"duds" poems
I have only one match left
One gave me a sparks and nearly caught fire, but instead turned out to be too fragile to use, so I set it aside in hopes that it would give me a flame one day when its ready
The one before that was lit too brightly and burnt my fingers, making me drop it on the ground to burn out on its own, scorching the ground below me with licks of orange and red and passion I don't know how to handle
That one match on the counter, I'm far too afraid to ignite, and instead allowed it to grow wet and unusable to even strike against the rough to attempt to set it ablaze
All the others were duds and broke too easily, so I had to throw them all away, unable to be used for the warmth it should have provided
I have only one match left
How will I ever light my way?
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
MY LONG TREK ON WRONG LEGS, BEG DYNAMITE FROM HUSH DUDS
DAMP CANNONS BILLOW IN THE EAST WIND, LIKE FLACCID DRAGONS
GAGGING ON IRON APPLES
I SURGE IMPOTENT IN MY WRATH, SUNBATHING BY AFTERGLOW
HEROICALLY CONTAINED.
DISMANTLED...
I CRAFT THE WITHERING OF MY FURY
WITH A STEADY HAND; AND A JADED HEART
STARK BLIGHT, DRAINS MY CUP OF THUNDER, WHERE MY LIGHTNING CLOTS
WHERE SOLID DARK
HARKENS
MY YELLOW SUN HARDENS; LIKE AN UNSTRUCK COIN
BLANK IN MY POCKET
SHARDS OF DULL ACHE... UNSHARPEN
MY RED SEA
DEPARTS
MY KELP BEDS
DISMAYED.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
219
She sweeps with many-colored Brooms—
And leaves the Shreds behind—
Oh Housewife in the Evening West—
Come back, and dust the Pond!
You dropped a Purple Ravelling in—
You dropped an Amber thread—
And how you’ve littered all the East
With duds of Emerald!
And still, she plies her spotted Brooms,
And still the Aprons fly,
Till Brooms fade softly into stars—
And then I come away—
4.6k
I found a scribbled piece of paper on my coat,
The wife wrote, "pick up some CANDLES" in a note.
I thought it said "CANDIES" hoping to discover,
that we finally would have candies,
In our cupboard.
So I bought in a rush:
Snickers, Abba Zabba, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Reeses peanut butter cups, M&Ms, Almond Joy, Milk Duds, laughy Taffy....and such.
I called her and told her all the candies I bought,
She said, "CANDLES, stupid", so I hung up.
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
Is it greed, or just a deep sense of self hatred
That drives you
To punish your insides
In such a sadistic manner?
If the body is a temple, then god only knows
What kind of deity you worship.
And if suffering truly is the path to glory
Then your cirrhosed liver will deliver you, surely
To the land of Milk Duds and Honey-O's.
It is not a battle of good versus evil
But of man versus food;
Many are the casualties in this war –
Behold the fallen heroes,
Wearing their purple hardened arteries
Like badges of honour.
A triple heart bypass scar bears testament
To the bravery of these devotees
Who congregate daily at the All-You-Can-Eat.
We gather here today, in this cafeteria,
To witness this formidable challenge,
This ritual of self-desecration,
The stop-watch waiting
To count down the
Seconds
To your sweet salvation.
With eyes glazed over and bated breath
We will watch you eat yourself to death.
A celebration of gluttony,
The sacrificial lamb (and pork, and beef..)
Laid out before you, dripping
Hot sauce and melted mozzarella:
A 10 pound behemoth
That must be slain
In order to ensure victory
And bring you one step closer
To meeting your maker
Bon apetit
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
Black eyes,
Deep and endless.
Shines a light,
Bright and timeless.
A kind smile,
On a gnarled face.
Handsome in his
own way.
Honesty.
A lost virtue,
In this wasteland
We call home.
Smoke drifts
from a parted mouth.
Escapes into the
nothingness of the
green-tinged sky.
*"Moments like these,
I know all that karma
stuff is all bull."*
Those are your words.
Not mine.
*"Because no one like me,
should be this lucky."*
There is no one like you.
A man out of time,
in stolen red duds.
tricorn hat tipped
to the side.
That smirk,
that damnable,
smirk, plastered,
forever to your smug mug.
Your ruddy hand
reaches back.
Open palmed
full of scars.
To grasp my mine.
Much smoother skin.
"Come on love,"
you say,
with your voice
full of gravel.
*"Lets get this freak show
on the road."*
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
As you lay next to me I can’t help but think of you.
You lay sleeping, and I close my eyes and envision you taking me.
To the place that only the weight of your body on mine can bring.
Your hands moving across mine, light as feathers
Your breath on my neck, slowly become more rapid.
The look of love in your eyes,
A look you couldn’t hide with all the will power of your being.
I want to spin with you, lose control, devour the moment.
I crave to make you writhe, twitch, grasp the sheets,
To arc your head back and gasp for air.
Have you lose all barriers and be truly free.
As you lay sleeping, I envision reckless motion
Feelings words can not personify.
Anytime I look in the mirror I see the reality of myself
A reality once only could manifest, yet now is actuality.
My own image brings up feelings of imperfection,
A figure that I am not comfortable with,
Self-esteem that I can not seem to find with out you.
You are my world, my sun, my universe.
My every thought orbits around you
My mind races at the thought of you
Despite all the time that has elapsed
I long for you, I beg of you to wake up
To say balderdash to rest, REM, and energy
And expel it all unto me.
I want you to take all that I am; consume me.
Fore when we connect I am completed
As you lay sleeping, you toss and turn
Growing ever closer too me
Were your eyes open I could tell you
Tell you to take me in any way imaginable.
Not out of primeval hormones,
But for a cluster of fireworks in a darkened sky.
A lustrous swaying of beings that few experience in a lifetime,
But with you it is constant, predictable in a joyous sense.
I am broken, though the patches I’ve created hold to me well,
My mind can not help but regress to old patterns and vices.
At times I wonder if the feeling is mutual
If when we intertwine my experience is the same as yours.
Are there fireworks, or just the "great value" ****** any girl could give you.
Your love is undeniable, however, your anatomy has a satisfaction guaranteed
Though still I wonder about the fireworks
When your inside me do you feel flesh or do you feel alive - the most alive you’ve ever felt.
Does your mind forget, just for that moment, that anything else in the world exists
Just for that moment, are their fireworks?
Because my world changes in those heated moments
It is the only time I feel beautiful.
I worry that because I have changed I can not satisfy you.
Your former mates eclipse me,
You’ve been with those who are beautiful by textbook standards.
You’ve been intertwined with those who I feel I do not compare.
I want to make you feel the way you make me feel
I don’t want you to just *** I want you to have an ******
To feel that explosion of love and satisfaction.
I want to know that the fireworks are not duds.
Because, I would do anything to make you feel beautiful.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
The Rent-a-Mob loonies, the gangsters and the Racists
damaged scums of society and contemporary politics
Ignorant arrogant sociopaths who want it all for nothing
Indulgent wasters in nation awashed with opportunities
In idle union they scream, feed us poor and **** the Rich
Strangers come Poland, Bulgaria, India and all over
to work in farms, hospitals, hotels and Constructions
Building futures and faring in endeavours with sweat
Crimson gangs and Renta Mobs states we serve nobody
**** the wealth makers, **** the parasites and let's drink
Our shyster gangs of Revo-comrades and malcontents
See killing fields, whereas strangers toil and find rich pickings
Our Revos Distract, confuse, sow seeds of dissent, make strife
Blame all others, lie and decieve, fling indulgent political turds
Rent brainwashed Mobs,into ***** bridgard to do their ***** work
We all know life is unfair and even roses have imperfections
Some are born to riches in spades and some born to beggars in dusts
Those with time, sit and ask God why, just a fact of life to accept
But from dust has risen billionaires, whilst riches have made duds
Insane Crimson sits in spurious guise and odious fallacy playing God
Yeh, **** the Rich and feed the poor, why hide and use Rent a mob
Why not air your case in broad daylight and stand your conviction
The coward you are knows it hold no sanity for those with sense
Except for thieves, the workshy and wasters who cheat to survive
In your city of merits aplenty, Revo-crimson is beneath contempt
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
Slipping in my ear-buds,
To get my daily dose
Feeling so close to the sound that doesn't affect me
Flying over clouds only my mind can see
Bass wobbles, no duds
I'm addicted to the ripples,
My head lulls with a vengeance
"don't bother him man, hes gone"
Passers-by call to me
So drunk on sound...
My cranium has better acoustics then the great theater
Rhythm's projected with shock waves and powered by hand grenades
I am a supernova charged by AUX
Watch anxiety writhe and burn in my wake
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
De
Glendy Burk
is mighty fast boat,
Wid a mighty fast captain too;
He sits up dah on de hurricane roof
And he keeps his eye on de crew.
I can't stay here, for dey work too hard;
I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back
When de
Glendy Burk
comes down.
Chorus:
** for Lou'siana!
I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back
When de Glendy Burk comes down.
De
Glendy Burk
has a funny old crew
And dey sing de boatman's song,
Dey burn de pitch and de pine knot too,
For to shove de boat along.
De smoke goes up and de ingine roars
And de wheel goes round and round,
So fair you well! for I'll take a little ride
When de
Glendy Burk
comes down.
Chorus
I'll work all night in de wind and storm,
I'll work all day in de rain,
'Till I find myself on de levydock
In New Orleans again.
Dey make me mow in de hay field here
And knock my head wid de flail,
I'll go wha dey work wid de sugar and de cane
And roll on de cotten bale.
Chorus
My lady love is as pretty as a pink,
I'll meet her on de way
I'll take her back to de sunny old south
And day I'll make her stay
So don't you fret my honey dear,
Oh! don't you fret, Miss Brown
I'll take you back 'fore de middle of de week
When de
Glendy Burk
comes down.
Chorus
2.3k
Dude! Disco dancing dogs devouring Dill duds
Digging ducks drew dreads
dreaming don't devour drool
Decked duet
Dimples dandylion deftness
Drink dead danimals.
Discharged!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
cool iridescent droplets
tumble soundlessly over damp stone steps
spat from a dark cloud-smitten sky.
the corners of your lips twisted
in an ominous snarl,
eyes flashing
green lightning.
make-up streaming down porcelain warm-apple cheeks,
mixing with ***** rain.
you, typically picturesque magazine perfection
trussed up in delicate pin-up duds
your hair twirled into a million
intricate, flawless little curls
that fall together like pieces
in a puzzle.
secretly pinned together to uphold a pretty facade.
far from easy and natural,
yet more desirable.
but look at you now.
hair soaked, tendrils of slick dark silk plastered to cold skin,
with mascara running down
an immaculate visage,
that finely curved chest
heaving with furious little sobs.
fists clenched with white hot knuckles,
you shake with rage.
just like a little girl...
a little girl hiding behind a layer of mother's make-up,
throwing a tantrum.
Maybe it's endearing;
to see such passion
from one who never showed her soul
and kept her musings locked tight in a faraway place.
Maybe it's not.
The creature I once loved,
destroying little parts of my soul,
one by one
with sharp words and cruel insults
guilt-trips and indecencies.
But the tear-stained face in front of me
no longer evokes the desired emotion.
Hollow steps take me away,
in the opposite direction,
her dismal cries following me -- wailing ghosts
lost, wandering through the wintry rain.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn
My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof
In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ****** your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools
I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact
From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise
Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
good morning
...mr wren
sitting at my
breakfast table.
you.... in your fancy
duds and plumage.
...all the while
your wife at home,
in .....beige brown grey.
you want my toast
.....just the crumbs
yes... it has been a hard
couple of days.
you'll dance and sing
and bring.... beakfuls
of happiness my way.
please ...take the crusts
and if you must
...the corner of the
pastry too.
as i know it is more
than..one or two....
that are waiting,
at your ...table
but, rush now, mr wren
the attention of the cat,
you've caught..
and he is willing and
....almost able to make
your wife a widow.
fly ..now ...mr wren
but...please do.... come back
again
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
I shot a nail gun the other day
for the first time.
Maybe I wasn’t doing it wrong after all.
Maybe I just
hit some studs.
Feeling a bit
homesick,
or lovesick,
or I-don’t-know-which-kind-of-sick,
but I’m sad,
I split some peas over the stove.
Poured left-over sweet tea
and cuddled up in a bed I made for me;
Mattress pad on hard wood.
I am thankful for these things -
The acceptance and peace
that accompany the melancholy.
Miracles in dim light.
Carefully,
my eyes adjust to worm’s sight.
Maybe, after all, I didn’t fire duds.
Perhaps when I shot the nail gun
the other day
I hit studs.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
i went to see the christmas lights yeah i did it wss fun
you see we were traveling around using our good eyes
we saw a few and i took a few photos after i had bolognaise and a beautiful cake
and i talked about the great poetry slanm a place to go to read poems
ya see, mate i thought the lights were fantastic, dude
we were sitting in the car getting photos of each’
we yelled out merry christmas to all the owners, cool man eat my shorts
it was radically awesome how each house had a lot of things in their display
i was talking about the movie deck the halls with danny devito and mathew broderick
both go for the right to be the streets christmas man
i am a bit of a christmas man, i love the idea of santa coming for the kids
dropping in through the computer, delivering presents as he he goes
i played santa at vinnies in belconnen and i enjoyed making the kids very happy
one kid said why do you want to play santa, i think playing santa gives me fulfilment
and we sing we wish you a merry christmas a full boar ripper christmas
we wish you a merry christmas
i have a big dose of schizophrenia, which makes me look tired
but, dude, it doesn’t really bother me, because i am healing, ya know getting better
and as i sit down anywhere, in cars and at hone, my mind has a tired look
sometimes it’s good to fight it, with the fact that you ain’t really tired
it’s just the high dose medication i am on
and as i travelled around the christmas lights
i was saying i wanna do more and i wanna see more, without looking at the time
because it was getting close to 10,00 and the others were tired
but me, i was happy to sit in the back looking at the lights till midnight
in the future i would love someone to take me out to civic on new years eve, that’ll be cool, man
and i think of bart simpson when i say, do the bartmab do the bartman
everyone back and forward from side to side
ya see, the medication makes me calm, making me think of how i was back in the 1970s
when i was mucking with my family in wood berry, and being told to shove my nose to the wood
but i loved stopping for an ice cream at hexham oak factory
and looking at the lights tonight, reminded me of when we walked down georgetown at their lights
ya see i was thinking, tonight, in the back seat, i am a happy dude, and the lights are making me a party dude
i wanna party all night long
it was a great christmas party, duds
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
Gonna die broke.
Angst, not this man
That be his plan.
My treat.
Feed the world.
That be the word.
Why eat home tonite?
Get on a plane,
Be the plan.
Feed the world
Specifically,
You and me,
In NYC.
Brasserie,
Patisserie
Hot Dog Cart
Wine Bar
Chinese
Thai
Felafel
Haute Cuisine,
Street steak,
Lean and mean.
Pizza in between
All meals
With white cloth napkins,
Real silverware.
Need your help
To execute
The best laid plan.
But one thing you
You
Need to do,
Need to due.
Bring Milk Duds
For desert.
When the account says zero,
Some might say you're a hero,
Even tho can't afford a casket,
(Maybe just a picnic basket?)
I will be buried with taste!
The taste of you and NYC
Upon his smacking lips,
Une bonne mémoire,
C'est tout, au revoir!
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
Reckoning gaze, learning ropes, knotty pine encasement, knowing what the box looks like from inside is preeminent inimitable. I was so certain last year would be it. Likely even, I thought the same the year before and years before that, all whilst whittling away, planks of this coffin, scratching to get out. Sealed in a fate, this vampiric rising, doomed to eternity of night crawling. Yet, by no means has glamour of Hollywood realm flickered any sheen, this direction. Not all vampires can afford tuxedos. Grosgrain lapels, and red satin lined capes do do wonders for former stars of silver screen, but this succubus prefers his naked lot. Apparently, malignant rogues who lie amongst worms don't always have the wardrobe to go with it. New Year's resolution: a tuxedo, perhaps some tails, and somewhere to wear them.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Thanks for all that you say
Night and Day
Nothing more do I have to pay
This friendship is what I have
So thank you
And that poem too
I needed that pick me up
To get back up
Its a dark time
For me right now
Nothings safe
My problems they strafe
I try to hit them away
But they dodge
One big Hodge bodge
But you were there
And you did Care
And so did I
So I didn't want you to die
Heres a line about pie
So I do love you
In a platonicall way
You helped me
Because of you
I now enjoy life too
Best buds
Society's duds
Quirky, and weebs
We peeps
And life plays for keeps
So keep this friendship going
Keep our minds peaceful like its snowing
Buds
Duds
Friends
To the bitter end
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
*speckled cityscape compulsion
<>
it is 6:40am.
the ending credits roll on a Hannibal horror film
that I’ve seen many times.
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
slept through it thankfully
the kitchen window gives up a sunrise,
but it’s just an old rerun, familiar deviltry,
a streaking swath of burnt and bright,
so oft described, the color commentary
previously immortalized by better poets
than me, easy found elsewhere.
the speckled cityscape in this pre-awakened urbanity,
it is their moment, these red flashes, all about,
tall buildings chanting “stay away from me”
to you sleepy pilots, looking for a strip to safely land
in a tumbled jungled of obscene density.
still, they highlight against a river of deep, bright oranges,
burning surrounded by the most beauteous array of shades of blue,
compelled against my will to thankful write,
for gifts such as these cannot be so casually dismissed,
cannot be willfully ignored, to do so, denies our genetic commandments.
a hopeless, thankless task to ask of oneself.
the perhaps intrusive. Sunday, maybe the babies
will visit, macaroons, pre-halloween bags of candy bars,
at the ready, pre-opened by small, tall inner children for sensory testing.
Milk Duds, Heath Bars, Whopper malted ***** Hershey white chocolate,
checked by adults for safety and quality control.
all these I see, in realized eyes and whimsical musings,
in perfect silence, for the Sunday city morning
is worshiping the coming day in a church like silence,
where each patron fills in the empty sounds
with hymns of their own making...by moving their lips
in fervent unspokeness
the sky river reflects more modestly in the East River,
for a reflection is always a second best version.
30 minutes later the real and the apparition both,
disappeared, and a palest sheer blue, white streaked sky,
just an old rerun, familiar deviltry.
why is the sun rising
is so worshipped,
for there will never be a full day of
just sunrise colorations,
but the speckled reds still
a true color, still showing,
on perpetual guard duty,
bidding adieu to its
morning lovers,
until tomorrow,
in my city of lips.
sun. oct. 20 2019
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
I'm here, right in front if you
Been waiting in the queue
In my fish net stockings and Jimmy Choo's
You look right through me
So sophisticated, so bourgeoisie
An imposter in fancy duds
Filled with ice cold blood
Nothing matters, nothing, so self absorbed
I hurt, I feel pain, I hemorrhage
Look up, embrace the dream
Take your head out of the guillotine
Love, live, enjoy
Pick me, in my fancy shoes, beautiful, pristine
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Halloween was always one of my
Favorite nights of the year,
Although the waiting was torturous
As the date drew near.
What to wear? was always the question.
Not rich enough to be trendy,
We put together makeshift costumes,
And Dad would always pretend he
Didn't have enough money
To spend on fancy treats.
"Besides," he said, "my theory
Is basically sweets are sweets."
We didn't have Darth Vader back then;
Kids were pirates and cats,
Skeletons, hobos, cowboys and Indians,
Devils, witches, and bats.
Mummies, scarecrows, fairies, clowns--
Whatever we could devise.
Many kids were simply ghosts
In sheets with holes for eyes.
Ah, the treats: chocolate coins,
Cookies, Milky Ways,
Popcorn ***** candy corn,
Necco Wafers for days,
Abba-Zabas, Tootsie Rolls,
Bubble gum cigars,
Licorice, Candy cigarettes,
And Snickers candy bars.
We got Double Bubble in packs,
Taffy, Cup-O-Gold,
Milk Duds, Jujifruits--
A mountain of treats all told.
The experts had TWO costumes
And made the rounds twice,
As if one giant bag of candy
Was never going to suffice.
Back at home we'd pour out our candy,
And then the bartering started.
Since I had two older brothers,
I was usually outsmarted.
Mom and Dad let us monitor
Our own candy stash,
And we survived the candy feast
Without a sugar crash.
Until I was fourteen years of age,
I'd never had a cavity,
Despite living in Candyland
In utter sugar depravity.
But I can still eat candy now
And not go trick-or-treating,
Though, granted, there are more nutritious
Foods that I should be eating.
- by Bob B
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Back in the day they called it " gripping the duds"
Nowadays the little bits are nipped in the bud,
Protect your jewels their hanging doubloons,
They can squeeze like grapes, or get popped
Like balloons. Don't get a woman mad she will
Grip em for you. Protect your jewels, no ailment
With soothe. If you loose your dudsy buddies
You'll lose mankind to. But if you loose your
Peanuts, you always have left the hanging ******* Just
Don't let him out in public.,HEY ****** Put away that
******
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Here you are again, O Dawn,
I've become Dame Washalot reborn,
Of suds, I am a champion
of expertise in washingdom,
What did we trade off for golden rings?
Is it still that biology-is- destiny thing?
Are all men such total duds?
Do you ever feel the need to suds?
Or am I queen of the rotten mongrels? Tough!
Now, I have to vacuum, **** it up!
Vacuum now, or wash later?
Why I am a procrastinator?
This multi-tasking womanly thing,
Are wedding rings washing bling?
Whinging is fun, but no one listens,
See this washing glow and glisten!
So, here you are again, O Dawn,
Here I am, Dame Washalot reborn!!
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC