Short Laundered Poems
Short Laundered Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Laundered by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Laundered by length and keyword.
Diktats
never disclosed
stridently imposed.
Laundered veracity
fusillades of mendacity
in vibrant schools
where feelings carved fools.
Grandmother's linen
Brief look into bygone day
Antique memories
Soft monogrammed sheets with lace
Carefully laundered.
Like freshly laundered bed sheet,
nature spreads a white silken
gleaming, sparkling, eye blinding
cool earth coveralls.
~11/08/15
~Winter Dodoitsu contest by Heather Ober
HOLY---
Holy cleanse vessels without spot nor wrinkle.
Orderly fixed in spiritual and of physical realms.
Laundered flawless immaculate intangibles pure.
Yearning of dexterous proficiency untarnished unsoiled.
1/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
What is your favourite smell?
There's the smell of the sea,
The freshly mown lea.
The smell of fresh bread,
And a new laundered bed.
Summer rain is really good,
And the smell in a wood.
A cooking Sunday roast,
And thickly buttered toast.
Which is the smell that you like the most?
The clothes in the washing machine, I now pondered
how I might best pass the time, and so I wandered
up a muddy hill, late to perceive I’d squandered
my time, for now my jeans needed to be laundered.
—————
The Awit is a monorhyme quatrain narrative as a complete sentence, with each line containing 12 syllables.
I remember how
clean his eyeglasses were.
He took care of himself.
and expected people to
listen when he spoke.
.
With his black,
political, contrasty suit,
scrupulously laundered,
his face was red and
he took large steps.
.
I remember the honor
in his presence,
as if he had some
magical favors
he could grant.
Moonshine drapes
laundered white
wetting two
raw appetites
Petite niblets
morsels of feast
captured by
rocking beast
Flash of light
off window pane
Motherhood tattoo
nary a shame
Tepid buttermilk
readied sup
served in flowered
demitasse cup
Perched on haunches
shutter release
Private drive
now restful peace
; ; ; ; . . . . . . . ; ; ; ;
tears spill crumpled memories
are they laundered dry?
or rehashed?
* quinzaine is a 3-line poem consisting of 15 syllables: 7/5/3.
the first line makes a statement,
the next two ask a question concerning that statement
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Contest: Brian Strand”s “ Whatever"
Bleeding Sons of Lucre
Happy Mother’s beam is the Bank;
We lean on cash, our Father’s flank.
In search of it others eschew grime
For easy “one” by committing crime.
(This is Poetry; this is not a Sermon
I’ll not recur on cursing mammon!)
Oily hands stretched for reception
To that you give without deception...
Is “clean” money not so “laundered”
That can be peacefully squandered!
JM
31st Oct’ 2013
Where do I begin ~ my memory fails me all the time
I just shake my head although sometimes I do scare myself
but it's truly hard to top the story I heard last week
about my friend who folded her laundered undies neatly
then placed them diligently on a shelf in her fridge
before proceeding to prepare dinner
Read on air by invitation ~ June 23, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Front Page Pick 2025
After a long and stressful day
Running the bath and adding scented oils
Watching the bubbles foaming and frothing
Climbing into the deep soapy suds
Sensational scent of lavender rises
Relaxing in the steamy atmosphere
Blissfully all my troubles melt away
Drying myself in a soft warm fluffy towel
Climbing into freshly laundered sheets
Sheer bliss!
21st January 2015
~awarded 1st Place~
Indulgence Contest - Shadow Hamilton
In the corner of my room
I have a magic basket
It’s been there for a while, and
Does everything I ask it
When I’ve been out working hard
And the smell is overpowering
My clothes get thrown inside
Before I start my showering
I throw inside my tee shirts
My denims and my socks
I throw all my dirty clothing
Inside this magic box
I only have to wait two days
And I’m happy, just because it
Has laundered all my clothes
And hung them in the closet
Form:
My thoughts are laundered,
all soaped up and soaking;
cold and hot water rushed
round and round in bubbles.
Dirty and clean blend in the soup
swirling in the mixed myriad of dreams;
lost to its original form and use intent
faded colors mixing in the froth.
A word spoken, taken back again, slips and slides
mesmerized by the true reality guides
of wash and rinse, dry wrinkles unhinged
as life adheres to the cyclic spin.