"riddles" poems
When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.
But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."
Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.
38.9k
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once
They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer
Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
Drawing images using some words
Telling some stories that are unheard
Stealing the moment, freezing the time
Killing the beast that vultures the mind
Spilling blood, the pen is our knife
Collecting traces from this mysterious life
Connecting dots to create a line
Polishing stones to make it shine
Our words are riddles, a must to decode
Giving multiple key for them to unload
The meaning of some could make readers insane
If wrongly unlock it will conquer their brain
We are a shape-shifter just like the cloud
Painting angels and demons to enlighten the crowd
Hoping they’ll listen to our joy and our pain
Wishing they’ll get the lesson of our every rain
11/03/2015
Mysterious Aries
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
In the night, those shadows come alive. So little do i know about this heavy doubt.
Cold wind biting the heart. Trying to figure out where I've been.
Dark winter pulls me closer, now theres a place i'm thinking into the air.
A voice calling, "Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?"
Nothing is as it seams, just as beauty leans from the earth in a sunset--a harp for the soul to sing.
But You are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at her self
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
And if you want to know truth retire of solving riddles.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,
begin no day where we have ended another day;
and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.
Even while the earth sleeps we travel,
back into dreams.
Ay, my bow rests on my chest.
There is the flame spirit among a starry mountainside.
Oh it was but yesterday we met in a dream. You watched as I built a ship towards your shore.
My spirit goes wandering upon the wind, off to the desert sands, deep beneath the ocean's sound.
I am the gypsey and the fortuneteller, liken an honest thief. No I'm the myth builder and dream master.
who laughs with me when I destroy,
the sand castles of my innocence. The
sun warming my back just as the wicked, and drawing my image locked in a shadow.
Here the soul a battlefield, where
reason and passion become one.
they are the sails of my seafaring soul.
There I found the naked body of my dreams, in silent sleep my spriit walked the path.
I am the star-gazer who feels the power of endlessness, Aware of timelessness and
neverending space. The love in me still
present amidst the scattered fires that
burn in black ink.
Just as the caveman draws his fears on lost walls, speaking of misfortune and
treasures gallore. A fantom ghost in Hade's Fate.
Now my ship wanders forever on a pearlous course but never sinking.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
What's my worth?
Am I worth a second glance?
Till present, from birth
Am I deserving of chance?
What's my value?
Am I worth time spent?
What did I do?
Did I squander the life lent?
What are my virtues?
Do they even shine through?
Do I put them to good use?
Or useless like a pair less shoe?
What defines me?
Is it the words that write?
Or work I do diligently?
Could it be my punches in a fight?
What have I done?
Take your time to think
Did I do it with a loaded gun?
Must've done something; must've missed the link
What am I good for?
Important work or menial labour
Could have I done more?
Achieved alone or together
Do I think differently?
Indulge in fairytale notions
Is it sheer folly?
To believe in magic potions
Am I just silly?
Do I dream too much?
Accept reality
Am I capable of such?
Do I shirk what I carry?
Should I have said no?
Did I delay and tarry?
Have I nothing to show?
Am I wrong to feel?
Is it foolish to want?
When it all is real
Now bearing the brunt
Do I wear you weary?
With my endless stupor
Why can't I bury?
Before we expire
Why do I wallow?
Wading through eye puddles
Should I just burrow?
Deep into these riddles
Why do I falter?
Why can't I heal and rise?
Why do I break and shatter?
How do I stop my eyes?
What is this dense forest?
Must everything be obscure?
Can I not be honest?
Can I not be insecure?
Could I be any more random?
Asking as they come to mind
Have I compromised my decorum?
Have I been blind?
Should I delve even deeper?
May I go on and ask?
Am I worthy of an answer?
Or should I just don my mask?
Gargantuan was my crime
Thick was its girth
Absolution this time?
Of it am I worth?
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer
Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear
Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind
At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun
Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide
I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"
More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"
Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"
Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Every word that I've said to you has been analyzed
By you
By her
By everyone
I speak in rhymes and riddles to confuse
But you understand
Not always at first but you do
So I hope you understand me
Now more than ever
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
To the man who made me who I am
Being with you was like learning without a textbook
I just watched and copied and made it my own
From gardening to maths
You made me my own genius
I didn't have to speak for you to know what was wrong
You didn't judge me for the silly things I said
Or how I never learnt at school
You taught me to teach my self
You were my Mr Miyagi
With less riddles more jokes
I learnt that laughter can flood rooms like tidal waves
And we were leaves to float in it
And now you're gone I wont mourn
You would tell me to stop crying and cut my hair
I will use laughter to put a smile on raggedy dolls
And the stories to keep the dark days down
Thank you for being the Godfather of giggles
Making Sunday dinners not the day to fear Mondays
Having gardening not be a chore but a way to think
Rest well Granddad.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
*Get me to be
a soul liberated
from every
attachment
it could be.
I want to want
nothing from anywhere
not want to get
tempted
by things unnecessary
get myself bound to
what will be my
downfall
The soul needs nothing
it is to be free
but my own flaws
have made it
not so
that it could go
as it pleases
What is that one really needs
with no one else be depleted
all the seed, sign of lives
but with greed
everything dies
Devoid of true knowledge
what is I seek
I see myself so very weak
my vision so blinded
my eyes itself closes
that I cannot see
the lies will bite
the anger will burn
my own journey
with karma
it will come back on me
I wait
as I expect them
coming to me
My sins who will wash for me?
my thoughts
why they never sided me
they followed the down path
got me to fuss on things
over all the nothings
never mattered to me
the body detoriates
every day, every second passes
My mind forget
what it remembers
I speak no tales, but riddles
what sense
I try to formulate
This time who will be
the one to get it to decode
the mysteries
the real truths
which could liberate
but to think deeper
what really is
the answer lies very deep within
much closer than
who you are actually really.*
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
the people whose job is to
understand the multiverse
can't figure this world out
rid·dle ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun: riddles
1. | a question or statement intentionally
phrased so as to require ingenuity
in ascertaining its answer or meaning,
typically presented as a game;
a person, event, or fact that is difficult
to understand or explain.
"the riddle of her death" [puz·zle
ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present:
puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle:
puzzled; gerund or present participle:
puzzling
1. cause (someone) to feel confused because
they cannot understand or make sense of something:
"one remark he made puzzled me"
synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,
bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;
faze, stump, beat, discombobulate
"her decision puzzled me"
perplexed, confused, bewildered,
bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,
nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;
flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,
discombobulated
"a puzzled look on her face"
baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic
"his explanation was rather puzzling"
antonyms: clear
think hard about something difficult
to understand or explain;
"she was still puzzling over this problem
when she reached the office"
| [ ] think hard about, mull over,
muse over, ponder, contemplate,
meditate on,
consider, deliberate on, chew over, wonder about
"she puzzled over the problem"
solve or understand something by thinking hard;
synonyms: work out, understand,
comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,
make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal: figure out
"she tried to puzzle out what he meant"
noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles
1. [ ], [ ] ( );
a game, toy, or problem designed
to test ingenuity or knowledge;
short for jigsaw puzzle (see jigsaw)
a person or thing that is difficult to understand
or explain; an enigma:
"the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox"
synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,
conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;
"the poem has always been a puzzle"
late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin:
synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,
unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,
quandary; informal: stumper
"an answer to the riddle"
verb/archaic
verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles;
past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;
gerund or present participle: riddling
1. speak in or pose riddles.
"he who knows not how to riddle"
solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone).
"riddle me this then"
Origin
Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion,
conjecture, riddle’; related
to Dutch raadsel,
German Rätsel, to read
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
A thought sometimes forms
I live too much
yet I do too little.
Woken at strange hours,
never asleep.
Rapt in raps
or wrapped in riddles
Chained to links
or hammered to handle
stubbed to bone
Mens et
Manus
There is time yet, I swear
To flourish
To dream
To make
To be
To do
To create
Will I?
We'll see
There's time yet to tell
Be yourself, they say
The best you you can be
But once more— Will I have time
To edit
I live less
I do less
Portfolio: empty
or at least, locked away.
Excitement too.
Blank slate
Blank palette
Is there any paint?
Can I truly make
excitement saturate?
Will I be able to place
value as I see fit?
Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion
But not necessarily so daft to be wrong
Emerson called it misunderstood,
Shaw found it unreasonable
But ay, theres the rub
That bed once made, must be lain in and
all dreams which might be had are alone not enough
Bloom effects don't work outside the movies.
Ideas are trash, these are recession times
Deflations made them a farthing a dozen
Started 10.03.11
Unfinished
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
After the wolves and before the elms
the bardic order ended in Ireland.
Only a few remained to continue
a dead art in a dying land:
This is a man
on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle.
He has no comfort, no food and no future.
He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by.
His riddles and flatteries will have no reward.
His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.
Reader of poems, lover of poetry—
in case you thought this was a gentle art
follow this man on a moonless night
to the wretched bed he will have to make:
The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree
and burns in the rain. This is its home,
its last frail shelter. All of it—
Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before—
falters into cadence before he sleeps:
He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.
6k
"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play."
sang Paul McCartney in his song
and my first lover to me a long long time ago in the Atlantic mystery by the golf of Mexico.
I believe it's better that,
"when we love someone,
we do so un conditionally- without any expectations no riddles or fill in the blank games or cold computer screen mirror- button- pushing disaster!
Like my wealthy elite did to me just to show me how troubled he really was. Even though hurting to test a woman's heart is acceptable if worthy material.compensation exists.
Nothing really beats the face to face dialogue
embracing his lady with a hug and a passionate smiling kiss
an adorable " I love you"
from a true love lover
who was Lost and~~~~?
~~~~~~
Lost~~~~~~~~
passion~~~~~
change~~~~~
earth~~~~~~
(Fill in the blanks please.)
~~~~~~
Revised:03/30/19
By: Karijinbba.
(Asg/Bba)
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
I can cry;
the glorious moon cheats
the dazzling sun wanes
the cloudy sky smirks
the pudgy earth refrains
I can cry;
the man in the sidewalk eats
the woman in bus denies
the children on the playground smell
the puppy on the stairway bites
I can cry;
the riddles in the book defy
the maze and mouse are a lie
the gun for a bullet doesn’t shoot
the whistle in my palm doesn’t hoot.
I can cry;
the thoughts in my head lead astray
the senses of my body can delay
the questions I answered gave away
the answers I’ve forgotten are a mistake.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:20 AM UTC
My seed, my seed, why do I despise thee?
Never, have I been respected for my
Generous gifts given in between thighs.
One mischievous night that I could not flee
And now I’m bound to you through my money.
I did not want you; now you’re always nigh
You somehow stimulate every sigh
Laud’num doesn’t dull your presence, my seed.
Sometimes, I think – but no – my mind’s tangled.
Red *** riddles reveal… nothing. I find
These psychotropic fantasies have slid
Beyond me and you, I could not wrangle.
Years will pass ‘til we meet, but the check’s signed
Because ********* my seed, you’re my kid.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~
your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re
my claim conceptual
refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived,
that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise
nonsense
so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am
with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my
code of conduct poem-mine;
and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested,
main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily:
on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late
ok;
just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission
around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3,
and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding
are done, in the yard, put out to
pack n' peck n’ play
so that’s an intro to this work
that jumps the line of a
hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue:
insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was
pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers
bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that
has an impatient waiting list
of poems waiting anointing
each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed
this particular one for you,
~
my complexity non-Napoleonic
just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and
into a veining so lovely colored
each poem a waving wheat stalk
before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more
“of me, of mine do sing”
so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light,
for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my
words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats,
the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums,
and mon préféré, prairie spring white,
which is my secret nickname for a duality woman,
poet and farmer,
posing riddles
that deserve answers*
maybe
—-
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
As the sun sets and a darkness falls over the city, there is one who rises. Although his body has been broken and his mind has begun to grow frail, he will continue to fight until he meets his mortal end. He's faced jokes, riddles, luck, birds, ice, vines, and even his own mind. A child once tortured by the winged creatures of the night, consumed by the guilt of his parents' demise. Now as an adult he uses his fear to torment his enemies and the guilt that once consumed him is now the only motivation he needs. Though he cannot live forever, the symbol of hope he has created will last on for eternity. And the face beneath the mask may change, but that light in the sky calls only one... He is the Batman.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
It has been a while i waited.
I have discovered the little hope i have,
Why try be to better when all you have done is reject me.
You speak in riddles and forget.
I once was the one who was your pillar,
everyday i would be that shoulder you leaned on,
but today i have become that rejected corner-stone.
Is it me or is it what you missing?
I have watched you everyday,
becoming bitter than am i afraid to talk.
You threw away that little bit of me that kept me happy and left me weary like a rejected corner-stone
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Dreams of young girls and boys, grew up between the happy endings of a tragic story, that is written by a hand who let mouses speak, and ducks suffer from ADD, an unknown was created by a man who died between the same walls i am in, staring at those walls entering the realm of his thoughts trying to solve the mystery of darkest most depressing riddles, i talked to his lost but not dead voice, leaving me with pictures moving fast, creating a message holds the answer to the voice’s master door, knees of mine touched the ground, a world of his own creation, a world he escape to,
when his soul loses it’s light, forcing that world to enter the real world, one of many “once upon a time” buried myths that hold no happy endings, merging night dreams with the real world is the worst forbidden act, walt disney you were so naive to coast your soul it’s home.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Being with you it's all smiles and giggles
There's no twist turns rhymes or riddles
We are what people may call lovie dovie
Every second spent being silly and happy
I don't ever want it to stop being this way
So let's stay in the honeymoon phase forever
Long sweet good morning text
A simple time nothing Rolex
But gee let's watch if time slows
Let's take this phase where time goes
So let's kickback relax and chill have a drink
We ain't gotta go nowhere anytime soon
Let's stay in the honeymoon phase forever
Let's keep the whip with that new car smell
Shoes fresh out the box with all the value
Natural hair with the scent of cantu
Like telling the same joke over and over but it's still funny
Same terms of endearment bae or boo
We can do something not many can do
So let's stay in this honeymoon phase me and you
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
There’s a god in this space computer
There’s a person in this space cocoon
There’s a spirit in red defeating the holy
There’s a trio of sailors flying past the moon
There’s a left-handed man drifting in a probe
There’s an astronaut gliding in an earlobe
There’s a malfunctioned leader stuck on Mars
There’s a determined machinist amidst the stars
There’s a sacred yellow Judas in the jaws of life
There’s a bloated bellow shooting from the tree of strife
There’s a solitary soldier among the aliens
There’s a black slab of faith between here and then
There’s an eight-pointed star of architectural riddles
There’s a cow, a spoon, a dog and a fiddle
There’s a god at number two, a bird at number three
And there’s always Jupiter to seem higher than thee
There’s an eye full of molecules
There’s an eye full of stars
There’s a blind man full of loneliness
There’s an empty void at large
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 9:06 PM UTC
I ******* rock it
Then I lay it down
I am not a quitter, sick spitter
**** I just flow in rounds
atmospherics an
******* stellar sounds
Lyrics of astrophysics,
like chemistry
I just shape the ground
just huddle
But do not make a sound
I crush a cypher, decipher words into crooked nouns
Instant reaction to actions,
My riddles break the crowd
I've adapted to hard labor now
Can't **** with the vision
I'm here to **** it
and change the sound
Bicycle wheel spinning, I'm grinding
I need to get around
Flow soulful, for the soul
like I'm the golden child
Y'all so so, I go super sayin
No super wild
No delaying, I'm not evening playing
You're played out
Penetrator is coming through now
Left-over flow ******* better eat their food now
2016 fiend, ***** this just a new style
I hit the restart button, say **** the hard drive, bike peddling to work say **** the hard ride, living life is easy I say **** the hard times
I'm choking the game, I'm looking to ******* hog tie
Business this
you can **** on my long tie...
Young killer
been spittin it for a long time
Past due with my ******* come up
Ain't nobody ******* with the vision I'm blowing up
Cutting all these lames like division
So I can it add up
All of the positives, at heart I'm an optimist, don't **** with my oxygen
You can't breath what I breathe, **** your accomplishments, I will squash all of them I just abolish bums
Don't **** with my vision, I will **** for what is mine
and do it with precision
All these hoes just multiply
I divided with the quickness
All these fakes just want to try
don't try cause your missing
**** all of the rules
***** I am a misfit
I am just a ghoul, no goblin, no riches
The world is full of fools
Who can't **** with my vision
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
I don't like this skin of vulnerability,
to show my softened underbelly
and to take off the masks of all my lies.
I don't like to let people get so close,
to reveal my inner temple to them
and to show them the chants of my priests.
I am a person
who hides within riddles
metaphors
puns and jokes,
I am a person
who would rather be a bad joke book
than be a real person,
full of every emotion
and even allowed to cry a little, sometimes.
Maybe
sometimes it doesn't have to be the downpour of rain
or a temple constructed in my veins
or the man who pounds me until pain
or the city lost in spires of smoke and bane
sometimes it can just be the tears
of a 19 year old thing
sick and heavy hearted and
so very, very confused
and
so very, very in need of warmth
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
So many cool things to do
so many fun, and interesting things to do
so many intoxicating things to stimulate the senses
which, are always on march and parade
DOPAMINE
I stay chasing the next exciting thing
the spectacle, the stimulation, music, promise
but mostly I work my life away
and then I drink, after
Then the internet stimulates me: Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Instagram
Goodreads, Reddit
the next fix,
always the next fix
not where I want to be
you can only be in one place
I think my mind wants to be, in all places at once
then, you get bored
******* bored
that's there again
Then minutes, moments, seconds move fast
out of your life
Alan Watts said, "thoughts are addictive," I know what he means
he's not speaking in riddles
A lot of times, it's just best not to think
Somewhere in complete isolation
with no one talking to you, or speaking to you
eventually the voices and thoughts go away
and you can cleanse yourself
Hopefully
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
Why Men Like to Load the Dishwasher
We are the artists of shape and configuration,
puzzle masters solving riddles of physics,
worshipers at the altar of labor saving devices,
this is a love poem of sorts, a Bazinga salutation,
to men and their undying love
for **** machines.
were it in my power
all cups would be handle-less,
the dishwasher time-space continuum
would be non-interrupted by black holes
where handles pointlessly protrude,
requiring endless rearrangement,
a soul destroying exercise.
bowls of any sort should have bottoms that retract.
indeed, the capacity increase, a visible fact,
is so enviro-friendly, eminently sensible,
that the loading for mechanical scrubbing
is deserved of a wing in the Smithsonian.
perhaps the budgeteers of Congress
should be tutored in this artistry,
how to make any limited resource,
better used.
the rub, as the bard would have writ,
is that this roaring tempest-tost,
our love for hard labor lost,
secret sacrificed behind a locked door,
of a Sanctum ********
is entirely due, all glory to,
the secret society of fairies who
hide-reside inside,
freeing us to write more poetry.
in so many ways that I cannot reveal,
less the other gender members squeal,
men live to love to load the dishwasher,
for the ingenuity challenge, and of course,
the side benefit of the excusing coverup,
"I helped clean up," a relationship saver,
proof positively that the dishwasher inventor,
was surely a brilliant woman
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC