Running down your chin
warm on my shoulder;
Vanilla candles;
Water full of suds
soaking each other;
In the bathtub
rejuvenate,
lips touching mine;
Scented ripples
cascading
head to toe;
Just lie back;
Relax,
sponges
soothe .
Categories:
sponges, emotions, feelings, passion, romance,
Form: Diminished Hexaverse
My towels that fall on its floor
Never again cross my door:
Always sentenced to Death by burning,
The circumstances of one mourning…
Or demoted to a shoe rag,
Its reacceptance to eternally drag.
My sponges that in its slips off my hand
Become soldiers missing in action:
Some seconds of silence plus military band
Followed with ‘Rest in Peace or the notion’
I could round spin in my Jacuzzi
But in public bathroom keep eyeing the greasy,
Scarcely thinking it easy
Excusing the unforgivable sleazy;
Always, The Ever Tactical
Any rash alternative, nonsensical.
Categories:
sponges, discrimination, house, pollution,
Form: Rhyme
Oft I've wondered
If sponges were yanked
Would all the seas be dry?
Categories:
sponges, sea, silly,
Form: Questionku
Does the Sea
Suffuse...
Does the Sea
Perfuse...
the sponge?
Slipping, sidling
in:
the Great Outbreath
of the far forgot shore;
so small now as to be
Unimaginable,
upwells in swells the
Entirety of this sea -
and heaves these easy seas
from shore to shore
as
sure as the moon’s dim
light is gasped over
when its wax is over -
when full; when only moonlight
lights the matte blacknight.
Does the Sea,
enter, entirely,
the sponge
and, in doing
so
forget itself?
Does the Sea,
in its Perfusion
forget itself?
Does the Sea believe itself to be
a sponge?
Or does the see,
take up a demonym?
Or does the Sea remain the Sea
no matter no matter
no matter how
fully
it inhabits, it saturates, it permeates
the Sponge?
For that matter,
does the sponge,
in being infilled wholly by
the Sea, believe itself to be
The Sea?
Categories:
sponges, nature, ocean, philosophy,
Form: Free verse
Children are sponges they know their habitat
They're very aware.
Children listen to all your chats and spats
Whether your drinking this or that
Believe me, you make every thing Crystal clear.
Children are sponges they know their habitat.
They know if you are a hellcat
Or a man of prayer.
Children listen to all your chats and spats.
They know when you enter your flat.
If you bring peace or a nightmare.
Children are sponges they know their habitat.
Are you teaching them to be a diplomat
Or to wear a sign that says beware.
Children listen to all your chats and spats.
You better change your behavior or when they
Grow older they'll pull in their welcome mat
Whenever you're near.
Children are sponges they know their habitat.
Children listen to all your chats and spats.
Categories:
sponges, children, education, emotions, future,
Form: Villanelle
Absorbing everything
Cause I see everything
Searching behind hidden doors
Combing through the shelves and drawers
Where's the social validation
Social media is like an infection
Information pours like a continuous storm
Being nosy is now the norm
People now days only look at our flaws and imperfection
We live in a land of no freedom with injustices, no true love, and no deliberation
Floating distantly on edge of eternity
All of this violence is integrated into the minds of mortality
So many of us are living in fear
I’s a shame that we are soaking our hearts in each other's tears
Trust me those tears don't flow in vain
We have A Redeemer, and A Savior…..Jesus is His name
Categories:
sponges, fear, god, internet, jesus,
Form: Rhyme
At least once a month
the stench from my kitchen
sponge gets so bad I refuse
one more soap saturation
of this primitive sessile.
Why is it that I can’t toss
these replicas of marine life,
amongst the simplest animal form,
free of tissues, muscles, nerves
and internal organs? After all,
during the course of one day I toss out
all sorts of rubbish—paper towels,
chicken bones, cheese rind, empty cartons,
newspapers and rotten fruit, but have developed
a deep attachment with this soggy, smelly
two-dollar purchase. I take it into my hands
and scan it, as if looking for the spot
of defending stench or to hear the ocean
from where it came. Finally, I decide
to toss the thing into the dishwasher
with my daily load, to keep it vital
a little longer, perhaps a day or a week
or at least until I’m able to establish a degree
of separation from this rectangular block.
My only explanation for this drama
is my daughter is a vegetarian and animal rights’
activist, and like her, I want to save all creatures.
Categories:
sponges, daughter, food, funny, animal,
Form: Narrative