Short Scrubbing Poems
Short Scrubbing Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scrubbing by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scrubbing by length and keyword.
little socks crumble in corner — scrubbing smelly feet tout suite
12/31/2018
tout suite (too sweet) — right now
I loathe sifting the vile cat litter and scrubbing the damn tile
Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll shriek and shout for just awhile!!!
Washing and Scrubbing
Plate washing and tile scrubbing I detest among house chores,
Though boring, I still want them to shine like silver ores.
sufficiently scrubbing
simple soap
strips stealthy virus’s
slick, lipid skin—
surfactants sending
sabotaged virus
slip sliding sewer bound!
His feet were crusty and cracked
Almost like the hair on his back
He tried scrubbing those dawgs
That look like bull frogs
So, he claims them as artifacts
Lying on a truthful table;
Clinging like three-day-old food
To pots,
Still scrubbing,
Oh, still scrubbing
Off debris --
You are to me,
A lie wrapped up in honesty.
streaks across the kitchen
food smears on the floor
mama is a ’n
her scrubbing knees are sore
clean later says grandma
advice from beyond her core
your children grow up quickly
leaving home forevermore
Each stanza is a 5-7-5 Haiku
You don’t know me
Not really. You just might see
someone smiling bright
You might hear a laugh
skipping off my dark surface
inside I am rough
I am scrubbing on
interior surfaces in a
measured tyranny
My bed bound me
too a horrible world
Gone are all sweet dreams
and what lingers must ide
All washed up
Symbols formulating realities
An infinite struggle
scrubbing words on huge walls
history sick
Lost in hidden kingdoms
I turn away
left to doped up soggy misery
Never to see an endpoint
The luring into
the larva pose,
like raking leaves
and scrubbing scum off tapestries,
we work for the shine.
Let your better half fold itself
and roll over onto the turgid glaze.
Breathe fully, quietly in these days
and patient your perseverance.
The season remains the stronghold
to all God-willing fates.
With her garment glittering as gold
Skyscrapers scrubbing and scrapping the sky
Fleets of steels moving into her spine
In her womb, is the abode for the affluence
Echoes of stubborn bar beach
Hallowing the expatriates
Across my nose are the moving ship
In my eyes are bustling buses
there i screamed,
Victoria, Victoria an island in Lagos
Form:
scrubbing a floor
a repetitive chore
dusting a table
I do as I’m able
vacuuming
a boring thing
highly paid worker
housekeeper, no shirker
many of us despise cleaning
cluttered houses are where we’re leaning
washing dishes
rounded swishes
I clean with distaste
do each job in haste
repetition a bore
I have done it before
I walked these halls in my prime
Now I'm scrubbing them for a dime
I had high hopes and big dreams
Until I came apart at the seams
Lifes strange the way it makes people change
I feel like it's pushed my dreams out of range
I experienced love and friendships in between these walls
Now only the memory of them calls
As I walk these halls
The furniture needs a dusting
The floors mopped and swept
The bathroom needs a scrubbing
The evening meal to prep
Dirty dishes line the counter
The laundry's in a heap
Pet hair on the cushions
The windowpanes are streaked
In such disarray, I'm overwhelmed
I really should get hopping
But, tomorrow IS another day
I think I'll just go shopping!
Precisely why are we here today
working out butts off for so little pay
When will we have universal basic income
For that, let's get out there and bang the drum
Work can be tedious, deadly, demeaning
especially when it's arduous scrubbing and cleaning
They say that 'Hard work's never hurt anyone'
What if we find out ~ They're totally wrong!
RIVER LIFE
Scene of bent over backs, knee deep, scrubbing – washboards in hand.
Students in sharp uniforms, stone polished, follow the curves
of the river bank, care for the small - so they don’t fall in.
Small village boats throw their nets, catching tourists, tender smiles.
Lazy children – splashing, dangling fishing lines, cooling skin.
11/15/2016
The chocolate mixes with the cream
Waiting for it to fill all of me
I pause, in hesitation,
for i know i am not clean
He ask if i am sure,
I say yes,fore i know
the good scrubbing I am
in for
The smell is astounding
My heart is pounding
My self self esteem is drowning
I know i am worth more
but i cannot resist being your
truffle butter whore
SMCRP
I stand in the shower scrubbing off sin,
but these tainted stains won't leave my skin.
The harder I scrub the more that it spreads,
the only thing changing is my skin turning red.
Soap cannot cleanse the impurity of souls.
I turn the knob hotter, but it only gets cold.
I dry off after about an hour,
but I've never felt... so unclean after taking a shower.
Form:
A sea above an ocean below,
endless expansion until they merge;
Lightning bolts braided from tip to toe
blown energy to the sky will surge;
Ripples seize as rolling clouds emerge
infiltrating minds with blurred lines;
Scrubbing tidal waves with star signs
will free the power of a meteor;
Cosmic show hits the Earth and shines,
too fleeting for an artist to capture.
Lead point scratching
Pink eraser scrubbing,
Ticking time catching
My eyes, I'm rubbing
Inspiration sparing
Rhyme and word fighting,
White lines staring
Thumb and finger writing
Yellow #2 shrinking
Lines ever darkening,
My eyelids blinking
My mind harkening
Hours ever zooming
Crumpled paper piling,
Good enough is looming
I find myself smiling.
Circling the drain my world’s changing,
trying to salvage the best parts.
Naiveté and those soft hearts,
they slide down disintegrating.
The hardest fist is now banging,
this is how sour becomes sweet tarts.
Circling the drain,
a potent aroma’s stinging.
Dingy is how all the growth starts,
everything’s fresh after cleaning.
With focus you’re harshly scrubbing,
circling the drain.
Flashes in my heart
Memories surging like a tidal wave
Reminiscing the way we were
Trying to re-live the past
Wanting you in my arms
Missing your lips against mine
Flashes in my heart
My rage surges like a battle cry
Recanting my love for you
Trying to erase the memory of you
Scrubbing the memory of you off my flesh
Missing who I used to be
Standing tall once again
Walking into a new dawn.
It took some time, but
eventually the denim
(after much scrubbing)
of my workaday soul
cleaned-up as if stone washed.
Valuable lessons
were tucked into new pockets,
the clucking hens
of a nagging conscience
were at last silenced.
I’m spinning myself dry today,
hanging up my smoking guns.
Her face still riddles me through,
but I patch up just fine,
and know now how to zip her
out of my mind.
collectors
dropping footprints
in idle sand, eyes wide
fingers hanging empty
delicate shells, bits of
sea-glass, heart-shaped
rocks, the foundation of
'I love you.'
an intake of breath, crouching
toes buried digging through
dirt and then
scrubbing the prize
clean, nestling it with a smile
inside her pocket
or illusion,
her eyes dull, her hands
slack her conscience
waiting.
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.