Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dee Jan 25
Socks are mismatched,
Often one is lost,
Waiting to find it's match,
That has been vanquished by the washing machine.

We fight over that one lost sock,
Blaming each other,
Calling into question,
Our ability to wash each other's laundry.

Back and forth we go,
Fighting over socks,
Searching the washing machine,
For that one lost sock

I'm left staring,
The ****** washing machine still open,
Wondering why we're fighting,
Over missing and lost socks,

When all I really want,
Is to see your missing and mismatched socks,
Resting next to mine,
In the hollow drawer.
clear conscience Jul 2020
this is how the poetry bows out



the tying of the tongue,
fingertips are shaved, nubbed,
heart seized, it rhyming ceased,
veins are dammed, arteries blocked,
the emotional fled, to a wild wind wed,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the remainders, sticky stuck, viscous,
through small pore filters they leak,
with the soap and the sins, all drained,
the shower uses holy water to no avail,
this is how the poetry bows down ‘n out

the brain cognitions loss, realizing a release
ending, time sensitized, the mantelpiece badly
cracked, each of the body’s words in reliquaries hidden,
the other worldly acquaintances greet him joyously,
commence a choir chant, a motet centuries old,

this, this! is how the poetry bows out
clear conscience Jun 2020
oscillating between extremes

the seesaw tilts, slamming the body into hurtful,
no genteel daisy picking, nope, love me, love me not,
the mind playing warped ideologies, you, tossed about

I want her; all men do; the rapture is coming, her eyes,
preach to the converted and the soon-to-be; join her,
her semi-colon smile, represents a hell of near-completion!

discourse, pleadings, all for naught, she, teacher/grader,
A or F, frenzied thrown to the ground, her lips say oops,
but we know, a throwing intentional, a mastery of reminder!

barbs of  batting eyelids, whipping tongue tips reveal daggers,
woe is me, whoa I plead, there is no mercies extant, instead, we
oscillate up and down, tween extremes, I need her, can’t have her!

I hate her! and myself, for myself, I love her so, my hate for her is less
than our mutual mocking of me...

————

we oscillate between extremes, at least, we are together...
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2020
Sometimes clouds
Sometimes rain

Sometimes a little gray
to wash away
the inhumane
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2020
Days at home and I have started hearing things,
My furniture and home appliances seem to talk to me.
My bed says "Come and lie down,
Enjoy tea in me,"
My pillows say,"Hug us,relax everything is going to be fine.
As I entered the kitchen my toaster jumped up to warn me of my wife's mood,
Too late, we started arguing and the vacuum told me to **** it up,
To make matters worse the washing machine put a different spin on everything.
The T.V and my mobile threatened to die if I did not give them rest,
Furious I banged the front door,
The door **** advised me to get a grip,
But the door screamed I was unhinged,
At that my fan soothingly said it would soon blow over,
At last the curtains ordered me to pull myself together.
4/4/2020
Was lockdown can play havoc on your mind.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2019
I know there are chores to be done
Laundry pile is growing large and looming
The corner of my room overcrowded
Bin sits and as I wait it's blooming

I fear there be dishes in the sink
If I listen close I can hear
Cry out my name shamelessly
I try not to get too near

I am not blind to the layer of dust
All objects on my bedside table
Mom wasn't lying when she remarked
"This coated house is disgusting!"
"It looks like a stable!"

But don't feel like doing anything
Washing dishes
Or clothes
Or cleaning
I think I'll just lose myself
Some deeper meaning
Written 9/4/12
neth jones Nov 2019
fall from the lies

you've pinched yourself poor

fall from the lies

they are no nesting place

fall from the lies

thrive

from your dormancy

shudder off your sleep state

regain your currency

fall from your lies

and the famine of all this 'luxury'
Steve Page Aug 2019
Not waving, but drying.
Not surrender, but hope.
Not a reckless abandon
to the uncaring elements,
but a careful reading of the gusts,
of the distant clouds,
of any sign of coming gales.

Not waving, but drying
by a canny application
of my mother's oversized,
double applied,
long-legged, wooden pegs.

Not waving, but drying
by lunchtime.
Inspired by Dot Walker Art
The Optimist. https://en-gb.facebook.com/dotwalkerart/
Next page