"chores" poems
Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
You've vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world.
As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.
56.2k
He pulled and parked the supply red wagon,
then climbed the mast to the captain's cabin.
Captain Red is ready for adventure.
A quest to collect the world's best treasure.
His pirate crew is renowned far and wide.
They're rough and tough and they don't ever cry.
But none of them boys has the captain's stuff.
So don't mess with him, man, cause he don't bluff.
This motley crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
whales, whirlpools, storms, mermaids, krakens and kings.
"Set sail," squaws the boss as he munches lunch
and the Ocean Destroyer leaves port Wunche.
These rolling green hills are now ocean waves.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Benjamin!" beams the first mate Susanne.
Impeding the journey that just began.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The first mate trumps the captain, Ben will learn.
...
Her spacesuit crew is renowned far and wide.
They're smart and nice and they don't ever lie.
But none of these girls has commander's stuff.
So don't mess with her, girl, cause she don't bluff.
This brainy crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
aliens, black holes, stars, and martian springs.
"Lift off!" beams the boss as she munches lunch
and the Star Chasing Rocket leaves base Wunche.
These rural backyards are now rocky space.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Susanne!" beams the pilot Benjamin.
Impeding the flight before it begins.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The pilot trumps commander, Sue will learn.
...
Boys and girls grow up and out the front door.
Those children’s games evolve to adult chores;
those kiddy lawns to grandparent’s domain.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges
most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs
vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores
hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark
schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen
businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve
I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year
or were it better
that we also took a rest?
* * *
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Sundays on the ranch are somethin',
Just after morning chores are done,
I head up to the house on a dead run,
I've called the herd and put the buckets out,
Fed the chickens, called the horse, "Old Son,"
Heard the rooster yammering at the rising sun;
Old dog is baying loud to add some fun....
Meanwhile, at the house,
The wife has rattled up the kids and lined em out,
When I come in, they clear the bathroom out,
So I can get a shave and morning shower,
And off we'll head to church in half an hour.
Or so we think....
It's then the neighbor calls to say our milk cow's swinging by,
Bell clanking off-step time to her butter-churning udder,
"She's headed north toward town!" he chortles mirth,
"Maybe she wants to hear old Pastor Perth!" I mutter.
All jokes aside, I hang the phone and grab my cap,
We pile in the truck to try and get her back....
We have a chance if we can turn her 'round above the hill....
Why is it Sundays sweet Dolly becomes such a pill?
A simple rule of nature I wish I could avoid,
Is if a plan is put in place, as sure as Lloyd,
Our Guernsey chooses then to go out on a spree,
And Pastor Perth in town prays extra hard for me.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Men were considered to excel in education,
But now women are taking up the tradition,
Excelling in arts, science and commerce,
Women have really made competition fierce.
For household chores,
Women were considered,
But now you see,
Sunita Williams flying high on earth.
So let us all bear in mind,
That women are never behind,
They can conquer any situation,
By showing sheer determination.
Educate your girl child,
So that she can fight her right,
Make her very strong,
So that she can distinguish right and wrong.
~Farheen zehra
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
A friend so good before,
Turned into a foe.
Now, he holds a cellphone,
And wears wrinkled brows.
Comes his textmate's reply,
And he would flash a smile.
But when I dare to talk,
He would give a tiger look.
No more time for a conversation,
Just busy pressing the keys of his phone.
Oh, I wish I had a magic,
Break the phone and make him sick.
His money instead for the food,
He will use it for the load,
And feels so uneasy,
When words "low battery" display.
Chores at home left undone,
Waiting for a hardworking someone,
'Cause the "busy" person assigned,
Is tired of thinking a nonsense reply.
Dear friend, what have you got?
You know you changed a lot,
Have you taken the "poison"
Of your stupid cellphone?
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails -
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves -
and becomes a naked hand again.
12k
Already over the sea from her old spouse she comes,
the blonde goddess whose frosty wheels bring day.
Why do you hurry, Aurora? Hold off, so may the birds
shed ritual blood each year for Memnon's shade.
Now it's good to lie in my mistress's tender arms;
if ever, now it's good to feel her near.
Now drowsiness is richest, the morning air is cool,
and birds sing shrilly from their tender throats.
Why do you hurry, dreaded by men and dreaded by girls?
Draw back your dewy reins with your crimson hand.
The sailor marks the stars more clearly before you rise,
not raoming aimlessly across the sea;
the traveller, though weary, arises when you come,
and the soldier sets his savage hand to arms;
you're first to see the farmers wield their heavy hoes
and to call slow oxen under the curving yoke;
you rob boys of their sleep and give them over to schools,
where tender hands must bear the savage switch;
and you send reckless fools to pledge themselves in court,
where they take ruinous losses through one word;
the lawyer and the pleader take no delight in you,
for each must rise and wrangle with new torts;
and you ensure that women's chores are never done,
calling the spinner's hands back to her wool.
All this I'd bear; but who would bear that girls must rise
at dawn, unless himself he has no girl?
How many times I've wished Night would not yield to you,
the stars not fade and flee before your face!
How many times I've wished the wind would smash your wheels,
your steeds would stumble on a cloud and fall!
Jealous, why do you hurry? If your son is black,
it's since his mother's heart is that same color.
How I wish Tithonus could still tell tales of you:
no goddess would be more disgraced in heaven.
Since he is endless eons old, you rise and flee
at dawn to the chariot the old man hates,
but if some Cephalus were lying in your arms,
you'd cry out, 'O run slowly, steeds of night! '
Why should this lover pay, if your husband withers with age?
Was I the matchmaker who brought him to you?
Remember how much sleep was given to her loved youth
by Luna - and she's beautiful as you.
The father of gods himself, to see you all the less,
joined two nights into one for his desires.
I'd finished my complaint. You could tell she'd heard: she blushed;
and yet the day rose at its usual time.
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Hazy half-light mornings interspersed with giddy sleep
Silent showers and quick grooming
Breakfast maybe, chores and work and walking in my slippers.
Afternoons tense with labor and stress
Broken up by slow-falling meditative mind rain
And usually Fall Out Boy in my ears.
Quickdark evenings.
No light.
Demons aren't occupied with being scared of being burned.
Staying up until god only knows and then some
Laying in the dark and feeling panic
Ice bones, fire veins, a noose around my throat
And not even in a **** way.
Shaking, teeth chatter, eyes roll, spin, turn, off the bed.
Sit on the floor. Lay down. Room's spinning.
Stumble to the dresser.
Grab the cure.
Illegal cure, no one knows anymore.
Dulled by use, old when taken, press harder.
Crimson bubbles, drips, rolls and stains.
Demons lap it up, whisper thanks, leave.
Sun comes up, lay in the half light.
Fall asleep giddy with pain.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
Running amok black bellies of hail-clouds
divest their hard cargo
on near-ready harvest and thunder claps
in spiteful applause.
Scudding sails of racing white galleons
arrive to the rescue
and change weather's position as quiet
breaches gale's disorder.
Setting the sun throws magenta feathers
across dark horizon
and to settle the issue parades jade tints
as the landscape transforms.
Waiting small boats plod homewards in
fish-laden formation
while wives run to stoke hot-kettled fires
of ready bath water.
Lighting a pathway half-moon winks as
heavier catches in
hauled nets silver the harbour and men
start night's final performance.
Sating hunger with coming and going
sow-and-reap women know
the meaning of sharing male labour in
scaling and salting chores.
Fisher-folks' world begins and ends
with the vagaries and quirks of weather.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
"Go to the pool."
"Ride your bike for once."
"Go to the gym with your friends."
"Play in the park."
"You can't eat **** like that and expect to not gain any weight."
"Get off your **** and stop being lazy."
"Why can't you be more active?"
"You're such a ******
*Why do you always pick on me? I try to do those things but when you leave a list of chores that take 6 hours, its not like I can do much. All while I'm babysitting your children. I just wish I could be the "skinny" daughter that you want. I'm comfortable in my body until you say these things. Then when I start to feel better, you knock me down again.*
Should I stop eating all together and finally give you,
Skinny?
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
"You're wasting your time."
Familiar line, I'm sure;
Leisure, time you take pleasure
In wasting, fighting off chores
With scores of swords forged in
Words, nouns and verbs, you argue
"I've nought to do, work's been,
I've earned it!" The frayed border between
Toil and sleep, 'spare time',
Your crime is laziness, sloth;
The clock – time's warden – watching
As your lies thicken like simmering broth;
The monitor melts your eyes into half-smiles,
"Wasted time, your pastime,"
A degree in procrastination, hesitation
To face – "the clock, the time!"
The moon hides behind the horizon,
Your fingers flurry, too late to hurry
Out the piece you left so late.
"Wasted time" stinks like left-over curry,
Let it permeate your nostrils; exhale blame
As you **** in the shame that you've failed.
Cradle the melted clock, warm butter,
Spread it onto toast, yellow trails
Crying "why?" Place it between guilty lips
And chew; the taste's bitter.
"It's raining today."
Pitter patter, patter pitter.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Walgreens pharmacy girl
your upturned nose and your hair pulled back
here to pick up my prescription and a snack
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Ive been coming here for years
and every time I leave the drive-thru I'm in tears
Walgreens pharmacy girl
For so long, I've loved you from afar
yet still I have no idea who you are
That's Berger, B-E-R-G-E-R
Walgreens pharmacy girl
My date of birth again? I would have already memorized yours
I'd remember our anniversary, put the toilet seat down and do chores
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Am I anything to you besides another bottle of pills?
I have to know now because not knowing just kills
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Will you refill my prescription for love?
Basking in a pharmaceutical moonlight, under the stars above
Walgreens pharmacy girl
I need a cure for what ails me
You've given me a fever and I'm feeling a bit dizzy
Walgreens pharmacy girl
No, I don't have any questions for the doctor, but I have two for you
What time do you get off? And what time would you like to?
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
I L U like my ***** clothes
Love being forgotten
On my bedroom floor
I L U like chores love the
music that helps them
forget they're chores
I L U like ***** dishes
Love hot showers and
the other side of the sink
I L U like I love spilling
Salt, and warding off the evil,
By tossing some behind my back
I L U like I love
Breaking rules about
my own supposed
non-Superstition
I L U like black cats love
Bad luck, cause to them,
It's just Friday, you know?
I L U like the hot dog bun
Loves staring at the beef patty,
Wishing "if only, if only"
I L U like bread loves
Being forgotten till we're really hungry
And then we're all ungrateful, like
"Hey bread, you remember us?"
And bread is high above us, like
"Always."
Not even a hint of scorn
I L U like the first time I saw
Jurassic Park, The dinosaurs
Were real enough
sans chicken feathers, and
Who needs modern science anyways
when love has no fossil records?
I L U like the weather loves
Surprise parties.
I L U like painful
surprise party memories love
being forgotten on my bedroom floor
I love you like Mayflies love living,
oh so briefly, once a day, every single day,
Chapter one to chapter none
I love you like mayflies love themselves,
brevity and all, stirred by nothing but
the glow of Dawn's light,
Dead by dusk, the Mayfly never
knows its final form.
It dies
in complete
incompletion,
but that's okay.
It drank the salt ocean,
it breathed the living air,
And that's how I want to L U
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
Children should obey their parents because that was what Jesus did.
Christ our Lord obeyed his parents every command when he was a kid.
Even though Jesus was perfect, he obeyed his imperfect parents because it was the right thing to do.
Children should strive to be like Jesus, they should obey their parents too.
When parents give their children chores and rules, it is for their own good.
If children are wondering if they should obey their parents, yes, they should.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
Hoe's always begging for more;
Spoiled lil ***** ****** me dry, what a *****
I got ******* and hoes to "feed";
My big *** **** is all they need.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
There's a chill in the air and wind 'neath your boots
There's clouds in the sky and trees with roots
If all were to fall onto your crying head,
Would you carry it home or lie down dead?
The strength you have defines your choice
Will you whimper and cry or show your voice?
Through sorrow and pain and happiness and joy
You either run and hide from all those you employ
Or show them what you're made of inside
For what you do becomes who you have to hide
Not what you say with fury or a gentle tone
But the actions you take when you're all alone
When you're down and out, almost recluse
And you feel as if you have no use
If you still get up and challenge yourself
You will become prisoner to no one else
There's a song in the air and dirt 'neath your boots
A song that carries on down to your roots
Back from the days of no chores or worry
When nothing was done in any sort of hurry
You can hear these words in the back of your mind
And it takes you back to a simpler time
These little moments, spontaneous and surreal
Show you how you can always feel
Feel good and joyous even through the worst
When tired and hungry, they give you thirst
These little moments are found throughout life
They can break you free from worldly strife
And these things define who you were before
And change who you are to forever something more
Harkening back to when you were innocent and clean
Can make you try your best to better your scene
Your moments in life are yours to keep
When daydreaming or your lost in sleep
The worst will come and so will the best
The dark before the dawn always sets to the west
You can succumb to the pain that comes with years
Or you can fight back the stress and fight back the tears
Through everything that comes your way
Only you can change how you live out your stay
Others will come and others will leave
But what holds together is what you believe
Strength is within and without you
Within is taken while without is beside you
Hold onto a grain of meaningless sand
And notice how it's light in your hand
Just for that moment it's harmless and vain
But if you hold on forever it builds into pain
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
I'm bored, as bored as someone can be
I'm bored, running circles around my thoughts like a bumble bee
I'm bored, with every breath I take
I'm bored, and boredom is the only thing in people that couldn't be fake
Fake smiles you throw
Yet your fake smiles don't work because you still look like a crow
Fake laughs so high
You think high pitch can make the time fly?
Fake faces you reveal
You eat up on lies like a happy meal…
Fake body you wear every day,
Yet at the end of the time, no one's interested in your body made of clay
Fake gazes, fake stairs
Fake intentions climbing up the stairs
Fake jewelry, fake phone
This is a list of fake I could always go one
Fake hearts, fake emotions
Fake intimacy, fake devotions
Fake marriages, fake divorce
Fake sympathy and fake remorse
Fake empathy, fake duty and chores…
Your lies are fake, which makes them true
But again, your truth is fake too!
Fake thoughts fake you
Fake thoughts fake you
I will go back to being bored, for boredom is the only thing that's right
Fake rights make you go left; fake lefts take you out of sight
Fake lives you lead a head of you, but you can't get your fake boredom that's why I cherish my boredom so much
Fake groups of happy, you're not happy, you're just a fake ignorant bunch
I'll go back to my boredom for it gives me a sense of sanity
And takes me a bit away from your fake ego and vanity
Fake hugs fake care
Fake lungs of fake air
I'll go back to my boredom, for my boredom is unique
And my boredom made me realize how fake you are as we speak…
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
God willing, she said,
Looking at the dwindling garden flowers
This winter we’ll have blooms of marigold.
Her clayed hands some smudged on her face
They speak of her hard stolen recess
From the grinding chores of running a family
And still when the wind turns cold
Dream for beds of marigold!
God willing
Before her dream’s warmth fades
The garden will be blooming with marigold beds.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
We always smile,
When we meet again.
We hug so tight,
In plain sight,
We escaped from a cruel exile
we ran from our daily chores.
We always smile,
As through all our pores,
When we meet again.
With our hands clenched
Not wanting to ever let go,
Then side by side
We start to go,
To nowhere.
Usually, I always stumble
On invisible rocks,
But when we walk like that,
Side by side,
With hands clenched,
To nowhere,
You are the one
Who stumbles now
And we laugh in unison.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
P-Postponing all those things until another time
R-Rostering them for attention down the track
O-Offering all sorts of excuses stalls one's climb
C-Constantly one defers the mounting job stack
R-Repeatedly ignoring their pealing bell chimes
A-Acting upon them requires an assertive knack
S-Still one avers in responding to their rhymes
T-Taking not a step forward nor any back
I-Initiative and get in and do it isn't one's paradigm
N-Never does one heed their ever tolling clacks
A-Always sitting in an idle non moving show time
T-The day shall arrive with a great waking whack
I-Into motion one shall soon be called to climb
O-On one's toes the chores are waiting in the rack
N-No more disregarding the many sounding chimes
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
My mother kept a singing bird, just for herself
In the kitchen
By the door
In a cage.
She fed it herself
and talked to it
at 68.
What woman speaks to a bird,
perhaps one who knows
and understands.
All the peaks and trills,
the notes of song
she heard.
She knew its moods
and tunes, she sang along.
Their ritual of conversing
while washing up
and dry with dishcloth
or cooking
or baking her special recipe
apple pie.
Every night, she covered the cage
with a blanket
to keep warm the singing bird and
so the kitchen light would
not disturb
and in the morning,
she took it off again.
Then with silence broken
by welcome twitter,
she would tell
her grey and black wonder
of her plans whilst at chores.
When at elevenses,
she sat near the door
with hot tea and cookie,
she'd offer crumbs
stare ahead, a dreamy smile.
One day the bird died
and into her dishcloth,
she cried.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
Assignment after assignment
10, no 12, for math
2 lessons for English
2 movies and a sheet of questions for each for journalism
1 weekly question and 1 lesson for biology
A lesson and questions about textbook pages for Spanish
A workout log for P.E.
1 nonfiction piece and 10-15 poems for creative writing
All due when?
By the end of the week for math
By the end of the week for English
By the end of the week for journalism
By the end of the week for biology
By the end of the week for Spanish
By yesterday for the nonfiction piece for Creative Writing
And who knows when for those poems for Creative writing
Get the grades up
Get the grades up
No matter what the cost
No matter what the pain
And get the chores done
At least 4 a day
Write down everything you do along the line
Timecards, what's next?
Shower, time it just right
Work around the other people
Don't mess around
Waste away
Obey
Get the grades up
Get the grades up
No matter what
Don't be dreamy and strut
Smack you to the ground
Get down from the clouds
Back to reality
Straight As only
Nothing less
Everything more
Or who knows what's going out the door
Maybe something you love
Maybe your sanity
Get the grades up
Keep your head up
Don't slip up
Keep your head up
Smile on, smiles on!
Don't argue, they always win
It creeps beneath your skin
Make it stay there
Bite your tongue
Until it bleeds
No matter what the cost
Remember?
It's all in your head, of course,
Besides the grades,
THOSE ARE REAL
There's no making a deal
Get the grades up
Get the grades up
Straight As and nothing less
Nothing left either, until you're a horrid mess
Just Scattered.
- Jay M
May 6th, 2020
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 10:36 PM UTC
Though in dexterity my physically challenged carpenter father,
Than the physically fit proves better,as a source to his anger,
With contemporaries a level ground he enjoyed never!
From late childhood there was one thing that me used to bother, why my so discriminated father
On his turn true to cultural dictates,ill treats my domestic chores saddled mother
And heeds not her say though by the sweat of their brow
As responsible parents they were happily bringing my sister and I together?
I still wonder why ,why ,why my sister who has IQ
On par with me if not better,to help out mother
Suffering a cold shoulder even by her mom was denied the right to pursue education further
While I was given a chance to prove a man of letter(s)?
I remember, crossing many a pool, barefooted, I used to trek
A long distance to a nearby town's a school,
Where for my provincial and shabby clothes I was seen a fool
By the relatively rich in showing courtesy far from cool.
Though stationery they didn't lack , sad,I had a hand tied behind my back.
Alas,up on joining campus where I yearned for the sagacious a chance
There too in my class,I was looked down by students
Hailing from families of the top brass.
When I went abroad for a higher education enjoying fellowship and donation
Worse still, I met many, colour has coloured whose vision.
Ironically my dissertation was drawing attention
To why should the broad mass be standers by
And with ill-fate marked die
While the favoured ,racist and the corrupt few gobble over 3/4 of the pie? /
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC