Starching my hair with Dippity Doo
It stood up like a figurehead too
It was a contest between me and Lou
To see what strange things our hair could do
Dippity Doo Dippity Doo
I loved you so much, you smelled good too
Swirling my finger inside your bowl
Gave me a little uplift for my soul
Categories:
starching, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
They are sassy, and assertive, and they spin me on my head.
They are marching, and starching. They will control me ‘til I’m dead.
They are bullying me, and there are a hundred of them strong.
I need to escape this jazzy world that has a lot of things quite wrong.
They are sitting on the shelf, staring, laughing when I wail or I cry.
They are making fun of my sister, and one yesterday poked me in the eye.
They are talking about me, and they always laugh at me behind my back.
They are mean as snot, and I am tired, of being the one always on attack.
How do you know they are always making fun of you if you did not hear what they said?
How do you know they were rolling eyes at you, it could have been the teacher instead.
How do you know they said it if you did not hear a tiny single word?
Shut up! She told me soundly. Your logic is disgustingly absurd.
Categories:
starching, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form: Rhyme
Now let me see
My Mom told me not to ride that boar hog
But as you will see my brothers and me
Didn't listen to Mommy
We got on this big old hog and rode him when he got tired he would run
for the waller and we would holler
Sometimes we could get off in time before he laid down and rolled with us
If we were not so lucky then we took a trip through the water trough to wash off
But Dad caught us doing that busted our butts and made us clean the trough
We still got cleaned up before Mommy got back but she noticed us starching
We didn't know we got hog lice and she had to pick the hitch hikers off of us
We enjoyed the ride but it was ruff on our hides
Categories:
starching, adventure, animal, childhood, insect,
Form: Prose
I regret the anguish that I suffered from the church
No comfort for the questioner no solace for the lost
With rules and hypocrisy engrained in the folds
Of vestments golden -
I regret the bigotry of those times - no mercy for the sinner
The smell of incense sweat and fear
Garbled mutterings paying dear
Saving souls from extra torture
Hiding secrets from the world
Little infants buried outside little girls incarcerated
In the laundries of the Magdalen – starching sheets of rich mens’ linen
Feeling guilty for existing –
No eyes meet mine
To tell the sorrow of their lives
Categories:
starching, life
Form: Prose Poetry