Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bhill Aug 2020
great words, today, are flowing from the authur
what will be the message delivered, to you, the observer
how will each individual interrupt what is composed
it is not the author's duty to unravel written reflections
the chore in the written word is subject to reflection
what do you see?

Brian Hill - 2020 # 218
What do you see?
Andy Chunn Jul 2020
Overgrowths of arm-post life
Lift upward as my steam-breath
Vanishes thinly into the sky.

Cool sweat drips deliberately
As the stacks grow larger
And the sawdust smells and sticks.

The wagon-load will wallow obediently
As the frost bites cleanly
Through the still winter dusk.

Ash white smoke curls softly
From the cut-stone chimney
Where a portrait of simplicity
Sleeps eternally in my mind.
Serene May 2020
The kitchen is a war zone
A bomb explosion
Wading through the mess of dishes
like sailing across the polluted ocean
They’re stacked practically to the roof
I can no longer ignore the ugly truth
The proof of all the days I’ve already been through
This bowl is from two weeks ago
Good god where did the time go?
I let this mess get piled up
24 hours in a day is not enough
There’s so much to do I don’t know where to start
Maybe it’s best if I break into parts
Turn on the water
Give it time to get properly hot
The sink begins to fill
The water is overflowing
Dishes spill
What am I gonna do?
Now its not one mess but two
The floor is flooded
The sink isn’t draining
I’m slipping and falling
Frantically trying to stop it
But I don’t know the first thing
about fixing a broken faucet
Sabila Siddiqui Apr 2018
Passions, pleasure now feel like a chore,
making my life a bore
and my mind sore.
Tick, tock
Time is valuable
panic rises,
for there is a mental rigid routine to abide by.
But now my soul wears a dress,
which is stress.
Watching shows, self care and reading books
which once upon a time used to be relaxation,
have now become a cross off a to do list.
Losing interest in my mundane life,
I find my breath meaningless,
waking up pointless and have  
life just drag my corpse with time.
There are mountains;
burdening my mind and scraping my heart.
A soul of a robot is what I have,
except that I have a voice that complains
and ears that hear commands,
creating havoc on my mood and mind.
All what I loved, became
‘have to’ and ‘should do’,
a daunting tasks
requiring more effort than it did before.
Life seem drudgery and draining to wake up to.

But It was all about approach and perception.
Digging deeper with why,
I found reasons and meaning behind my life.
It was about relishing in the process,
rather than completing them.
In the errands for others; I searched for joy of my own.
Unleashing creativity in daily mundane activities,
it did not seem robotic no more.
Rediscovering happiness and enthusiasm,
making it interesting by sharing and snapping,
I set lose from the chains of my routine by reinvigorating spontaneity.
For what felt like burden, wasn’t meant to be felt like a burden.
Nylee Apr 2018
We never took more
never took any less
of our share
for our hunger
when everyone stared
it is rightfully ours.
Long before
we were
the beggars,
When we had nothing
no more,
did millions of tiny chores.
We were wronged
no one shared,
we looked at them
gave them pitiful stare,
we wanted the same care
and now that we
climbed the ladder
we are no better
that we are having
our healthy dinner,
there is someone
rising upper
working under the sun
this summer
and maybe
we were wrong
and someone knew it better.
Jessica Jarvis Mar 2018
People throw words around like
Love, kiss, and embrace....
But they aren’t ones to commit
To the dreams they claim to chase.

They run and hide from the monster
Hiding beneath their bed,
And claim their peace is found
In the one resting their pillow head.

The sun rises, a new day begins,
The coffee pours, and work resides,
While the feeling for another one’s touch
Is the first thing that subsides.

We throw around words
like penniless wishes.
“I love you, babe”,
But you can’t do the dishes.

Walk the dog, wash the car,
Go to dinner, visit the store,
Search the shelves for carbohydrate fulfillment,
Finish the bag, and still want more.

Unthankful, unsatisfied,
Disloyal, dishonest.
Forget all the memories,
While they were the fondest

Because if you were to repeat their “mistakes”
You just may find yourself bored.
Things like love, a kiss, or an embrace
Only become a chore.

People are the weirdest sometimes. People break up and make up so quickly.... I don’t understand it, honestly, so I write about it. Meanwhile, others move from one thing to the next and can’t make up their mind. I dunno. This is also kind of a spoken word, I suppose. Enjoy!
Samantha Dec 2017
One, two, three, four,
Look who's here at the door!
Five, six, seven, eight,
I hope it's them, they're pretty late-
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Their coat goes up on the shelves.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
I hope they see a guillotine.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,
Now they're here, I'll hurt them plenty.

No use counting any more,
It's just making my brain quite sore.
I simply had to tell you more
Of they who turned life into war.
Made happy thinking quite a chore,
Right at my face they swore and swore.
Everything nice, hidden in a drawer,
Or scattered everywhere, all over the floor.
May someday beach up upon the shore,
May I fall asleep without a snore.
A person who may or may not exist.
Harmony Nov 2015
Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner

Oh I'd start way back in the south corner
Where the old cabin shed stores the rake
Thinks she of her afternoon's tedious chore
Wishing that she could set the piles on fire

Alas, it's dreaded to have outdoor fire
For fear it would burn down more than you desire
Back where I'm from that would be campfire
Here I'd better bag'em for easy transfer

Stepping onto leaves thinking of raking them later
Ocean of dry leaves posing the question to her
Where would you start, pretty miss of yonder
How would you finish it all before dinner
Ashley Grey Nov 2015
All that I done for you
So many I cannot count
I hope you'd care for me too
But my wishes, to you didn't amount
The energy I spent, I time I gave
You took, oh so eagerly
But it was your turn, you saved
And hid everything selfishly
Is it wrong to ask the same
Or if not a little more?
Do you think my love's a game?
Why is giving such a chore?

Perhaps I've been blinded to see
All your self-conceitedness
In truth, you never loved me
A thief of love and innocence
mk Aug 2015
saturday night dates
turn to tv dinners

you forget when the last time
he surprised you with roses was

you no longer wake up
to make him breakfast before work

he no longer calls you
in the middle of the day
unless, of course,
it's to remind you to pick up his laundry

dressing up
is limited to social gatherings
you're in your jammies when he gets home

*** becomes routine
it's no longer passionate, more like a tiresome duty

your **** lingerie is pushed to the back of the closet
& truthfully, he doesn't seem to care much

you'd rather be on the phone
than talking to each other

you don't crave him the way you did
he's no longer interested in the world inside your head

"how was work?" "fine"
"how are you?" "okay"

he tells you he loves you
but it doesn't mean much anymore

honestly speaking, its all become a bore
being with him just means more chores

i guess that's the thing about love
it wears out
*the magic can only last so long
// like colors that fade away in the sunlight, they're nothing special like they used to be //
Next page