Wash Off Poems | Examples

I Am the Silence Between Stars

I do not knock.
I arrive —
like a whisper wrapped in thunder,
like dusk that forgets to ask the sun for permission.

I wear no perfume,
but the winds carry my scent.
No flag,
yet kingdoms remember me.

I speak in poems,
but my words are carved in stone.
Not to impress,
but to remind you
what stillness can awaken.

You may never touch my hands,
but you'll feel them in your spine.
You may never hear my voice,
yet you’ll wake up dreaming I whispered your name.

I am distance,
and desire.
The thought that lingers after goodbye.
The ink that won't wash off your soul.

And when you read this,
know this wasn’t written —
it was transmitted.
From the space between my breath
to the core of your being.

Crawl

You crawl under my skin
Again, uninvited this time
Drinking my sorrow
Your tail whips around my heart

Drawn in by the cold
Darkness you know so well
To look but not to touch
A sad spectacle to visit

But visit is all
Soak up vulnerability
Bathe in the grief
Wash off, walk home

Leave me with the well
Where undrinkable water lives
Crumbs to decorate it
Furtive missives of absolution

Dig and scrape to pry you
Draw you out from under skin
Let you down so slowly 
To silently await your return

What is her name

Lynne is a cute girl with a calico skirt
Hanging clothes on the line, to wash off the dirt
She is observed by a young lad visiting called Bert
What is her name? He asked his loving Aunt Gert

Aunt Gert went to the window and looked to see
That girl by the clothesline? She belongs to Dolly Lee
But what is her name? Asked Bert, who wanted to know.
You cannot go out there, she would be embarrassed so.

But why? Asked Bert, as he continued to stare
Because said his auntie, Lynne has curlers in her hair
This was in the old days, when etiquette was real.
When being caught with pajamas or curlers was a big deal

donttouchme

maybe you didn’t physically touch my skin,
but the evil in your eyes when you would look 
in my direction was enough to make it crawl.
you may not have laid your fingertips on my
innocent body, but the thought of knowing i
was a room away was horrifying to my young brain.
maybe you didn’t breathe on my neck, but knowing
how your eyes looked as i would turn around is enough
to make me cry when i look in the mirror. you may
not have struck my young self with your hatred-filled
fingertips, but knowing the intentions you had in your mind
as you hugged me are enough to burn my body as i wash off the
sensation of your hands on my delicate skin.

Nature's Gift

wind, come surround me with your timeless gust.
freshen up my numb body so i can move again

sun, direct your rays to unfreeze my brain.
lighten up my clouded mind so i can be reasonable again

moon, sparkle my nights along with the stars.
shine through my darkest hours so i can fear mo more again

water, splash me with your ever cleansing power.
wash off doubts in my soul so i can trust myself again

fire, warm me with your burning flame.
melt the madness and so i can cry tears of joy this time

rain, drop less than usual on my way.
sprinkle me lightly please so i can have myself space and time

when night is over, another day to conquer.
and it goes on and on all the time

My Bloody Valentine

The night I met you, I was deeply afraid, 
terrified, my nerves were badly frayed.
I pulled you from the party crowd.
My confidence, you allowed.  
I cried to you.  I wasn't proud.
We both had too much wine,
my bloody valentine.

I knew that your feelings were sincere.
Soon, you would always be near.
Your gentle understanding showed.
To your charms, you gave the code. 
Your love, to me, bestowed, 
I gobbled it like a swine,
my bloody valentine.

Thinking too much of myself, I was. 
What I could offer you wasn't love. 
It was a deplorable crime,
I can't wash off this guilty grime. 
I should be doing time, 
burning in a hellish brine,
my bloody valentine.

I'm haunted every Valentine's Day,
a lifetime sentence I have to pay. 
There is every reason for your hate.
It's less than forgiveness I await.
Take my conscience off your dinner plate,
as your ghost does me, malign, 
my bloody valentine.

Slices of Life

A new tomato burst 
beneath a blade, its juice 
streaking my wrist,  
mimicry of something I swore off  
years ago.  
Seeds scatter like liquid mercury 
across the cutting board,  
smallest of reminders that life spreads  
even if it’s cut short, stunted.  
I keep slicing,  
pretending the stains  
will wash off this time.

Pistachios

When I was a kid, pistachios
Had shells they dyed bright red
And sure enough, that color
To your fingers quickly spread.

It didn’t wash off easily,
But left a tell-tale clue
About what you’d been snacking on,
That bright red proof on view.

Today, I cracked pistachios
And wondered, as I ate,
Why someone once decided
To disguise their natural state.

No matter why, that dye is gone – 
Red fingers not the answer.
For all we know, pistachios
With dye might have caused cancer.

Hope Is Sustenance for Joie De Vivre

All good deeds stem from a belief 
That we can effect change and bring relief 
To people in need or those in grief 
Hope gives us motive, to be brief

Eternal springs hope in the human breast
To this the lives of great folks best attest
No hope and life’s heart will forthwith arrest 
Hope sends you high atop life’s crest

None but the hopeful can weather life 
In troubled times and in strife
When despair pours in thick and rife
Cut through it fast with hope’s knife 

In darkness find a ray of hope 
To help you with problems cope 
Wash off doldrums with the soap of hope 
Get up afresh and up your lope

Tire of The Canopies

Sovereign or martyr thus gravitas none dolorous,
dirge has keyed the grave motif to your succubus,
organs glistening as the innards burst vile viscera,
to bite on carbon release hammers sledge Invictus.

Not impressive but knot is a slip on your own noose,
gathering to watch a struggle as the buckets kicked,
amusing when the rope snaps and the monster runs,
turns executioner hacks away your scurvy populace.

Digress thus invitation to a horrid melancholy siege,
maelstrom of pianist crescendo a litany reverie,
masquerade these fair maidens as whomever,
still a mask and the rest of your face is plain to see.

Dreams are made not to be accompanied by meanderings of creatures of the lesser deities for the reaper is the end to everything this your prayers will not save you from the scythe’s guillotine.

Enjoy your expendability,
know that I do,
with that I take my leave,
soaking to bathe and wash off your crimson grief.

Down On the Farm

There’s tons of fun things you can do on the farm,
like bucking bales of hay or cleaning the barn.
Or milking the cows and feeding the chickens,
working the garden where the beans need picking.

Or on top of the roof replacing the tin,
trying to find where the water’s getting in.
Maybe out on the tractor mowing the hay,
with the hot sun’s beating down on you all day.

When the sun finally sets down in the west,
you can start to slow down and take a short rest.
Now all winded and burned and hungry as hell,
wash off the cow dung before the dinner bell.

Sitting on the front porch beneath the moonlight,
with lightning bugs flashing like stars in the night.
A cool gentle breeze flowing over the land,
while you sit in your chair holding your wife's hand.

The scent of wildflowers filling up your head,
drifting in through the window beside your bed.
You lay your head down but before you can sleep,
you pray that this is the life you'll always keep.

Escape From Within

If peace was like a river then it would not be peace
It would just be a shiver that is mistaken for bliss
All the cataract's all the wavers,it would not cease for your pleas
Shouts and screams chanting save her,but it's all in your dreams
Musical notes such as quavers,wash up your nightmares wash off your sins
Relieve the pain relieve the danger, hold my hand though am a stranger

Brown Marmorated Stink Bug

Brown marmorated stink bug
    
Two days of doing battle with this invading army.
Two days searching out to find where is their hidden lair.
Two days capturing dozens upon dozens of these onerous soldiers.
Two days the battles raged on behind and on the front of my curtains.
Two days trying to wash off the vile stink, their defensive, smelly weapon
Two days, my weapon, wads of toilet paper, picking them off, down the toilet
Day two, in an attempt, searching for mercy ?,  from the killer, this brave warrior.
Day two, two dispirit soldiers, the last two I hope, came to me and landed on my left leg,
as if they were pleading, in a last ditch effort, for their lives, the sword struck, in the toilet.

B. J. “A ”2
December 7th, 2022

A New Dawn Is Coming

A new dawn is coming
When no one will be running
It's boldly written all over
Our pains will soon be over

It's a preseason of restoration
Soon we shall be bestowed with decoration
For the services we render in this war
Against those who make us useless with metaphor

A new dawn is coming
When the youths won't think of running
Across foams for greener pastures
The newbirth is an end to insignificant departures

A new dawn is coming
When Nigeria will come out shinning
Cos the captured stains on our flag
Shall be bleached out to wash off bad tag

It's a preseason of restoration
And there's an unbelievable collaboration
To ensure a reposition of our flag
With promises to boost our ag.



Happy Independence Day (Nigeria)

Spring Rain

clouds burst
day brings
spring rain 
drops fall 
on tin 
barn roof 
ping beat
wash off
loose dust 
breathe in
clean air

2/1/2022


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