"wringer" poems
lady craighead played the blues
on a stand-up samick
in the ***** room
along side the parsons project
and squabbling dogs
and night moves
stairs creek
up the mezzanine trek
wool sheets slide
on finished floors
little angels
play late into the seventh
(a closing match nearing
the midnight hour)
croaking toads and cicada
sing in the blue moon
musty smells and mothballs
settle deep in the vault
the kettle boils
and cat coils
as the pump house rolls
its heavy drawl
the red phone rings
and bird clock sings
(behind the ruddy stall)
a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez
employed heartily
by the incomparable master jack
marble toast burning
wringer wash churning
chris craft running
near the old carp canoe
rooster calls
and west wind squalls
rustle through the porch screen door
chicken *** pies
and rogue flies linger
a rocker chair placed
near the sepia face
(softened by the intricate frame)
donkey in tow
(with a fastened ***
maggie in her dreams
of green tambourines
the nocturnes
reflections
and whispering gospel bells
tractors pull on
the grinder stone
horses lay still
in the mid-day sun
a trump card is fingered
at the furnace click
(crosswords and puzzles are next!)
while the sparrow
*and that **** rabid fox*
are drowning
deep in castles well
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
If I were doing my Laundry I'd wash my ***** Iran
I'd throw in my United States, and pour on the Ivory Soap, scrub up Africa, put all the birds and elephants back in the jungle,
I'd wash the Amazon river and clean the oily Carib & Gulf of Mexico,
Rub that smog off the North Pole, wipe up all the pipelines in Alaska,
Rub a dub dub for Rocky Flats and Los Alamos,
Flush that sparkly Cesium out of Love Canal
Rinse down the Acid Rain over the Parthenon & Sphinx, Drain Sludge out of the Mediterranean basin & make it azure again,
Put some blueing back into the sky over the Rhine, bleach the little Clouds so snow return white as snow,
Cleanse the Hudson Thames & Neckar, Drain the Suds out of Lake Erie
Then I'd throw big Asia in one giant Load & wash out the blood & Agent Orange,
Dump the whole mess of Russia and China in the wringer, squeeze out the tattletail Gray of U.S. Central American police state,
& put the planet in the drier & let it sit 20 minutes or an Aeon
till it came out clean.
Allen Ginsberg
Boulder, 26 April, 1980
.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
Under the old house
cast in conglomerate mix
the cataract window
and cracked sill
broken joists
and cross beams
wringer wash
and saddle set
A draw string light
brings life
to the corner bench
fowler toads
and fingerlings
jitter bugs
and dazzy vance
dirt planks filled
with mason
crown classics
Buggy whip
and whippletree
shelved on the
chopboard
tackle and mucks
stacked at the back
horseshoe and jack rod
bend the pike pole
a sawhorse placed
for the Martindale push
Gallon jars
and growlers
prepped
for the taking
ropes and reins
for transport
and fest
goggle eye
jumps the flyer
setting up nicely
for the
Haldimand town fair
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
Homage Kenneth Koch
If I were doing my Laundry I'd wash my ***** Iran
I'd throw in my United States, and pour on the Ivory Soap,
scrub up Africa, put all the birds and elephants back in
the jungle,
I'd wash the Amazon river and clean the oily Carib & Gulf of Mexico,
Rub that smog off the North Pole, wipe up all the pipelines in Alaska,
Rub a dub dub for Rocky Flats and Los Alamos, Flush that sparkly
Cesium out of Love Canal
Rinse down the Acid Rain over the Parthenon & Sphinx, Drain the Sludge
out of the Mediterranean basin & make it azure again,
Put some blueing back into the sky over the Rhine, bleach the little
Clouds so snow return white as snow,
Cleanse the Hudson Thames & Neckar, Drain the Suds out of Lake Erie
Then I'd throw big Asia in one giant Load & wash out the blood &
Agent Orange,
Dump the whole mess of Russia and China in the wringer, squeeze out
the tattletail Gray of U.S. Central American police state,
& put the planet in the drier & let it sit 20 minutes or an
Aeon till it came out clean
4.7k
I killed you in my mind
I stabbed you to death 37 times
I gouged your eyes out
shot an arrow through your mouth
I may seem violent
but I'm really calm right now
I killed you in my mind
ran you over with a bulldozer
put you through the wringer
and hang you dry
it may seem gruesome
but I'm laughing so hard I could cry
I killed you in mind
drove a knife through your heart
and right now I'm being kind
I whisper, "It's okay" as I tear you apart
you may think it's gory
but sorry, I'm not sorry.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 9:33 AM 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
He is a wringer
snapper of neck, diseased infested bird.
Dancing ***** strippers
pieces of puked up poultry.
Laugh when the sun is up
during the night you are real
when the clowns come out to tease and ****
haunted by their giggles
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
*I, fluoride - sanity theft
Winding toy soldiers
to march the path toward furtive glory
While spurting the tune of war
to the end of their very last breaths*
*Harbinger of certain death
Peek from behind the curtain
Witness the brain mining
From inside your skull
eyeballs explode, deftly blinding
Defining images which pervade
Overwhelming emotions stowed
Once turned to stone
mental harm, tractor combines harvest FarmVille tards by the barnload
Certainly,
The eye of Horus and ISIS see all
scorching and seizing nations, arm in arm
All for one, none for all
Bombarding bravado
Clasp the trap
Lapse in conscious
All tapped out
Drowning in tap water
Until all comes tumbling down like Niagara Falls, dauntless
Like Satan's hands expanding
advance upon the homeland
Then race trickling downward
Total assest forfeiture
***** buried in sand)*
Faces hidden, ashamed
Orchestrate the line in frame
Shape my frame of mind
Until my thoughtscape escapes
To peer through one eye
Met to widespread acclaim
Descending into the mind of Chaos,
His stables gates
burst forth with beasts of fable, insatiable and rampant
Triumphant, turn the tables
Arch-Angels blare your trumpets
*Tell Famine get off his high horse
And rear his ugly head
So we can really show that *****
Mother Earth what for;
**** that ***** until nothing's left*
*Effectively wrecked
From careening trains of wretched *********
Now she's hit
& the caged bird that longs to be free, is inevitably
dismembered to pieces by the felines that be*
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
cuz she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting backriding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and I’m feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day when you'd hold me and say
that I'm the THE ONE you've always wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweatpool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
There are buckets made of plastic
There are buckets made of wood
The former are fantastic
The latter not so good.
There are buckets made of metal
And canvas buckets too
But metal for durability
I'd choose if I were you.
There's a bucket on a digger
And buckets made of leather
The former are the bigger
And the latter not so clever.
There are buckets made of tin
And with a little ***** in hand
Kids can build sand castles
When playing on the sand.
There are buckets made of rubber
Or with a wringer for a mop
And some in white enamel
With a blue ring round the top.
There are so many buckets
And some I may have missed
But if anyone should ask me
That's my bucket list.
Dec 7, 2022
Dec 7, 2022 at 2:27 AM UTC
The funding of my own little massacre,
my own precious little war crime. My smoke
is everywhere. My father coughs in his sleep.
My mother gags, hangs her head out the window, sick.
My cheap *** before and after cheap ***
I chat up some high-waisted pastiche on Alberta.
She tells me collage this and that and looks
so lit up and skinny, it's a dream.
Where I go to brand myself. I have this image
of a spark on my arm sitting stovetop red,
sinking into the skin, losing color as it digs,
turning to grey and then nothing like the drowning
of a comet's tail in atmosphere. My burns look so good
in the pale dormitory bathroom shower light: so baby tulip
and teeth, so how-I've-made-it-through-the-wringer.
Christ, I should be a film, look at me: so bent and bright,
such a cute boxer, such a prize fight.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 4:34 AM UTC
without the humans
pedaling along like
ants following paths
the redwoods still stand
still and mighty and feeling
the faintest breeze and dampest
touch of the birds nestled between
branches
never moving unprovoked or uncaused
they wait for nothing because there is
nothing to a redwood but the earth and the sun and
the rain and the ants still pedaling between grooves in her
hardened flesh, no wringer so efficient and wise *******
fallen water and moist air through the tips of toes and out into
the world above the wood ceiling so green and full and bourgeoning
life into the lungs of the moving types unable to stand still and breathe
and watch their god turn miracles by unspoken stories of growth and sheltering
persistence and resolve to manufacture life and color from dirt and water and air so
quietly respired
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
without the humans
pedaling along like
ants following paths
the redwoods still stand
still and mighty and feeling
the faintest breeze and dampest
touch of the birds nestled between
branches
never moving unprovoked or uncaused
they wait for nothing because there is
nothing to a redwood but the earth and the sun and
the rain and the ants pedaling between grooves in her
hardened flesh, no wringer so efficient and wise *******
fallen water and moist air through the tips of toes and out into
the world above the wood ceiling so green and full and bourgeoning
life into the lungs of the moving types unable to stand still and breathe
and watch their god turn miracles by unspoken stories of growth and sheltering
persistence and resolve to manufacture life and color from dirt and water and air so
quietly respired
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
'cause she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting back-riding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and I’m feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day that you'll hold me and say
I was always the THE ONE that you wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweat-pool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
A thousand miles seems pretty far
I'm lost, I heard you
I'd walk a to you if I had no other way
I think the air is finally safe to breathe again
The world is in your palm now so take a breath and calm down
I'd wait a day just for a maybe
I just don't care
I've got nothing left to lose
Take this and turn it into gold
Everything you thought you had has turned to stone
And be replaced by pints of whiskey, cigarettes and outer-space
Look at me now, I'm fallin'
Living, dying here for you
I've got all the time in the world, but every night I think of you
I confessed to you riding shotgun
I had nothing to hold you down
Now it's killing me to walk away
I need to know your lips
Why don't you want to wake this up?
Would you please just take my heart and melt it down?
It was so beautiful when it was needed
If you could know what I was feeling
I've been in the ditch, I've been through the wringer
All I wanna be, all I ever wanna be, is somebody to you
I see you by my house, walking with a different girl
Yeah it's killing me to walk away
Some day soon, I wont be the one who waits on you
I'll be standin' at the top wavin' my middle finger
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
she speaks in rhymes and riddles
and i cant help but listen.
and i'm a mess of insecurity
wrapped up in a box of smoke and mirrors
and im putting you through the wringer
unsure of north or south
they say follow the constellations of your heart
yet we cant map out the stars,
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
The wringer is no place for a damaged shirt to be.
It may be torn or ripped in its most fragile state.
It may not come back to you the same as it did when it entered, losing a part of what it was.
But you have no choice,
because it's the only shirt you have
and you need it today.
You need it everyday.
But every time you put your shirt through the wringer, you're risking the loss.
Be patient.
Be gentle.
your old shirt.
It's all you have.
If you loose it then what?
Set it out to dry and
let it be.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
With a joint in the ashtray
and a pen in my hand
I travel through vapours
to my neverland
awareness fades slowly
to the drum beating time
as I float, now enraptured
slow-captured, sublime.
Where I am an island
no hurt at my shore
here grief doesn't beckon
'cause I love you no more
but deep in minds shadows
l feel you draw near
my bringer of sadness
sweet wringer of tears
I hear your dark whispers
rekindling our ties
I'm fighting, freefalling
through love laden lies.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.
I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.
I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.
I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.
I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.
I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.
Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?
Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!
It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.
Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.
Yes, that’s the way to go;
I will give my best shot to my dreams
and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow
I will be contented and proud
to have taken that dip
and rescued me.
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 4:53 AM UTC
How could you look through all my facets, and still have it in your heart to hurt me?
I've ****** up and thrown my family through the wringer.
I've been told I'm incapable of caring for others.
I've done a lot of things to warrant this torture,
But to you?
I've done nothing but love you with every vibrating molecule of my being.
Is that my downfall?
Not that I can't feel, but that I care too much for everything the moment they enter my life.
Lovin's wreckless, baby. And I love you so much.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
Theres a rose in the garden that's been through a storm
Its hurt and small now but it seems so worn
Its gone through the wringer but still it stands
Exciting no one it makes no demands but it
Amazes me how to this day
One little rose can turn no one away.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
I could have been this and I could been have that,
But there were too many hurdles and the plans fell flat.
I could have been like her, a very big star,
But my bad luck, opportunities were few and far.
I had the grace; I could have been a dancer,
But there were too many objections with no solutions or answers.
I had a sweet voice; I could have been a singer,
But I was sole earner of family, and it sponged me dry like a wringer.
I played so well with colours, I could have been a painter,
But the paints were costly and with no one to guide, dreams became fainter.
I had skills; I could have been anything I wanted,
All I needed was a spirit which would have saved me from being daunted.
Is it too late to start again?
Pick up the brush or the pen and let my dreams be my swain?
Just let go of all resentments and start!
And not let the past tear my present and future apart!
It has been so tiring, carrying disappointments and resentments for so long,
Let me start fresh as if I was born today, fire the passion and let it grow strong.
Yes, that's what I will do, I owe it to myself and this god gifted life,
I will not cry over what I didn't get, instead use gift and opportunities which today are rife.
Yes, that’s the way to go; I will give my best shot to my dreams and what I always wanted to be,
For if the world ends tomorrow I will be contented and proud to have taken that dip and rescued me.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 1:27 AM UTC
The last poem ever written about love
------------------------------------------------------
You've seen them all
you've seen them before
love poems written
thrown out the door
I used to write the most beautiful stuff
full of imagery
full of lust
one line once written to someone..
he looked at me and frowned
some months later jumped into the ocean,
couldn't swim.. he drowned
the line was stolen from another song
if you know the words feel free to sing along
"you can't always get what you want,
but sometimes .. you get what you need....
and for this I suffer,
I am suffering, indeed.."
Other memorable quotes of
lost loves past
"how did you take my ugly crescent moon
and make its' beauty last?"
Another ironic one.. dogs rolling in their own mess
and something about the touch of others.. and me
pretending it is your caress..
It seems all the poems I have ever written
could be related to you
but i would never compare my love of others
to the love I have for you..
We are all so individual..
so different... so unique..
If I were not with you in love..
those old poems' words
I'd tweak
But my love of a lifetime
deserves better than tweaked
melodies float through my heart
heart pulsates... stomachs weak
The middle, the center,
of this .. he hears me speak
i wonder if he really knows
the havoc that this wreaks
love to some is only a game
and more power to the players
from what i know, what i feel
this love is not for haters
only for the passionate
the serious, the true
i have never had such loyalty
for anyone but you
but hence .. the old saying certainly rings true
about good things coming to an end
i can't help but to only feel blue
these are the saddest days of my life
the tears so freely flow
i feel like i've been through the wringer
i feel i've taken the biggest blow
but not only to me, i will survive
it is my heart that took the punch
from here on out, til death do i part
my love for others..
is out to lunch
you are the last to receive
what i perceived to be love
even if i did it wrong
nobody gave me the nudge
nobody told me or even clued me in
to heaven or hell i go with that.. my good maybe more than my sins
i love you jerry with all I have..
Never.. did I NOT
"if we keep doing what we have always done, we always get what we've got"!
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
My slight chill
Your warmth
My lithe fingers
Your palm
The top of your head
Your shoulders and ears
The curve of my jaw
My painted nails
Tracing lines down your forearms
My painted nails
Dug into your back
Your growled responses
Your imperfect grammar
My classroom dialect
Spoken soft into your shirt
Your stomach and navel
Your hips and thighs and knees
Your privates - and mine
Light came (comes) from us
Onto the bed, now
Bare-legged
Speaking little
My arched back a bowing swan
My palms gripping your tanned skin
Rise and fall
Shivering and savoring
Your heat and your flavor
Through the wringer
Heavy arms slung over my back
After Blind Nights in the Blue Ridges
Oh, I love you so.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC