#cleanliness
how washed am i ?
how washed do i need to be ?
ask the icy river
Dec 19, 2025
Dec 19, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
Attributes of the walking stick
hung around like charity shop clothing -
bagged and ready to go
It was a switch that had truely altered time again
(\ - this is not poetry it is gospel.)and a shower which managed to scrub off a few inches of the ***** dirt
a sectre of a cultural conversation
that stands for nothing
whether i'm ***** again ot not.
The chip shop gave me free water, and i just considered myself lucky at the time
but its starting to make me more suspicious now
and not in the way that i've seen my whole teenage and further years as a massive xenephobia crime made to seem more convincing through dehydration
Feb 24, 2025
Feb 24, 2025 at 5:06 AM UTC
Hymn to an Art-o-matic Laundromat
by Michael R. Burch
after Richard Thomas Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer”
O, terrible-immaculate
ALL-cleansing godly Laundromat,
where cleanliness is next to Art
—a bright Kinkade (bought at K-Mart),
a Persian rug (made in Taiwan),
a Royal Bonn Clock (time zone Guam)—
embrace my *** in cushioned vinyl,
erase all marks: **** vaginal,
****** inkspot, red wine, dirt.
O, sterilize her skirt, my shirt,
my skidmarked briefs, her padded bra;
suds-away in your white maw
all filth, the day’s accumulation.
Make us pure by INUNDATION.
Published by The Oldie, where it was the winner of a poetry contest. This poem was inspired by the incongruence of discovering "works of art" while doing laundry at a laundromat with coin-operated washers and dryers. I was reminded of the experience while reading Richard Moore’s “Hymn to an Automatic Washer.” Keywords/Tags: hymn, art, America, Americana, laundry, laundromat, washer, dryer, appliances, clean, cleaning, cleanliness, clothes, clothing, underwear, god, godly, godliness, water, baptism, inundation, sonnet, analogy, humor
Nov 28, 2021
Nov 28, 2021 at 11:50 PM UTC
my mother always cleaned
it was her thing
more than hobbies
more than friends
erasing every previous day
it's accidents
it's happenings
little hand prints
adorn my walls
pencil scribblings
from budding Leonardos
and when I pass the second stair
a stain on carpet
from God knows where
I live the past everyday
making new futures
along the way.
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
*
*In running water
She prepares her healing hands
Work upon the sick*
*
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:46 AM UTC
how disturbingly insidious you are.
you must hate me, don't you?
i mean who are you?!
you're playing tricks on me like crazy. that's for certain. and if anything is for certain in our drug-plagued country, then it is this certainty: that you ― the child-like dictator ― want to rule over me.
let me explain to the reader why i am saying so:
an hour ago, i was taking my son to kindergarten. closely to the chest my little daughter eden; sleeping in a baby carrier.
after i had dropped off my son, ideas for new poems were going through my head.
i eventually decided to write a poem on drugs, written from the perspective of various mind-altering substances.
well. fine.
i got home. my wife took eden out from the baby carrier. i was ready to write. only one cigarette first. smoking on the balcony. don't need my kids to inhale toxical fog. and don't need to know them about my smoking habit.
suddenly, out of the blue (no: out of the dark) ―
out of the dark, you made my heart beating faster. my heart was racing. my heart was banging against my chest.
secretly, you creeped through the area between skin and soul.
seconds later, you made it somehow to reach my mind.
inside my head, you were not saying anything. i don't hear voices and i'm not crazy. (that's the second certainty i am gaining from writing this poem.)
you're not a talker, child-like dictator. you're a quiet addict, depressed and scared to speak with others. because you do fear people, closeness and love. you fear them so much that you want to do drugs in order to feel something else than fear. and to numb how afraid of love you are.
a poor creature you are. but your attempt to ****** me quietly today: it failed.
and you know why? because i have friends. and many of these friends have been struggling with their own dictatorships. feel me.
i won't let you make my decisions.
gonna stay clean.
for me. for my family.
adios amigo. don't pressure me like you do. try to love me as i love you.
try to love.
try to.
try.
mikey
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
We need a Cleanser
To clean the Air
To clean the Water
To clean the Atmosphere
To clean the Soil
We need a Cleanser
To clean the Minds
To clean the Thoughts
To clean the Hearts
To clean the Souls
We also need a Blender
To Blend all these properly
And transform the world
Into a better place to live in
With Peace, Harmony and Luxury
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
exfoliate sin
resolve pores of pollution
; secretion exhaust
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 9:26 AM UTC
I wandered for a moment, surrounded by the white tunnel
In which I smelt the metallic tang from stainless steel
Travelling in the open air.
Glancing, I saw the disarray: nurses dashing in assistance, paramedics charging through the gaping doors with emergency cases
And doctors immersed in the plight to save lives.
I slid a door open,
Discovering an image so brief and profound,
A man, varnished with red, ached as it
Dripped through his hair -
Hesitantly, he settled sideways,
You could see his hurts were spinal.
He had fallen from an engine,
Dragged along the grating metals,
And as he lay, half sentient -
To his bed came a woman,
Who stood and sighed,
Her lips were writhen
As the sun had risen.
How desolate it was,
As she lied near the thundering waterfall of his heart,
Only to realise,
They were on the eve of their marriage.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
She liked the taste
of cheese...
But yours tasted off,
as she gagged..
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
An angel cloaked in black.
A crystalised sinner.
But I watch over a pure being.
Someone who can't be dirtied.
Not by filth or other humans.
A completely clean entity.
I wish for revenge against God.
The cruel God who abandoned me.
Who reinforced rules.
That only help him in the end.
So I combine my filthy soul.
With a clean vessel.
Me and the purity.
We become one.
A sinner cloaked in black.
A venomous angel.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
To stand alone on a distant shore
My being stricken with love and grief
The soul, it sings, of lost amore
and beckons back a loving thief
Like petals- surfing, on cold night air
Moonlight- drizzles through the dark,
The moon- it offers a wicked stare
and echoes the acid that fills the heart
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
We all have to daily eat and drink and also **** and ****
there isn't anything else more basic or common than this,
except a vital need to rest and get some adequate sleep
as the rigours of life take their toll on the body we keep.
Let's not forget the all-important function of breathing to stay alive
which depends so much on various conditions for anyone to thrive
and is the main ingredient for every creature's life on this world;
regardless of anything else it determines how well they're swirled.
We also have a need to keep our bodies and clothes clean
as our daily activities produce sweat and odour that is seen
and can be smelt from a distance which isn't very pleasant
making us wonder if a person noticed with is just a peasant.
There is also an inherent urge to love and be loved in return
which is what makes life worth living for those who discern,
and the very curious thought as to why we've been born at all
or the reason for our existence on this planet Earth we so call.
-----------------------------------------------
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC