booger 

With all that I've not done 
It had messed with my head 
Said- "The hell with my shopping... 
I'll just go back to bed"

Mope

Gas prices are too high
Grocery stores have empty shelves
Everything to expensive to buy
The world on the edge of total war

Small business with shutter doors
People worried about what they say
News depressing and unreal
Does anything matter now a days

Government spending money we don't have
Future generations to be debt slaves
The rich get richer absolute greed
The poor get poorer as they bleed

Faith and goodness mocked and scorned
Children brainwashed as families torn
Government worried about borders a world away
While our own invaded every single day

Politicians and corporations working for the CCP
Our government crooked and mad crazy
Media only lies lies lies
Will our republic survive

Turn off everything and just lie down
Lazy Sunday mopping around
Pray as revolutions on arise
Civil war brewing as democracy dies

A voice from the wilderness comes through
Freedom lives through you
The people reforming as a single mass
Time to kick some Globalist ass

Depression and Productivity

Depression makes it hard to do the simplest chores,
Like doing the dishes or mopping the floors.
It’s difficult to wash your clothes, 
To just wake up or clean your toes.
Impossible to get up out of bed,
With guilt and sadness filling your head. 
Some of us feel nothing at all,
Everyday harder and harder to clearly recall. 
When you simply can't move or speak, 
Sometimes for a day, others for a week.
To get out of depression takes effort and time,
So when you see others struggle, always be kind.

Another Springtime Chore

Another Springtime Chore
By Franklin Price
03/08/2022

I wrote of springtime yesterday 
Of the flowers, birds and bees
And of the leaves and blossoms
On the bushes and the trees

Of the gardening and raking
That is needed out of doors
Not the things, I may be buying
At the Lowes and Walmart stores

This morning when I woke up
And my bare feet hit the wood
The dust I felt beneath them
Was anything but good

It was the house, reminding me,
Of the Springtime cleaning fun
For the vacuuming and mopping
I have been the chosen one

Barbara  always did the dusting 
That was always what she did
I may have to search the internet
For the lowest dusting bid

For she's no longer with me
To help me with the Springtime dust
I know she's grinning from above
I'll try to do it if I must

I guess we'll see just how it goes.
It may be Fall before I'm done.
 I can also hear her laughter,
Although I'm having all the fun

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