"soaps" poems
Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
so invigoratingly innocent
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
my skin
was rubbed raw
because someone touched me
on the sidewalk
without my permission
one time I didn't sleep for a week
because something in my room was
out of place and I
couldn't fix it
ive stayed up all night
wondering if all the doors are locked
so I check
once
twice
three times
four times
and so on
untill its time to wake up
the soaps in the shower
are put a certain way
if not
then I feel myself fall
apart
Ill clean for days
and not sleep
or stop
once
so please stop saying
"Oh, im so OCD!"
because you will never understand
what its like to have this crippling
fear
that everything will go wrong
if one thing is different
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
Look around,
You will find all eyes down;
some expressionless,
some desperate,
and few smiling!
Both tiny and fatty thumbs
yearning for a rest,
after typing those texts.
Some consulting the Doc
for having a smartphone thumb
and some for lacking vitamin D!
Posts wanting more and more likes.
Kilograms of followers on Instagram!
Swapping stories on Whatsapp!
Unopened notebooks
when you have a Facebook!
Television screens consigned to oblivion
when you have a Youtube!
Discovering the veiled world,
missing the real scenes around.
Emoticons spreading fake feelings,
Stupefying infants swiping through the screens,
Kids imploring to their parents-
To drag out the patterns.
What is more satisfying?
Hitting play button on the screen or
Hitting a six on the field?
Carting products online or
Shopping on a girls day out?
Dribbling a basket ball or
Dragging down the newsfeed?
Watching daily soaps without a dish or
Helping your mother out to wash the dish?
Sharing the snaps of poverty and hunger or
Reaching out to them with eager?
A game of candy crush or
Gifting a candy to your crush?
I feel like whooping out to myself
and to people around;
To raise their heads and
Look around!
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
Is that naïve?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
i'm sick to death of this stinking routine
perpetual day time TV,
petty bickering
afternoon pub binges
hopeless job hunting morons everywhere,
i return to my hometown
to the place i was made, molded
created
and it suffocates me like never before
i think of the many reasons i left
they circle my thoughts for a long while
and then i'm left with one
one that overrides the lot
it takes a while to spit it out
because it's corny, it's stupid, it's not how we work
but
it's love
and the lack of it
the love here is in the mundane
the easy,
the norm.
it's not in the heart
the love around here lies in
television sets
and pirate DVDs
reduced chicken and new coffee machines
gambles on abused horses
saturday afternoons in the local
cheap holidays to Benidorm
a day trip to lidl
a weekday evening watching the soaps
a phonecall to a family member you don't care about
hours playing candy crush
the love has lost on us humans
the love here, it was lost on me too
it missed me out
they missed me out
it has instead transferred in this
reality tv, selfie indulgent zeitgeist
it has left our silly bodies
and i'm still clinging on
trying to dissapear from that
new century bubble
trying to pick up pieces
of that porcelain mosaic
that old style bric a brac
so long ago forgotten
pressure is everywhere
notifications beep
this tiny block of perspex
waiting to be touched
waiting to be in communication
with someone at the other side of the city
the other side of the world
oh what a sad existence
when all we love is through the inanimate
and not ourselves
but hey thats the way of the world
and we have to accept it
or hate it
because we can't do both
we have to accept our fast paced tumultuous society
always moving through space and time
at times, difficult
painful
hard
sore
but consumerism, capitalism and cronyism
it all exists in this big society
this 'we're all in it together' society
and it cant be ignored.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Visitors pass from empty bed
to empty bed, like Royals,
silently soaking up the dread
atmosphere with remote respect.
Examining clipboard histories,
rehearsing their medical soaps.
Volunteers answer questions,
the front line troops in trying
to raise our war dead back to life.
Have a care John Willie was not
just a private, not a number,
nor a diagnosis. He was
a person and a brave soldier.
Old photos frame soldiers' pains,
they're wearing posterity masks,
hiding feelings and memories
that lurch back again and again.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC
Anne is 97.
"Oy, the bones!"
Walking ain't easy
Sitting draws pain.
"I use a heating pad."
Her pink house is a shrine
with 2 T.V. altars.
"I'm so lucky."
Marilyn is 72.
"I ran my own modeling agency."
She orchestrates care,
for her mother Anne,
for husband Manny.
("He had a stroke.")
and for Debbie,
her daughter with M.S.
"WHO TOLD YOU SHE HAD M.S. ???!!!!"
screamed her text.
I pause, . . . . .
Volcanic fissures of paranoia erupt weekly.
(she's tired, living on that last nerve, Om..... I must forgive... forgive... forgive...).
"You did" I reply.
Anne,
Marilyn,
Manny,
and
Debbie.
And the pink house altars chanting.
Chanting greed.
Chanting wanna be, wanna more, wanna wanna om wanna wanna....
The kill-you-with-boredom soaps and talk shows blast from all T.V.s,
"ELLEN looks more like a man everyday, I like KATIE," she declares, as I quietly shut the door.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
what you see:
me, quiet and deadly still in a way that
i never am
staring into empty space or
at a blank wall. maybe i'm
counting cracks or cataloging creases.
you see me zone out—
such an airhead, that George is
i wonder what he's imagining
what i see:
ivory skin and hair as orange as
sunset, and she is as beautiful...
on the outside;
but on the inside, she is a
black hole.
she ****** me in
and i thought she was the light
at the end of the tunnel.
i must have been a traveller
stranded and thirsty in the desert
crawling towards mirages.
now i am helpless.
i am watching her line her legs with ink
as she tells me to make sure that she
doesn't line her legs
with blood.
meanwhile, i scratch deep
at an itch that isn't there
and call it catharsis.
i am seeing white tiles and
a translucent shower curtain and
a sink and soaps and everything is
normal—except the girl
sitting in a bathtub
naked without water
and bare skin has never made me feel more
ill.
what you hear:
ambient sounds.
my breathing, perhaps.
what i hear:
she hums like a Disney villain
brewing potions
and calling it tea. she looks
like a princess
but her words are witch's curses
and i'm hexed
under her spell,
hanging by a thread
to every word she's ever said
and somehow not noticing
the noose she looped around my neck.
darling, choke me
'til I can only breathe as well as your drowning lungs
as you gasp into your oxygen mask
what you see:
i'm having a panic attack.
what you hear:
i'm hyperventilating.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
I must have been raised wrong,
I believe in being generous.
I think people should be loved;
That meanness can be onerous.
I have seen what evil does
And I want no more of that.
I don’t think that selfishness
Will really feed the captain’s cat.
I have watched back biters
And gossips and thieves
Bring themselves all unawares
To the point where everyone grieves.
I have witnessed liars who get
Tripped up on their own tales;
Regular folks and politicians
Get the air taken from their sails.
I know well that our elderly
Have already done their job
So it’s fine with me if they just
Sit around and act like slobs.
They took care of us when we
Were the indolent folks kids are
So, they are entitled to rest,
More than we are, by far.
I was raised to let people be
If they had some philosophy
That did not match mine
Or even the vast majority.
Someone thinks a different way
That’s fine if it hurts no one.
Not everybody thinks the same
Carnival rides are that much fun.
I saw for myself that people
Were individual in so many ways.
Different in how they dressed
And what they had to say.
Some liked sports TV
And many preferred the soaps.
All of that is fine with me
So, why call each other dopes?
Is there something wrong with me
That I don’t go along with the crowd?
That I don’t enjoy the fights,
The sports fans shouting out loud?
Am I silly for not slowing down
When I pass a wreck on the highway?
Well, if I am, then that is fine.
I will go on doing things my way.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
A thespian
In a play
A strong man
But not strong today
Leading girl gone away
One act
One scene
One line to say
His kōan
"What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Silence.
Pretty girl
Gamine thin
Her Ribs
Bent staves
Round a coopers bin
And at the clubs
She picks up men
Who leave her
When they’ve
Had their fill.
And still
It’s courtly love she seeks
A treasure trove
That is for keeps.
Her kōan
"The moon cannot be stolen."
But maybe if she seduces it…
It will be hers.
She’s middle aged
There’s not much left
Her ******* aren’t firm
She’s barrel shaped
She watches soaps
And talks with friends
And fights the fear
That if it ends...
She hasn’t amounted to
Much at all
She could have been more
If she just had the time
Her kōan
"What are you doing?"
Nothing.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
This girl, old so and so
Has an affair with what's his face
Every one in town knows about
Except for what's her name
This guy from somewhere or another
Shows up after years lost at sea
Everyone is so surprised
Except for...you know who I mean
In the middle as my stomach grumbles
I go to the store for a snack
Three days later I turn back on the tube
They're at the very same spot they were when I left
This little blind boy with his seeing eye dog
Is in a hospital bed with issues
I loudly exclaim these **** allergies
And run back to the store for more tissue's
This mystery man goes down in flames
In a fiery plane crash
Wouldn't you know, as soap operas go
Two days later the guy is back
That's about all I've gotten out of the soaps
As this week draws to an end
But come Monday midday, what can I say
They'll start all over at the same place again
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!!!
It’s a huge shame on the men who think its their place to strip women naked.
Shamelessly, they quote the bible, “it’s the temple so it should not be displayed”
If that is the case, why didn’t the “believers” who were present take a leso or kikoi to the lady to cover the temple? Instead you strip her???
You are the most sinful of them all and you deserve to have been thrown at the first stone.
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who think that just because you show some skin, you need a touch.
Dressing is done for whatever reason that is personal to a soul.
No dressing is right or wrong.
It’s a shame how ignorance has raided our society and posed as norms and stupid absurd “morals”
How about we pull your trousers down when you sag them to the lowest place your belt can find?
Huh?
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who live in the stone age era of blaming the appearance of women as a push for ***
Why not long for the ones you see on the soaps, or movies or all???
Why not dress your women in whatever you think looks appealing and only you, could strip them when you get home for your own pleasures?
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who have brought women to the level of slavery!
Could this be insecurity making your head full??
Do women now do better than you? Yes!
Do they stand for themselves without you or even better than you? YES!
Do they have a voice? YES!!
So SHAME on you when you let your face be seen on the camera stripping a woman and shamelessly putting your fingers inside her privates.
SHAME on you for stripping a woman her integrity and dignity and letting the whole world know.
Your Education was a Fail!!!
I recommend you go back to school and learn some more.
This is a sign of IDLENESS, DEBAUTCHERY and POSSESED IDEOLOGY of SADISM!!!
Its is DEVILISH!
Who is our society raising?
Fathers or Defilers?
REMEMBER that this person, next time,
This, could be your sister,
Your mother
Or your wife!!
SHAME! SHAME!! SHAME!!!
©TheUnspoken
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Can I just forget this year
That started off so fine
I just hope that by next year
I'll have a better time
With all the fighting on the news
In Damascan streets
Makes me wonder how we can
Reject the survivors we meet
Between Brexit and the election
We keep on splitting apart
And all of the hateful ones
Feel free to threaten our hearts
Zika rode in behind ebola
Two crisies on end
All of the panic caused by it
Hardly helps people make amends
The Olympics were pretty great
But still pretty spotty
With bacterial bays, alge filled pools
And the antics of Ryan Lochtie
The globe's heat keeps rising on
Wreaking havoc on our climate
With polar ice melting, it grates
That people don't get science
My favorite sci fi heroes died
Those people who inspired
Those who gave us so much hope
Just suddenly expired
The local subway's been a mess:
It keeps catching on fire
After three times, it just seems
That we can't fix a wire
My brain seems to be getting worse
At being normal or sane
Somedays I just want to run
And dissolve into the rain
I ended my relationship
Of over a year
And lost touch with some friends
Whom I once held so dear
School just keeps getting harder
(Not too shocking to find)
But my Girl Scout and school projects
Might just fry my mind
My mom and I are getting to
A rough patch in our ways
And hiding my intrests from my 'rents
Takes so much of my days
My social circle only gets
Harder and harder to track
And my family's stories sound like soaps
Even though we have each other's backs
So can I just forget this year
Make it all fade away
Can I just go back to sleep
And face '16 another day
So can I just forget this year
Just please make it all end
And maybe in 2017
I'll be able to start again
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
The Fairy of the Silver Shop
Now all little fairies run out of things
Little clover soaps and even replacement wings.
Little vine laces for their little fairy feet
Little fairy apple pips as a midday treat.
So they all go to the silver shop for spares
And there is a fairy appointed that really cares
She has drawers filled with this and that
From silver bells to a rose petal hat
There is no such thing as money in fairyland
Every sale done with a shake of the hand.
The fairy of the silver shop everyone’s delight
Open every morning and closes at midnight.
The imps and elves enjoy the pleasure
Of rooting through such precious treasure.
Cherry stones and acorns make great pipes
And little lacy cobwebs make superior wipes
She stocks all these and very much more
It won’t be long before she opens a superstore.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Dia de Muertos in a Parking Lot
23 July 2017
The big trucks roll along the interstates
And bear in their wombs the American soul:
Made-in-China shoes, ‘phones, dolls, cartoon tees
Scented soaps, baseball bats, and hipster hats
And the dead. Disposable merchandise
In the commerce of nations, the subjects
Of learned discourse and bigoted rant
Everyone in America wants to be famous
Coyotes dispose of their human cargo
And
How easy for us to say we didn’t know
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
Am Moses Makau Muthama a.k.a Triple M or M cubed bt simply known as KASHLINK!!! A Kamba by nature,born in Mombaxa around 1993,a saved christian wit God given gifts. I like socializin alot that guys mistake me 4 a 'player'!! Hobbies include: chilling wit pals,crackin jokes,watchin soaps n muviz,lstng 2 cool RnB's n Riddims,swimmin n playin soccer!! A die hard Man U fan indeed,skuld @ Bashir primo 07' n went 2 Kitondo Boys High xul 11' n did well thx 2 papa God! Currently @ JKUAT 15'. Am now lukn 4ward 2 leave a mark in the globe positively very xun! May da Lord bless de work of ma hands!!! Amen.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
first--
my big brother came through the door, hoodie up,
L close behind--
a farm girl,
small features
warm eyes
Bean boots and rough hands,
i could smell the cigarettes and the new cash in his pocket.
he showed me the pipe he'd fashioned out of driftwood
the one thick silver band on his left pointer finger glinting warmth from the dining room light
and in a drunken haze i wondered if there was anything in the world he couldn't do.
second--
she set the canvas bag on the counter,
and out came heirloom apples,
and mittens
and fresh honeycomb in an old plastic container,
label worn and peeling from all the hours it had traveled, and i thought suddenly and strangely
of all the times it'd been placed in bags as an afterthought, left in the backseat of a golden texas-plated '95 corolla
(an alien up here)
warming between biodegradable soaps and pottery filled with sprouting seeds,
how many raindrops it had shed sitting on the front steps of an old clapboard house.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
She lied in the unmade hotel bed,
in nothing but dark white underwear.
Dark-green black-out curtains,
with a slit in the middle, filtered
and framed the sorrowful light
of noontime; leaving a bar of sun
That made dust waltz in the musky air,
and illuminating the small
Of the woman’s back and hips,
making the skin shine. Her husband
stood at the foot of the bed looking
in the mirror and glanced back at her
napping and she looked so harmless,
like a child− or an animal; like she had
never been hurt, or sunk her teeth in another.
Two nights before they fought about silverware,
and he watched a documentary on wildlife survival
in which a hunter strangled a rabbit to death,
and it made him wonder how it would feel
to hold the animal by the throat, while it
squirmed and cried for breath within the hand.
For some reason, He concluded it would feel
easier to smother someone to death with a pillow.
The couple decided to leave the city,
To pretend they had a fresh start,
from the fact that it had been a whole
season since they had last touched
the room came with bed made,
and complimentary soaps on the
counter.
when the woman got up,
they walked to the shore a block away.
The sun was turning red, and falling
below the feminine silhouette of the earth,
and the wind picked up moving the water,
like a mirror unfolding and dividing indefinitely.
The woman walked farther out on the gray
sand and told the man to take a picture of her,
the sun behind her illuminating each tendril of dead
skin flouting round her head like threads of dark wine.
She laughed, and the sound carried
out through the water and came back, like an
invisible
twin.
Later that night the man stood on the porch
smoking. The moon was rising and full.
He could hear the giggling of a young couple
room beyond the courtyard. They were
Skinny-dipping in the pool; the woman embraced
in the young man’s arms legs wrapped our his waist.
The old man suddenly felt warm, recalling his flash adolescence
in extinct lukewarm nights like this. A tinge of nostalgia
and regret that rose and fell for a second and then disappeared.
He then scoffed, threw the smoldering smoke off the porch,
walked back to his room, and slammed the door.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
It’s that awkward time between 5 and 6 pm where his eyes are the colour of mocha brown stained novel pages and finger tips callused and crinkled with years of practicing and gripping too tight on a black biro pen.
He turns the corner of the street and we make a narrow escape to the highway where careful mothers have their children strapped to seats wailing with voices so shrill yet so untouched and pure..
And I turn and I look out the window and plaster on a sad look like I’ve been copy pasted out of a sad music video about boys and breakups and lost loves, reminiscent of the paraphernalia of stories and soaps and television shows my mother used to watch.
Slowly I turn and I feel a tap on my shoulder blades and he asks me if I’m ok but secretly I’m wishing and hoping that there’s more to life than this god forsaken city but I still say I’m fine anyway.
"The city looks really nice this time of day" he says and I just don’t see it because everything around me is illuminated in fake fluorescence and wired in with the hands of a man who’s just lost his wife and swears his depression is just a phase.
"Squint and you’ll see it" he insists but I can’t because the world is in monochrome and the concrete of the buildings are the tombstones of chivalry and manners, filled to the brim with office workers hunched over stacks of papers and lists.
He turns left at the third intersection and laughs at a man squabbling drunk cursing the world on the side of the road and I hope he doesn't know that it was what I'd do if he let me grab the bottle of Jack from the trunk.
"Goodnight and godspeed," he laughs and I say **** off" in exchange for a hug and so another day passes in the presence of car windows and rolling cityscapes.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
Am truly grateful for hosting you
In my life you lived like a superstar
More popular than the TV soaps.
In the Hollywood of my friends you shinned,
Before disaster was born to us
We made thousands of decisions
But Never was fate included.
Many had made glorious entries
But unbearable departure.
It was intended to love and never to hate
To have and never to loose.
What would you do if one morning
All joy turned to fear (dreams to past)
Hopes into sorrow
To chase so shortly
And gone too soon
I presumed I was preventive
But it happened; like death steals the living.
A disease undiagnosed
With no announcement to make.
Have got no more to chase
Cause the choice isn’t mine to make.
The beauty and fantasies
Now buried in disappointment .
Your face smiles with hatred and shame
………..Shalom to you
Who crippled the Love that I had
And washed my efforts to dust
Nothing left to protect
Rather all left to the blowing wind
To determine its direction and destiny.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:13 AM UTC
Public transportation reeks of human sweat; the unwashed bodies of common man pressed together like flaked tuna fish in a can, only less well preserved.
What folly bathing can be; as it hides the dark animal truth of who and what we are. The stench we turn our noses up from whilst we traverse throughout our day holds within it's sour notes our true identity.
We are not nicely scented soaps and perfectly groomed hair. We are not our finely pressed clothes or smoothly manicured hands.
We are creatures of this planet with a developed mind capable of great feats but our greatest achievement thus far may be the lies we have convinced ourselves to believe.
And so we pack into busses, trains and planes and do our best not to breath the same air as our fellow passengers on this trip called life.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Dragonware
Juicers
Black Swans
Gem Stones
4AD Music
Exoctic Teas
SteamPunk
Cuckoo Clock Parts
Ink Tones
Fabrics
Scissors
Plier Queen
Drill bits
Blow Torches
Tango Shoes
Feather Wigs
Perfumes
Silver Plates
Sail Boats
Old Books
Buttons
Paint Sticks
Zumbar Soaps
Essential Oils
Color Pencils
Books of Zen
Painted Pictures
Make up Colors
Art of Olivia
Playful Friends
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
she wakes me with a kiss on the cheek
puts a hot drink by my side
then gently ruffles my hair
before exiting the room
a towel wrapped firmly around her
what fine form she has
what buxom beauty
and such kindness beneath
I hear the hiss of hot water
as she steps in the shower
and imagine her moist *******
hardening as she soaps up her *******
soaking herself in the steady downpour
a warm sensation filling her insides
like a hot flood in a rain forest
and outside the birds are singing
and inside so am I
because in that moment
she gave me enough strength
to face another day
and I know
that with her
I am home
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC