Washing Poems - Poems about Washing

I used to live at the foot of a lush, green hill whose high pastures fed dairy herds. When I stood under the washing line in my cottage garden and looked up, it appeared that the cattle were grazing on my roof. It was then I realized perception was a broken fragment in the eye of reality, God’s little trick to be understood in the soft...

Continue reading...

the rain will pour relentlessly washing away the sins of day waves roll down my street echoing triumph of the new world cold air and back-splash reaches me reminders that i am not as exception to this washing...

Continue reading...

thorough grooming baths our cat does administer licks my son's hair clean...

Continue reading...

Years ago, no one had new knees said Dad They had to make do with the ones they had Women ran around with wrinkles and gray hair Plastic surgeons and hair dye did not exist anywhere I see a brain washing machine down the road They will open your skull with a saw-blade gold Take your brain out and cleanse it...

Continue reading...

Grief still has a way of washing over me, Taking me by surprise— A reminder of a mother’s deep love. A year since you’ve been gone, Every single day is hard. Today was a tender, emotional day, But tonight, the tears have no end. I sat on your bench under the full, bright moon, Wrapped in a soft blanket to fight the cold...

Continue reading...

Can you see the Pharisee washing his hands, full of pride? Hasn't he, in his show-off, kept his honesty aside? The one who called you for meals had his agenda in mind. To prove you are wrong, in you some faults he wanted to find With the cleansing of dishes, you asked, Do you peep within? More than the dust...

Continue reading...

Washing Washing your hair with little stones cures back aches. ...

Continue reading...

I I look at trees and think about their births. I can say to myself by looking at a leaf, “You are an oak,” or, “You are a Chinese pistache.” For this I feel proud, And this quirk is one that gives me a sense of joy, And the trees appreciate this; they listen. II...

Continue reading...

One day I will Float up to Ziz Its wings wisp Soft like stray Hairs in the sink Hypnotize sunken Whirlpool eyes Until then I Guess I choose Sleep tonight ‘Til the day Where true rest Seems more than Just alright...

Continue reading...

acid washed blue jeans hang on the rusty clothesline in the morning sun ...

Continue reading...

The Washing Line Sit in a chair and watch the washing line You see the world hanging there Egyptian cotton Chinese silks Waving amongst your underwear ...

Continue reading...

I have inherited pleasure: the rhythm of pegs, the smell of buttery sun on sheets, a whispering murmur of trees standing around, and the company of magpies inspecting with one eye looking for worms....

Continue reading...

Stewards washed the feet of their masters to make them relaxed. Master, dignity-filled, bestow blessings on these small ones. Did Jesus, as a master, make his disciples feel taxed? His love for them made them feel like they were truly his sons. Who is great? Who is small? This concept went with the world's ways. Should such feelings overtake the...

Continue reading...

How can I perfect me, if I let the actions or the words of others affect me, since a child God muted my prayers & neglected me, she said she loved me but she showed it through telepathy, abuse, & profanity, abandon by family, even Lucifer & his army wouldn't stand with me, catastrophe's shooting...

Continue reading...

The Friday that is here today was here yesterday, of course. That's what getting older seems to be, to do: today was yesterday was the day before and before. It's my weekly washday today - weekly, but was here yesterday, or so it appears. Always appears to be. Yes, so it seems, and seems. Time is a concertina. Friday was a week from Friday, then three or four days before...

Continue reading...