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The Iron Laundress Named Speed Queen
I stepped into the coin laundry early in the morning today
And washed my dirty linen.
Then I saw a warning tag says; 'Do not put any person in this washer'
But my inner soul cries; ' Jump into the humble commercial washer
And become an innocent King after rinsed all the sins as her name is Speed Queen.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Helena
Bolt and nut,
Bring the washer in between to satisfy my muse;
For i am Helena in the land of your muse!
Lost, cost, post, host, most;
I am Helena and i want your love;
But the bananas and the mangoes are not yet matured,
So try to fix up things to meet up to m ymuse.
Toll, doll, loll, moll, poll, roll;
Watch my lips and try to understand my words,
For the washer in between will surely satisfy my muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A walking corpse
I walk around like a zombie.
A reflection of a corpse.
Like Im in a body thats not mine.
A body depression has invaded.
Im a reflection of a corpse.
So numb and dead inside.
Not being able to feel.
Trapped in a body.
That once used to be mine.
Now its like its someone elses.
Im a walking corpse.
So very dead inside.
As numb as numb
Number than Ice.
Depression has over road.
And overtaken me.
Its made me like a walking corpse.
I may aswell be dead.
Thats how I feel inside.
A excellent resembalence
Of a walking corpse.
Mabey I can fight it
But that I very much doubt.
I have had to fight to many demons.
One more I cant fight this yet.
Im a walking corpse.
Dead inside.
A marvolos resembalence.
Of a walking corpse
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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At San Sebastian
The Countess sprawled beside the sea
As naked a she well could be;
Indeed her only garments were
A "G" string and a brassière
Her washerwoman was amazed,
And at the lady gazed and gazed, -
From billowy-bosom swell
To navel like a pink sea shell.
The Countess has of robes three score,
She doffs and leaves them on the floor;
She changes gowns ten times a ay,
Her chambermaid puts them away.
"How funny!" thinks the washer-wife;
"I've toiled and toiled throughout my life,
And only have, to hide my skin,
This old rag that I'm standing in."
The Countess never toiled at all;
She begged for coin when she was small,
And later, in the ancient fashion,
In gay resorts she peddled passion.|
But now to noble rank arrived,
(Tom wed the old Count she contrived)
Her youthful lover, lounging there,
Is hirsute as a teddy-bear.
The Countess will be honoured when
She dies past three-score years and ten.
The washer-women will wear out
With labour fifty years about . . .
Yet as the two look at each other
The Countess thinks: "So was my mother;
And washer-wife to live and die,
But for God's grace so would be I."
poem by Robert William Service
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Behnd the Wall of Sleep/Wasp
Precious cups within the flower
deadly petals with strange power
faces shine a deadly smile
back up on you at your trial
Chill and numbs from head to toe
icy sun with frosty glow
Why'd you go reaching your sorrow?
why'd you go read no tomorrow
Feel your spirit rise with the priest
feel your body falling to its knees
Take your walk of remorse
take your body to a corpse
take your body to a corpse
take your body to a corpse
if you want all remorse
take your body to a corpse
Now from darkness
song performed by by Black Sabbath from Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.
quote by James Joyce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The corpse [Cadavrul]
The corpse is lying on the bed,
Immersed in gloom it does appear,
Because bewitched by other sphere
The soul divine abruptly fled.
And the quick mind inside the head
Has fully stopped to interfere,
The corpse is lying on the bed,
Immersed in gloom it does appear.
Repulsive, heavy as the lead,
And its appearance fair and clear,
Which used to spread a perfume dear,
Today is nothing but a shred...
The corpse is lying on the bed.
poem by Cincinat Pavelescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The washer of corpses does no harm to the dead.
Behind The Wall Of Sleep
Precious cups within the flower
Deadly petals with strange power
Faces shine a deadly smile
Back up on you at your trial
Chill and numbs from head to toe
Icy sun with frosty glow
Whyd you go reaching your sorrow?
Whyd you go read no tomorrow
Feel your spirit rise with the priest
Feel your body falling to its knees
Take your walk of remorse
Take your body to a corpse
Take your body to a corpse
Take your body to a corpse
If you want all remorse
Take your body to a corpse
Now from darkness, there springs light
Wall of sleep is cold and bright
Wall of sleep is lying broken
Sun shines in, you are awoken
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Paneless Window Washer
Voices: Jack Mercer, Mae Questel, Gus Wickie
from The Paneless Window Washer (1937)
Submitted by Maria
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What the Chinese Would Say behind the Japs
they think they are greater
but look they use our characters
to write their own names, their own names! ! !
taking our lamps, our light to brighten up their own houses,
civilisation, their own souls,
originality, creativity thrown to the winds
and they talk about intelligence with us
these half schooled barbarians
who once ransacked our survival
waylaid our pride, like how Rome tore down
the Temple of Jerusalem, the Germans
exterminated the Jews............
the disciples who learnt morals only to sidetrack
their masters, our philosophers, to bury their corpses
in their gardens, flowers grown over them
but a corpse is a corpse! ! !
behind the beauty of everything Japanese
is but a corpse that each of them tries desperately to hide
the very thing that explains the obsession with cleanliness
but a corpse is a corpse
it is unpleasant and lives on
in the japanese mind to disturb them
if they let it hide in their soul
without proper atonement
and adherence to the master's teachings
rain, storm and earthquake would destroy the blooms
and expose the skeletons below them
the skeletons that refuse to be whitewashed
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living Corpse
propulsion often decays into nothing
but stagnancy, the visit of eternity
next erupts to tranquillise my flesh
raising me from the ground
and my corpse jumps
and my corpse curses the prison
once more the ripping
fits the feet and the well-being
I am ransacked tonight.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Apartment living is tough action. Just the whole idea that you share a washer and dryer always freaked me out.
EndAround
If the endaround gets in the open and the balltosser does not get killed the sideline washer will come into the game. Then the seventeen minutes will last longer then ever and seem like forever the men with the whistles will forfeit the flag the chain pullers come the ball is then moved to a different line.
In soccer the rules are different the endaround is the tommyboy.
The balltosser becomes the place kicker. The sideline washer is Jenifer she takes up the seventeen minutes. The men with the whistles have none they are called the ref. The chain pullers become the balltossers. They toss the ball out. The tommyboy catches the ball in both games. The place kicker heads. Jenifer smiles and forfeits the flag she is the ref in this game. The place kicker is dead.
Football and Soccer End around came.
poem by Charles Hice
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Loss of history
Loss of memory leaves one a corpse.
Loss of history of one’s ancestors
Or the ignorance of it by one leaves
One a corpse bereft of identity.
26.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Man is not whole, sans woman
Body sans soul is a corpse.
Soul sans body is ether.
Man is the corpse.
Woman is the soul.
Both together make life.
The corpse deteriorates.
But the ether exists.
Sans woman, man decays;
Sans man, woman stays.
Woman qua volunteer to Gandhiji,
woman qua adopted daughter to A.B. Vajpoyee,
woman qua daughter to Pandit Nshru
lent to respective men the soul.
26.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autopsy and the Corpse
Coroner: This is very complicating and in the whole body music runs and
It takes couple of years to diagnose.
Corpse: It doesn't make any difference dear officer just sign and give so and
so died as the others.
Coroner: It's really difficult as the corpse still speaking and the music goes on
never stops it seems?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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