"rinsing" poems
Three Minute Warning
A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).
Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.
No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.
Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?
Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth every day!
Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'
Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.
Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.
Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.
My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.
Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Here in the desert
it's been raining
on and off
for days
making the succulents and cacti
glisten with wetness
their thick skin sparkles
and catches nature's ironic eye
flowers and plants shine
so much better in the half-grey
Here in the prehistoric depths
Of rocky whitewash and silt
flash floods rush through
flushing out all guilt
And inside
a raging storm commences
and I feel so blessed
to be a part of this celebration
my lungs expanding in my chest
I breathe in deep
that fresh purity of air
let it cleanse right through me
from my toes up to my hair
It rushes in my body
taking no prisoners in its force
flows through every vein
cleansing poisons in its course
its power flows into me
washing out this stubborn pain
Turning the confusion
into clarity again
From inside subconscious thoughts
realization thunders
rinsing from my mind
the emotional strain
and replacing it with euphoric wonders
Come, my raging desert tempest
Bathe me
penetrate me with wet
restore and purify
my being
take over and disinfect
let me feel my own strength
until it pours out from my cells
into the space inside my heart
where love and lust still dwell
My tears mingle with the sweet drops
as I fling arms open to the sky
releasing strikes of lightening
for every word I cry
as I summon, pray for lightness
mixed with the sturdiness of earth
Let joy rise up and bubble
within my being
as rebirth
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
She's in a constant state of comfort, pure bliss
Knowing she wouldn't be pricked by a thorn,
If it wasn't for the smell of rizq colouring His roses
She's in a constant state of purity
As His clouds turn into heavy storms above her head
Gently rinsing away the bad, returning her only for the good
She's in a constant state of obedience,
As gratefully awake she is
Her eyes let go of tears with utmost ease
Honoured, they fall and sink into the lowest of grounds
Only to join His droplets of rain, humble, in their firmest sujood
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 5:11 PM UTC
Flamingos aren't naturally pink
But not for the reason most think
They preen and they dye
And they leave it to dry
Before rinsing it off in the sink
The magpies send me into fits
The ducks have me losing my wits
The crows are a blight
And they crow all night
But I do enjoy watching the ****
Vanessa McRafferty-Fryer
Set alight to the **** of her squire
She took a few shots
Of his privatest spots
And then laughed as he ****** out the fire
A penguin called Panama Pete
Had no love of the snow on his feet
So he stayed for a spell
At the polar hotel
With a pool and Jacuzzi en suite
I met a quite curious swan
By a lake I was boating upon
It tickled my ***
And insulted my mum
With a flurry of wings, it was gone
I know of a Gerald McFitz
Who arouses himself when he sits
For his favorite chair
Is the shape of a pair
Of voluptuous wobbly ****
and one for that special someone...
Your pancreas really is grand
Tis a thoroughly marvelous gland
You've a cute little spleen
Though it's seldom seen
And a nose growing out of your hand **
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
I’m a victim as you stream my life
Like a short film and I can’t remember my own name
You drape my skin over rusty bones that fail when the clock chimes
Yet you collect every strand of my hair
Torn and grown
Cut and combed
and repaint the shapes I used to be into finer lines
Why do you whisper silly words to me?
Yet I hang myself on them and engrave the fate you sealed for me
Why do you twist me at every angle? relishing in my deterioration
Soaking and rinsing your own wounds in the pools of my bitter mistakes and sweet memories
But these scars I wrap with your worn stems, vanish beneath my exterior
I am stainless
Sometimes,
when I am too tattered to walk, you carry me on your shoulder
But I remember when you grabbed my ankles and cracked my wrists
You cast me like a stone
And polish me like a trophy
Conceal me in your clock work
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
Growing up way back
when life was simple.
There were wringer wash machines.
On Monday morning I remember my mom
fill the wash machine with hot water.
Add soap powder, but watch or it will clump.
Then she added fels naptha soap
Which was a bar, and you sliced off
pieces for the extra ***** clothes.
SIMPLE?
Now she added the clothes
While they are agitating
You wait...
You have a second tub filled with hot water.
to transfer those clothes into, for rinsing.
You always used the same water over.
You started with white clothes,
then eventually by the time the
dark clothes came around
the water looked pretty gross..
SIMPLE?
After rinsing you use that magical wringer.
Which is two rollers that sqeeze all the water out.
Time...it all takes time..
Then into the wash basket.
Laundry back when life was simple...
By then your basket if full of wet heavy clothes.
Out to the clothes line.
But first you had to run a dry cloth to wipe
the dirt off the clothes line.
Hanging up all that laundry
with those cute wooden clothes pins.
Not even clip ones were invented back then.
But the bag which held all the clothes pins
was real cute, it looked like a dress...
SIMPLE?
Socks, ****** shirts, slacks, towels,
oh those heavy towels
and my favorite the sheets.
Time, it takes time to dry those clothes.
Laundry back when life was simple.
Back then everything was ironed.
Starched and there was no spray starch,
or steam iron.
Mom would dip the collars of the shirts
into a bowl of starch,
and roll it up,
it was ready to be ironed.
Laundry back when life was simple...
How can that be a simple time.
I watched my mom and grandma
do this every Monday.
Starting early and it would be evening
when she would finally have
the clothes folded and put away...
The next day was for ironing.
~~~
SIMPLE?
We have the simple life
for now we can throw in a load, have it washed,
thrown in the dryer, and hung up
in a couple of hours.
Taking a coffee break in between
the washing and drying...
by ~ judy
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
Tearing the sky
storms and thunders grunted
eliting the trees!
First rain drop fell
floating like angel, like dead leaf
rinsing my brevity.
Gestures of steams
driven the beauty of crazyness
to mingle with my soul.
Charmed by enthralling
rhythms of mismerising rain
my heart became wet!
Strokes of poetry
in the ruined part of my heart
reverberated unconsiouly!
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 4:01 AM UTC
There's a place for those
like you and me, kid--staring
through this window pane, at odds
for hours. Conversations even out
these nights 'til a year's passed.
A smile of glass that dies too fast
ain't all we're sharing; just the
loudest thing we're sharing, staring
through this silent frame.
There's a place for those
like you and me--where we can go
when seasons roll
around our guts
and come back up
in boiling years.
That place is here,
in this square frame,
with our smile of glass that breaks
too fast
when dice cast cry out snake eyes;
ours are blue,
and some are brown.
But she looks pretty
happy
now.
So it's back into this mirror frame
for debates had through window panes
and scrubbing hard with scalding water
rinsing off our name.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
How many times I lay
On that old couch
Just through the doorway
Where she shuffled from the table to the stove
Bringing food to dad,
In for supper late,
Or moving dishes to the sink
While I rested from the day,
Just lying there,
Unaware of conversations
I was soaking in.
"I should have sold the winter wheat
A week ago.
No telling how far down the price will go
Now that Russia's stopped our sales."
"Pizza, two for seven dollars again;
Apples three pounds for a dollar;
Bread for seventy-nine."
Or heard his offhand orders for next morning:
"Fencing's got to be done at Henry's.
Boys! I need one of you to check the pastures.
Take some salt and mineral along!"
Mother seldom spoke, or if she did,
She gave correction,
Reported pizza inventories, or bread.
Asked clarifying questions,
But always the creaking oven door
Or the running of rinsing water.
I awoke this morning at three,
Almost a year after my fathers death
From a restless dream of lying there.
Heard my mother's sounds,
My father's voice,
Life as once it was,
Mundane and wonderful
From the couch around the corner of the door:
A living memory
I would no more expunge
Than to remove my own name.
In a dream state,
Attentive now to sounds
Grown too late significant,
Too late sweet,
Almost too painful now,
I lay,
Half aware or half awake...
Thankful to live a memory so real,
Unaware I was transfixed
Inside a memory
Moving lightning speed
Through dreams....
As he was readying to leave,
Perhaps to go down to do one last chore,
I heard my father's footstep at the door.
"Dad, I wanted you to know
I love you very much!"
I spoke the words,
Loudly, so he heard.
I heard him clear his throat,
Say something about getting back to work.
And I awoke, a full day's drive away
From that old couch,
Itself five miles up the hill
From the buried urn where his cold ashes lie.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
We are America.
We are the coffin fillers.
We are the grocers of death.
We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
The bomb opens like a shoebox.
And the child?
The child is certainly not yawning.
And the woman?
The woman is bathing her heart.
It has been torn out of her
and as a last act
she is rinsing it off in the river.
This is the death market.
America,
where are your credentials?
2.7k
A hot spring
In the midst of Brooklyn
She walked in
An empty basin
Porcelain!
Suddenly rained
The water moving
Rage!
No wind to sail
No sun glare
Raveling black fiber
Ravened the rain
Stabbing through
Skin!
Awakened millions
Thirsty pores
Two hands walk
Ten fingers
Doing push ups
From head to toes
Bubbly bubbles
A bouquet of cloud
Smells of utopia
Rinsing off!
The curtain opens
Crinkles
A middle aged woman
Leaped out
A naked trickling rain
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Bent over the stream
of laundrywomen drench
words that flitter to and fro,
rinsing and revising spoken prose
across whispered conversations
Fading away into the piercing gaze
of an endless summer’s haze
the laundrywomen have mastered
the art of washing the soul with only water
and well-meant poems as soap
as if it were the cloth in their hands
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
This oddity so rare, and unaccustomed to me
My 'family' is one of hate.
Of disrespect and fist fights.
Broken and filled to the brim in grudges.
When we all have opinions, no one budges.
Such a normality to hear rinsing of knuckles after a fired conversation.
Is this family?
Can growing up with this be childhood?
Maybe this is why I feel much older than I am.
Feeling much more than my years.
Raised in a fired household,
A home up in blaze.
No one in this family even seems phased,
....
But I, I am.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream"
My courtyard is small, windows idle,
spring is getting old.
Screens unrolled cast heavy shadows.
In my upper-story chamber, speechless,
I play on my jasper lute.
Clouds rising from distant mountains
hasten the fall of dusk.
Gentle wind and drizzling rain
cause a pervading gloom.
Pear blossoms can hardly keep from withering,
but droop.
2k
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream"
Saddened by the dying spring, I am too weary
to rearrange my hair.
Plum flowers, newly fallen, drift about the courtyard
in the evening wind.
The moon looks pale and light clouds float
to and fro.
Incense lies idle in the jade duck-shaped burner.
The cherry-red bed-curtain is drawn close,
concealing its tassels.
Can Tung-Hsi's horn still ward off the cold?
2k
New/Knew/Rebuilding
You
4:18AM
not sure where to start,
so I will begin at the end,
rinsing and repeating,
till it makes a dime's worth of sense,
even if helps for just one minute,
I'll take it happy for
giving you one minute of better,
rinse and repeat,
60times, an hour to which we can only but
try
to build a single day.
You are new to me.
But I knew you a long time.
Don't ask silly whys or how's.
This won't take long.
Less than a minute.
Saw a few Picasso's, Chagall yesterday.
Even a Basquiat.
Estimated to sell for
$15~18 million dollars.
You know he once said,
"I thought I was going to be a *** for the rest of my life."
So here is my art for you, girl,
Whom I will likely never meet,
But is deep inside of me,
Unmasking provoking, couching, courting,
Crouching, springing
me to care.
If one new/knew/rebuilder of you
Is writing words of caring, artful encouragement
At 4:18am,
What is that worth?
I'll tell you cause I won't let
bitter answer for you.
Everything.
So **** art.
But open heart to the art of
Accepting that I just wrote you a poem,
Message on point,
I care.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream"
Thousands of light flakes of crushed gold
for its blossoms,
Trimmed jade for its layers of leaves.
This flower has the air of scholar Yen Fu.
How brilliant!
Plum flowers are too common;
Lilacs too coarse when compared.
Yet, its penetrating fragrance
drives away my fond dreams
of far away places.
How merciless!
2k
The energy that ignites
Courage is discovered
A new era awakens
While my eyes remain open darkness
To a dead world being self-reliance
After losing myself in distance
Strength is regain on the long desert road
A soul passage is tested, but not bended
Praised that I am
Peaceful are my spirits
Giving thanks as I bow
Rinsing this stench underneath the waterfalls
While creatures fear my howl
Now, I'm cleanse
As the desert knows my means
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 8:11 AM UTC
**i said “im not going to marry you”
and you said “oh. do you want to get married?”
and i said “…no”**
i was standing in the shower in someone else’s house when i told you i couldnt be with you
and you said “please don’t do this”
and i said “i’m sorry”, like i had to
and i said “goodbye,’ like i had to but i didn’t have to i didn’t do it because i had to i did it because
there’s an itch
you get in your feet
when you realize that all you have to do to be happy is, do
what makes you happy
and i decided i wanted that more than you.
last night when it rained i remembered what it sounded like
when it rained on your tin roof
and how you slept with your breathing shallow,
in case your grandma with dementia walked in and
called you by your grandfather’s name again. i remembered
the day you put the latch on your door to keep her out.
i bet you kept it there to keep me out too.
if i were still there
i’d be riding my bike to you now,
down that long stretch of littered sidewalk,
past that path where you smoked joints behind people’s yards at night
into the driveway by
your house, frame light enough to be carried away by wind
but the wind came
and it blew me away instead.
if i were still there i’d say happy anniversary, i love you so much
if i were still there it would be a lie
but i’m here, so it’s not, because
i can only love you from here, seeing what a fool you are
forgiving you anyway
so happy valentine’s day to your aforementioned buddy
and happy valentine’s day to the high school that almost killed you
and happy valentine’s day to whatever music you’re making
whether its metal,
or blues,
happy valentine’s day to the safeway cashier
who knew what we were up to and the school theater whose floor we slept on
and the kisses snuck between sleeping bags
and the arms that for three years were my home
in your bed, by your star wars curtains
light every morning, breakfast with your mom
who added me on facebook
and could never spell my name
february last year i was in italy rinsing you out of my mouth
this year i’m in israel eating salt and reading old emails
taking a bath in an empty apartment
wondering when
you’re going to cut your hair.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
~Christi Michaels~May 2015~
I sense the wind
across my skin
goose bumps rise
to your touch
calloused hands
fingers know just
how firm to grasp
the light rain
Knowin' of a
storm a'blowin
Your lips settle
on mine
wet~slick
firm and yielding till soft
We are nestled in these
suspended moments
between precipitation and
an all out squall
Your fullness climbs into me
finding my breath
I inhale the quiet before...
exhale, inhaling the Fresh of You
as this storm unfolds
pounding down seedlings of spring
rinsing all things clean
I am awash with you
unbridled passion having
survived a prolonged
season of thirst and drought
☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
Flesh scaling mossy rock,
trepidatious toes clamber on.
Seraphic sunlight beating down on naked back.
Approaching the edge of all fears.
Standing on the pinnacle.
Surrounded by the best friends in the world.
all there is to do is let go forever.
brace the fall, elongate with majesty.
Rhythmic heart, beating on all cylinders.
Di Dum: Fear
Di Dum: Anxiety
Di Dum: Stress
End of celestial descent.
Arrival in ecstasy.
Piercing icy blue water,
rinsing away all woes.
Circles of smiles,
and unprecedented unity.
In nothingness,
therein lies the foundation of all things.
Euphonious drum of waterfall.
harmonious chimes of birdsong.
Velvet blanket of heart warmth.
Soul soothing of clear water.
Utopian infinities crystallizing.
Dream't like folklore and now realized.
Naked as born with no things and everything.
Tight clothed and old with many things and nothing.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Rinsing over porcelain skin
Skin still too pale for the end of summer
Washing, cleansing, every curve, every bend
Water droplets gather in pools around my unpainted toes
Parachuting raindrops released from freshly-trimmed ends
Of hair that will soon disappear
Naked green eyes clear of disoperation
Gaze at the foreignness of this summer waterfall.
I part my lips to taste the mountain air
Condensed into a life source
Icy in July, fresher than filtered
A German Shepard gazes at my silhouette
Caramel and black, fur bristling with excitement
With kind brown eyes
Sparked with curiosity,
Lapping the water with his pink tongue.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
*How I lie and break, broken till to the very tip of my bone
I dislike how I ate my own hate, swallowed till it reaches the gate
How the voices preach to breach the barriers of the untouched soul
Purity bleach the acidic preaches of ones owned,
rinsing the putrid echoes of THE hateful stone.
Innocence remains unreached; it’s a battle of everyday presence.
My pure essence survives the life’s impermanence.
Winning and Losing stands in equilibrium.
Life is not as tasty as the sweet brew.*
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
Tonight
there's a
jasper in the sky
the dews rinsing
the dust
the breeze conveying
the sounds of nature
the weary footsteps of birds
like the clock on the wall
and busyness reverted
to tranquility
and tonight
there's a jasper
in the sky.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC