"domestics" poems
The Eastern wind blows and comes at such a slant,
that you can never, get out of the way, it is tantamount
both parties were in the wrong, standing in the way.
Dubai the insurance state
fifty fifty blame
what a game
shame over
honor,
terrorize the tourists,
workers, from domestics (imported)
for every hotel in sight
to oil patch imports,
oh the money,
as if it is worth the risk!
Good bye Dubai
Good bye, **** is not a male right,
the victim is a victim shamed already
by the act do not add to their plight
by dividing the blame,
your wealth enables bad
behavior with a religious fervor,
common sense,
common decency,
tells me to believe her.
Good bye Dubai, as pretty and
a delight to the eyes, you want the world
to see, I forgive you for your injustice
to an innocent like she.
©ClemC072013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
they had big yards and driveways
but there were no lemonade stands or ice cream trucks
the tractors drove through the middle of town
the people didn't use sidewalks or drugs
they drank dollar domestics and never passed algebra
and there wasn't a gallon of whiskey to be had
there weren't any transvestites either
the people had seven children and not one job
they walked on two jiffy store feet
and had only half as many teeth.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
I write because I have
no talent. I wind up
cooking for reasons
all the same. Relegate
me to solemn, lonely
domestics. Is it worse
even still you call me
Sir? Or is it ****** up
that I care? Well,
how dare you,
Shitlord.
How dare
You.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:02 PM UTC
balancing now first time, although the coins don’t quite
fit the tray, using the pointed pen, keeping neatly.
have done this a while, got the rhythm,
the style of dressage and deportment
for one of our station.
i don’t have a badge, so
look with confidence, courage
so they know. i quickly
fold tidily, imagine i am japanese
and check my hips in the showroom mirror.
i work on sundays, except
when i go on thursday.
so being monday, now
i change the bed.
carry on with the domestics.
sbm.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
a small village, mayhap a hamlet, named,
one forgets the rules with all that has happened.
domestics done, we walk over to buy two pots
of pansies, a pound for both , money for charity.
nice to be out, to see the neighbours’ houses,
to see what has changed while i have been working.
not much.
late light brings photographs, wandering the graveyard,
yew berries abound. bird bones ready to gather, to box.
i thought of your disorder.
did you leave your hat?
sbm.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
the girls I danced with
I never wrote songs about
the girls I kissed under bursts of fireworks
I never won carnival prizes for
the girls I entered the sheets with
I never made a deeper connection
the girls who gave me their best
I never understood their motives
and I wondered where they all went and
why we parted ways like cathedral doors
and why they took the hand of other monsters and vanished into the night.
I was too naive to notice
all the red flags waving behind me
and too dense to turn around
and open my eyes.
but now I face this dry vacancy
and I see they’re
intertwined with their domestics
constricted with their marriages
taunting their husbands
commanding their boyfriends
obsessed with their photo albums
cramming belief and guidance into their children
its the same unabridged story
told over and over
and over and over
again.
I too, sit with this adverse outcome:
this one wants me to quit drinking
and that one wants me on a diet
and this one wants me to get a better job
and that one wants me to exercise more.
I’ve never been one to rest on my laurels,
but as I lay down in this bed with this one
like so many buried cold beneath the Earth,
I can’t stop thinking of those angels from my past that have flown off into other heavens.
I was never deserving
of their time nor
their presence
and I am neither
here nor
there.
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 10:52 AM UTC
Kirsteen closed the door
of the toilet
and puked in the bowl,
voices outside the cubicle,
patients to and fro,
hospital cleaners
or domestics wanting to clean,
she knelt over the bowl
fingers down her throat,
someone in the next cubicle said
whit ur ye daein'?
Kirsteen said nothing,
her throat was sore,
her eyes watery,
her tongue acidy,
ur ye nae weel?
the voice said,
O, shut yer gob,
Kirsteen said,
fingers by her mouth,
eyes peering at the divide,
min' yer business,
the voice said nothing more,
a chain went
and a flush
and the door opened
and feet walked away,
Kirsteen sat on her haunches,
held the bowl,
dribble on her fingers
and sick in the bowl rose,
an image of her mother
seemed over her
thin shoulder,
ur ye bein' boak again?
her mother's voice said,
Kirsteen stared
at the facing wall,
the top was white
with a silvery handle,
she gazed at her,
her mother's face
appeared opposite,
thin drawn,
I'll tan yer backside
if ye boak again
her mother said,
smells rose,
Kirsteen puked
in the bowl once more,
a voice came
and banged on the door,
Kirsteen open up,
it's Nurse Kerr,
ur ye makin' yerself
boak again?
nae, aam nae,
Kirsteen said,
a darkness came,
a swallowing up
inside her head.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
was planned.
did the domestics,
packed the bottles,
bell jars, drew
thirty three drawings,
of vikings, an afternoon
writing, waiting
on the visitor.
yet, it seemed
like a lovely day off.
sbm.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
balancing now first time, although the coins don’t quite
fit the tray, using the pointed pen, keeping neatly.
have done this a while, got the rhythm,
the style of dressage and deportment
for one of our station.
i don’t have a badge, so
look with confidence, courage
so they know. i quickly
fold tidily, imagine i am japanese
and check my hips in the showroom mirror.
i work on sundays, except
when i go on thursday.
so being monday, now
i change the bed.
carry on with the domestics.
sbm.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
balancing now first time, although the coins don’t quite
fit the tray, using the pointed pen, keeping neatly.
have done this a while, got the rhythm,
the style of dressage and deportment
for one of our station.
i don’t have a badge, so
look with confidence, courage
so they know. i quickly
fold tidily, imagine i am japanese
and check my hips in the showroom mirror.
i work on sundays, except
when i go on thursday.
so being monday, now
i change the bed.
carry on with the domestics.
sbm.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
I had 3 whiskeys
10 cheap domestics
Then saw her sitting there
She must've been in her fifties
Her ******* were big
Her legs long and smooth
Dark hair
Red lips
She sat at the bar
Gracefully
The way flowers dance
I thought
My god
So many men.
Loved,scarred
Left for dead
She had it all
She was woman
She was a beautiful painting
Of death
She looked over at me slowly
Staring straight into mine
Smiled
Then tossed her hair
Then looked away
My blood was burning
My god
So many men.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Feeling of euphoria dominating that room
That exasperating space of leftover domestics, lust verging on predatory
Unwashed, unclipped, orange tinged fingertips scooping up the dregs of Asda's smart price nuts
I was in my element, masking my child in me
My hormonal fireworks had gone into this moment.
I had made it.
I was 14 and a pub singer.
My family beamed, my Dad unrecognisable
The room roared, happy feet stomped and energetic hands clapped; erupting into our very own earthquake
I took a sneaky mouthful of my concealed pint, covering my modesty in my must look 18 dress
The rockers rocked
The lovers kissed
Eighties fans shook their hips
My father missed... it
The smoke was as thick as **** the *****
It danced in a flurried daze with our quickened breath, singing 'Tubthumping'
If I could have bottled that, I would take a sniff of that smelling salt to bring me round any day
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
I want to take this world
And grab it by the hair
Beat it up like that girl
That got me expelled last year
I’ll pull out it’s tracks
Leave them in the street
It’s fun to be a badass
Fists clenched, bare feet
It’s probably not good
To let myself get this mad
If I was smarter I would
Find an outlet that
Won’t get me arrested
And read my rights
I’m tired of domestics
And red and blue lights
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC