"housekeeper" poems
I don't want
a **********
a *** slave
a *****
I don't need
a housekeeper
a nurse
a cook
I don't want
a supermodel
a CEO
a politician
I don't need
an introvert
an extrovert
a pervert
I just want
someone to hold me
and do my laundry
(from time to time)
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
I never thought about my whiteness,
other than to realize
that I’m ghost-white
and therefore
not as attractive as some
tan buxom babe.
I thought more
about my economic status:
upper middle class
with plenty
that would give me a leg up,
that I knew I’d never
lack for higher education.
It has gradually occurred to me,
though,
that even though I may have
a societal advantage
being white and all that,
I’m still a chick
and therefore have
several strikes against my success,
or at least a comparable salary.
Not to mention the load of ridiculous
expectations to be
mother, successful career woman,
housekeeper, **** star, and ******
Hooray for the Bible Belt,
where church is next door to the ***
Adult stores targeted
at hick white males.
Hooray for my mother’s
Texas family
where it’s okay for an adopted
daughter-in-law
to be gay
but nobody else is allowed
and some of them will look
down their noses at my
Indian boyfriend
and ask me why
I’m diluting
my blood with a foreigner.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
You leave the dingy room, 333, and out into the long old halls with ***** honeybee carpet, the stains so worn in they've become part of the design. The housekeeper's cart is parked at the end of the long hall. It is filled with cleaning supplies and ***** blankets. Her body seems younger than it looks somehow as she comes through the doorway of an empty room and smiles through the wrinkles of her sunken, toothless mouth and underneath the well-worn lines of her face & beaming through her bright eyes is an original warmth and beauty that even a thousand years of junk couldn't touch.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
My mother asks me to buy her milk and I stand in line at the grocery store.
I hold the milk and I remember seeing our housekeeper's daughter yesterday, a 16 year old child, breastfeeding her 1 year old son.
I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl playing with her dollhouse, it asks the little girl to be the doll.
I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl fixing the ribbons over her braids, it thinks of ways to tie her legs as tightly as her hair.
I feel sorry that when her culture sees a little girl, it doesn’t see a little girl.
I feel that I call it her culture when I was born in the same city.
I see the line was moving while I stood still.
The woman standing behind me holding a jar of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and a pair of tired shoulders gives me a look for not paying attention.
I take a step forwards,
I look behind me;
I smile politely at her, and say “I’m sorry”.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Tribute to stay at home moms
( from a writing by melvina germain) 10/28/11
To the stay at home moms (sahm) I must say
I honor you in every way.
I made my wife stop working when she got pregnant
Forty six years ago, and real love is what my daughter got to know.
She is there every step of the way and
my heart thanks her every day.
up in the morning at the crack of dawn
To change diapers , bathe the baby, change the clothes
And with the baby is where she belongs.
She is a woman with many hats, and for her
There is no turning back.
A mother, housekeeper , cook, and wife
Accepting all these struggles and strife.
You may not hear her complain
But when things go wrong, she is the first to blame.
We all may have a lot of food on our plates
And forget what they are going thru , but
Do you honestly think you could do her job too?
we may be the bread winners and struggle at work
But we did not have to go through the pains of giving birth.
Do any of you men think that you could hold
A child in your stomach for nine months
Of morning sickness, weird cravings, sleepless nights
And with your partner you would fight.
They could only sleep on their backs or on their sides
Would you like to give that a try?
They look at you in your sleep and thank GOD
For all that you do, but they need compensation too.
There is another hat that they may wear, when
They have to become the C.P.A. and balance
The check book so you don’t overdraft
And turn around and get on her ***
So many hats and so little time, and when you ask
Them they say they are doing fine.
So to all the (sahm’s) out there with you this poem I share
You deserve not just a flower, a outside dinner
Or a movie, but the biggest THANK YOU
From our hearts, because in our lives
You are the greatest part.
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 12:31 PM UTC
Don’t clean your house, and eat only pizza.
While your housekeeper is cleaning, watch poetry craft videos.
If you run out of vacuum cleaner bags, buy a new vacuum.
Watch women’s basketball.
Read Facebook and post once a day, minimum.
Drink iced coffee all day long.
If it's sunny drive the convertible, if it rains drive the Ford.
If the cat wants to sit in your lap, move your book.
If your light bulb burns out, walk in darkness.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
Sherlock is indebted, forever;
To Mike,
For he made it possible for Holmes,
To meet the (only) friend of his life.
Oh look at John,
How baffled he was,
For he had just met a man,
About him, who knew all.
The army doctor thing, the Afghanistan war,
And that his sibling was alcoholic,
About this Sherlock was sure.
Without a word about himself,
Just the name and address,
Holmes went away,
Leaving John, with many questions,
And their answers for him to guess.
A queer flat mate, he was, a bit rude
Sherlock, you know;
Mrs. Hudson was nicer,
But not their housekeeper!
Apparently, SH would play violin to think,
Knew it was DI Lestrade at the door,
And there was another ******
Including this one, counting to four,
Without a hint.
The crime scene was sealed,
Under supervision of Donovan,
And according to Sherlock,
There was something going on,
Between her,
And Anderson.
A woman was dead,
Wore everything in pink,
Holmes deduced her marriage state,
Just by her ring!
He slammed the door at Anderson,
For he (SH) found him irritating.
“Rache is not for revenge”, Holmes said,
“She was writing Rachel, obviously”.
Left-handed she was,
And was carrying a suitcase,
But as Lestrade said,
There was never a case.
Mr. Holmes was so excited then,
He teased others to be stupid,
Watson helped him make a point,
In order to find the criminal,
But Holmes believed,
The pink case was the cupid.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
You leave that dismal room
And walk
Past open doors
And broken clock
Down dingy corridors
You creep
While strangers
In strange rooms find sleep
You walk on carpet
Stained and fading
Designs all ruined
Yet not abating
Out where the housekeeper’s
Cart is parked
Her smile sunken
Her manner dark
She emerges from
Behind a stack
Of ***** blankets
Folded back
With broken teeth
And burdened eyes
Wrinkles worn
In plain disguise
Someone’s daughter
Whittled down
Her hair too thin
Along her crown
Yet harboring
A warmth untouched
Her shattered image
Says too much
Windows open
On a courtyard scene
Junkies nodding
In the sun serene
High altitude
Of Denver streets
Smell ***** smoke
And searing meats
In Civic Park
The men that stare
Sell rough-cut gems
Which slice the air
One calls you over
With his hand
More incantation
Than command
Says that he’s got
Just what you need
With eyes now begging
To be freed
You walk away
And in his strife
He calls to you
“I’ve lived my life!”
With eyes as dark
As afghan hash
He fades away
As you move past
In distant vistas
Where the Rockies lie
You hear that unknown
Ancient cry
You feel the motion
You must move on
The mountains are calling
The city is gone
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
As you gazed across the room,
My eyes caught your lingering stare,
To a woman who was not me,
Both not seeing, unaware.
Like a giddy school boy, I watched,
As she asked about your day,
Standing in disbelief,
Sensing this was wrong in every way.
My stomach hit the floor that day,
Followed closely by my heart,
Sadly not realizing,
This was only just the start.
Never enough, too much,
Imperfect in every way,
Wanting to run, scream, hide,
Like a coward, I choose only to stay.
Birthdays uncelebrated,
No tinsel on the tree,
This union isn't working,
The fault is always me.
Lousy cook, deplorable housekeeper,
No tiger in bed,
Tears stream down my face,
From words uttered & ones left unsaid.
Listen up 'gentle' men,
This shouldn't come as a surprise,
The true beauty of a woman,
Does not in fact lie between her thighs.
Love her laugh, her heart,
her smile,
Value these things,
& she may just stay awhile.
Don't win her over with baubles & bling,
court her with fancy dinners,
These mean nothing.
Write her a poem,
Leave her a letter,
These are the honey, gold, & nectar.
Moments shared, hands held,
A warm hug, a gentle touch,
These are the things of true value,
These are the things we all want so much.
Forgive me if my honesty
Isn't quite on trend,
But truth be told, what this world need more of,
Isn't lovers,
But ride or die friends.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Chances popped
With me on your table
To prepare as you pleased
Be with as you pleased
And eat as you pleased
But you decided the dustbin was my home
Mouths surrounding were indifferent
Knowing not my worth but staying safe in case...
The housekeeper looked and picked me
He decided I was too good a food to be eaten
So he polished and gave me wings
Now he reaps my worth
What you used to give him was peanut
I give him a hundred times what you have
And plenty smiles, now you seek to guard his gate
And find a way to steal me
Too bad my loyalty never wanes
So you have to deal with it
You might want to look
Look keenly like your life depends on it
Before you dispose of anything, anything you are offered
Lest you lose what could make you you
As one you deem worthy takes your chance
Legally and shines in your stead
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
It's a media night again
Me and youtube
Maybe I'll just go walking around
Walking around until daybreak
Earth, earth
Just keep on doing this
Whatever it is I'm doin'
Try to get a decent job
Can't though
Oh well
I'm sure we
Will likely be at war
With China and Russia soon
I'll be sitting somewhere
Eating some raisins I guess
Looking up at the moon
You know this life
Is so lonely sometimes
Oh well,
At least I got the raisins
And A roof over my head
And besides my housekeeper
Brought me Beef and Ostrich Jerky
Lol
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Alone in his dark apartment
black dog asleep
the sound of children playing
in the street outside his window-
children of color, his housekeeper says,
not quite seeing the distinction
only hearing happy voices-
an old jazz number on the radio
as he stands and dances slowly
with his cane tap, tap, tapping
to the beat and dreaming of a girl
he once read about named Helen
in a book of braille.
r ~ 6/6/14
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
“The Mass is ended,
go in peace.”
the aged cleric said.
“Thanks be to God”
said some dozen odd
parishioners
who then fled.
The Priest dismissed
his server.
and had turned himself to
go
when he noticed still
one worshiper
kneeling in the seventh row.
She was an older woman,
her head swathed in
a blue scarf.
She was obviously in devotion
before the Sacred Heart.
He thought:
“There is no need to rush”
He shuffled towards the chair.
which is where the Bishop sits
when attending service there.
The aging cleric said a prayer
for the gracious soul’s repose
whose generosity provided
his vestments and his robes.
He next prayed for his friend,
a priest, who’d grown too fond of wine.
He’s consecrating grape juice now
the non alcoholic kind.
He thought:
“it now is getting well past time
I need to lock the doors.”
His urban church had been vandalized
a scant few months before.
He rose up on his arthritic hip
and didn’t cry in pain
He accepted this, his suffering,
in Jesus’ holy name.
As he approached the woman,
Her head bowed as before
He had a vague uneasiness
He experienced fear and awe
She looked up then and he said
“Mother!”
and fell, senseless, on the floor.
His housekeeper found his body
on the floor of fitted stone.
The police found no evidence of foul play,
The priest had died alone.
The M.E. said the heart had failed
Though not from shock or rage
The Lord had called his servant home
to grace a grander stage.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
I want to ruin you
not in the
"Yeah bro I got that girl in my bed and we ****** until she couldn't breathe and yeah I guess it was iight for me"
no
I want to ruin you in the Ernest Hemingway
way
I want your favorite song to be so haunted by our memories that it causes you to call me when the first note is played
I want to be the cloud on your sunshine of a day
when I'm not around
I want to be the guest that's overstayed
the one the housekeeper can't turn away
because they've grown fond of the smiles they greet each other with when they pass in the halls
I want to be the chocolate left on your pillow
The dust that you don't remove from your window
I want to be your favorite thimble
that you when you're sewing up my patchy sweats that I can't bear the throw away because I like the way they cling to my hips
I want to cling to yours lips
I want to be your favorite sweater that you wear to sleep at night
I want to hold your head like a pillow
I want to catch your dreams with thread woven through my fingertips and I'll even tie on some feathers
and you'll say I was create by the ancient cherokee tribe
I want to be the contact that protects those beautiful eyes
I want to kayak down the waterfalls they produce when you find out bad news
Yes
I want to ruin you
But I want you to ruin me, too.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
The big, black cat crossed my path again today
As always, slowly walking across the road;
He turned back, around the corner and looked at me
As if to say, I own my path!
The big, black cat crossed my path again today
On this Friday, the Thirteenth
After bumping into the widow housekeeper mopping the floor
And sighting a crow that flew from right to the left;
As the big, black cat crossed my path again today
Shall I ask you; once again,
To wear that artless indifference and the quirky smile
And tell me “What do you ‘get’ from that?”
As earlier when the big, black cat crossed my path
Would you answer, “Come on;
The big black cat is just going somewhere”
Then, with abandon, say “the journey must continue"
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
I'm tired of written apologies you don't have the guts to speak-
Poets use words and letters and metaphors to explain how they feel
but you, you use a paint by numbers
and it seems to me I've ran out of every color
so now you're just a blank page staring back at me
tempting me to write my own apologies
because I somehow feel bad for you having to say sorry.
These days can become the flat tire on your car on the way to a funeral
but I will always be there to bring you light
even when you take your lack of apologies
and use them to knock out the lights on the ceiling fan-
I will wait in the dark until you decide to change the bulb.
But you never do-
so I'm left there picking up shards of lightbulb
as my hands bleed and spell out your apologies
and I look up at you and ask for help
but it seems you are stuck inside your own mind
your own world until the mess is cleaned up
and the light returns and then I'm stuck here apologizing
for getting blood stains on your t-shirt.
I understand dismay, and the ability to be distraught-
but I don't understand being someone else's peacoat
there to keep you warm until its no longer needed.
I just want to be appreciated.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
Don't ever tell me that
I need a man to ground me,
To stable me, to protect me,
To reign me in;
A man to be the bit in my mouth,
The collar at my throat,
The bars of a cage
Like I'm some wild animal.
If I did need a man,
I don't need to feel
The weight of his control
Crushing down on my ribs,
The incessant ticking of his
Calculator mind
Playing overhead like muzak.
For the love of all good,
Do not suffer me
The cautionary tales told from a lover's lips.
They slither down my throat
With their false slimy sweetness,
"I tell you this for your own good,
Baby, I promise, I love you."
But their faces twist with the words
And their hands clench,
And you know they're really just
Waiting for you to shut the hell up,
You're making a scene.
You can't pair a poet
With a grounded man,
The same way you can't pair
A lily with a flytrap,
A rhinoceros with a lapdog.
I was not meant for the life
Of a housekeeper,
Bound hands and feet
To the homestead,
My sole purpose in life
To cook and clean,
To serve and produce
Squealing piglets succeeding
In his pigheaded line.
I need more than that, so
Don't try to force feed me my "man,"
Mr. Sensibility, Mr. Every Woman's Dream,
Mr. Right,
I don't want him.
Give me a man who writes,
Ballads and sonnets and epics
With words handcrafted
By decadent Grecian gods,
Who spends his nights bent
Over an antiquated typewriter,
Rushing to get the mid-dream thought
Down on paper.
A man who paints his soul,
Turns a blank canvas
Into an emotion,
Raw and real and ravaging,
Who will wait patiently
While his model fidgets
Just so he can get
The slope of her neck just right.
A man who plays music
Sweet and soft and slow
Serenading me to sleep
When the night is cold,
Who hears songs in
The rustle of rabbit's feet
And the whisper of slumbering breath.
I don't want a man to hold me down,
To show me how to act.
I want a man to create with,
To fight with and play with,
A man who loves with encouragement,
And not reprimand.
I am not a mistake to be corrected,
And I don't need a man
That will convince me otherwise.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
I don't want to be
a lesson you go back to
when you need to remember
the definition of loss.
I don't want to be
a living memory
that breathes and laughs
only in your head,
so close but you can only see
when you close your eyes
and hold only in your dreams.
I don't want to be
a tenant who rents a space
only to leave
permanent damages
in your heart.
I want to be
a teacher you turn to
for inspiration
for things that last.
I want to be
an imagination happening
right before your eyes,
not in your mind
nor in your sleep,
whose hands you can hold
and lips you can kiss.
I want to be
a housekeeper who stays
to take care of your heart
and make it my home
for life.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
In- transit housekeeper with a-
beautiful name
Suspicious College Park subway-
people , waking replays
Telltale inhabitants , blustery November-
commuter stations , screaming trains
Lawyers carpool south , caretakers charge-
north in ***** rain
Kinetic Georgia peonage channeled-
through a "City too busy to Hate" ..
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
I remember when I was young
And my empty stomach would ache,
My grandma would dance with me
And all my troubles would go away.
We never had enough food,
Many times I saw her cry.
But if I asked if she was hungry
Often times she would lie.
"When you eat, it gives me strength"
Then her stomach would growl,
I didn't get it but didn't push
At six years old I didn't know how.
God never left our side,
So things started to improve.
At 70 she held a job as housekeeper
And so we fell into a groove.
I became her little helper
So she wouldn't mess up her knees.
I was just the right size
To fit most places with ease.
I feel like we grew old together
But it didn't last long,
I moved away with my mother
And grandma was left alone.
She did have the rest of our family
But they only care about themselves.
They take but rarely give,
Not caring about anyone else.
It's been years since I saw my grandma.
Nowadays I dance alone,
When I'm sad though, I give her a call
And suddenly I am home.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
It's the way your name slips further and further down in my phone
The way my heart still craves giving until there's nothing left
I miss giving you my love and watching you grow into it
But I don't miss how I never received what I wanted in return
The food is going cold and
I just can't eat when I'm so full of unexpressed love
I want you to take it all and run off with it
I want to see you happy and loved
But I also want to look in the mirror and feel fulfilled
I want to see a woman worthy of the world
And all I see are the other girls that make your eyes sparkle
I see their faces and their bodies so clearly that I can barely make out mine
Soon my reflection will come back to me
And one day I'll meet someone who won't even blink because they won't want to miss a second of me
I'll be the only beauty they want to see in the world
I'll make gardens and oceans jealous
The wind will blow through my hair and steal your touch
And I won't even recognize the girl I see now
A blurry figure through the tears in my eyes, mutilated by the self-hate you bred into me
My dysmorphia tells me I'm not enough and that's why I could never have a happy story with you
I was the Cinderella who was never invited to the Ball
I watched through tinted glass how everyone would embrace and dance and fall in love with life
While I played housekeeper and tried to mop up the pieces that made me
I put on a brave face and called myself a princess but you wouldn't even let me have my imaginary world, my feigned confidence
It was just deemed selfish of me to try shut the negativity out and pretend the world revolved around me
I just wanted to prove that I was worthy of love
And I never got love that was untainted
Because I screamed my pleas into the wrong phone
I wrote my story in the wrong book
You were never ready for me because you never took ownership of what I deserved
I wanted you to be my home
But I was always left knocking for so long
I still have your grocery list on my fridge
And my desperate heart wants to rearrange those letters into sweet, loving words
Words that could stain my mind and be stamped over the images of other girls
But I can't hear them in your voice
And I can't even pluck them from your thoughts
Because your mind is always elsewhere and it's hiding so much
We played a lonely game of hide and seek
I searched for your soul and never found you
And so we both welcomed darkness
I have to find a new source of light
Because your fire kept me warm until it burned me
The sparks were always there so I got burned again and again
I will never again let blisters and ******* belittle my beauty
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 9:37 PM UTC
When a housekeeper pours her heart into her work, making your home Clean and shining,
Say thank- you!
When a waitress greets you with a warm smile, and tries her best to Provide you a quality service,
Say thank- you!
When a mailman struggles to deliver your mail, fighting through Challenging weather,
Say thank-you!
Make others feel valued,
Express your gratitude,
Lighten their day with words of appreciation,
Embrace them with humanity, and treat them with kindness!
Hussein Dekmak
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today.
i have read much,
of love and beauty,
but it...holds no sway
my mind dwells,
in the realm,
practical things.
like a housekeeper,
with a list of chores
she must bring,
to a close before,
picking up her paycheck
and easing into,
her comfortable clothes..
so, squat and stolid,
my mind works, hard,
throughout this long
and dreary day.
cleaning windows,
dusting souls.
vaccumming carpets
and scrubbing hearts.
then, packing,
the washing machine,
with ***** thoughts
and besmirched linen...
that needs sometime
to dry out,
in the bright shining sun.
i am not of a mind,
to be inspired today...
i may, just slumber on
til,
the housekeeper,
is done.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
glossy paper—I don’t have any glossy paper, I panic
I cannot do you justice on carbon, so I do you no justice
and rely on shaky memory for your being-gone
your gone-ness, your not-here
it comes and goes but it comes, it comes more often
and it’s like when you think there’s water in your cup
but there isn’t, and you lift it, and it goes above your head
and it’s a bruise on your gums from a bread-crust you don’t remember
and when you leave your favorite shirt at your summer home
and the housekeeper takes it quietly
I can’t look at you without the proper paper
I can’t look at you at all
I can’t do you justice in your not-here
and I don’t trust my eyes
to see you after
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
Dad's bark is worse than his verse.
When he hits it doesn't really hurt.
The dirt outside the house is soil.
The mouse inside the house is life.
Can't escape the printer or the car, IV
bag, heart monitor, a billion trillion stars.
Snow descends, each flake unique.
My sons' friends, each infinitely
a Greek or Trojan hero. Our morals:
hit not the girls, nor **** Love more
than you are loved, by a little. Give
but stop before it hurts. Stand together
or fall apart. Which candidate you vote
for less important than to vote. Don't
depend or dote on leaders, housekeeper
and president are gods equally
remote. The human body is a thing of
bone, a strange upright animal, and the
telephone a mystery to other animals.
Everyone and everything is spinning
electrons and the space between.
A great crunch, inverse of big bang,
yr big sister told.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC