I buried a lot of my ironing in the back yard.
quote by Phyllis Diller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buried Between two Trees
Back home again
in the yard
I used to play in
So many memories here
of days long ago
for memories, I hold dear
Saw the grave of old shep
the dog I loved so
in this yard, he followed me every step
He's buried between two trees you see
buried him in my brand new quilt
and my mother was really mad at me
In this yard, I would bathe him
many years before
his old eyes grew dim
His bed layed by the cellar door
with tall trees, all around him
oh memories, of the dog I adored
Memories of the time
that the meter man came
he hit old shep, that wasn't very kind
This old yard, was all shep had
he guarded it with his life
when he died, I was very sad
This old yard, now has in it,
a lot of beautiful flowers, all round
between two trees, he wouldn't mind a bit.
Ironing
I like the smell of ironing
It makes me think of home,
Of when I was a youngster
Long before I'd writ' a poem.
That sense of real security
Remembered as a dream,
Embedded in mum's ironing-board
And floating in the steam.
The swishing, easy movement
Was always just the same,
It lulled me to the edge of sleep
While whispering my name.
The pile of clothes was endless
It must have been a chore
To have us kids supplying it,
Not one or two, but FOUR.
There is no smell like ironing
The scent is all it's own,
I liked it when I was a child,
I like it now I've grown.
And when the time for ironing
The clothes again does come,
I'll take in that unique perfume
And think again of mum.
Written Feb 1995
poem by John Carter Brown
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The Devils Been Busy
While youre strolling down the fairway
Showing no remorse
Glowing from the poisons
Theyve sprayed on your golf course
While youre busy sinking birdies
And keeping your scorecard
The devils been busy in your back yard
Steaming down the highway
With your trucks of toxic waste
Where you gonna hide it
In the outer space?
You dont know what youre doing
Or what you have to guard
The devils been busy in your back yard
Sometimes you think youre crazy
But you know youre only mad
Sometimes youre better off not knowing
How much youve been had
You see your second cousin
Wasted in a fight
You say he had it coming
You couldnt do it right
Youre in a western movie, playing the part
The devils been busy in your back yard
Sometimes they say youre wicked
But you know that cant be bad
Sometimes youre better off not knowing
Itll only make you sad
Theyre coming down picadilly
Dripping at the dash
Wasting sticky willy
Covering him with their cash
They just might not have noticed, theyve been beating him so hard
And the devils been busy in your back yard
Devils been busy in your back yard
Devils been busy in your back yard
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Complete Destruction
It was an icy day.
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the back yard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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From an Upper Verandah
What happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?—
Yet I would that this upper verandah did not
Look down on my beautiful Neighbour's Back-yard!
I stir the afflatus: Descend, O ye Nine!
Let the crystalline gates of the soul be unbarred!
No. My thoughts will keep running in one fixed line—
The clothes-line that hangs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Let me gaze on the hills; let me think of the sea;
Of the dawn rosy-fingered—the night silver-starred:—
(What dear little feet must the owner's be
Of those stockings that hang in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Let me tune my soul to a measure devout:—
Ah, the musical mood is all jangled and jarred,
While things with borders, and things without,
Keep flutt'ring down there in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Are the True and the Good and the Beautiful dead,
That I win not one gleam of Pierian regard?
(Does she suffer, I wonder, from cold in the head?—
Such a lot of mouchoirs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Comes the fit. While it sways me, high themes would I sing!
Prometheus! Achilles! Have at you! En grade!
Alexander the Great—(oh that I were a string
On that apron hung out in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
I will shut my eyes fast—I have hit it at last,
Now my purest Ideals flit by me unmarred;
And odours of memory rise from the past,
(And an odour of suds from my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Ah, yes! when the eyelids together are prest,
Every vestige of earth we throw off and discard.
(These are flannels, I think. Is she weak in the chest?—
There! I'm looking again at my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Since the Muses back out, let Philosophy in:
Let me ponder its problems cold and hard.
Ah! Philosophy dies in a celibate grin
At that bolster-case down in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Oh shame on my rapidly silvering hairs!
Oh shame on this veteran battered and scarred!
I to be witched with these frilled—affairs!
Confound my neighbour! Confound her Back-yard!
Why seek for the blossoms of Auld Lang Syne,
When the boughs where they budded are blasted and charred?—
Faugh! the whole concern's too alkaline—
It's washing day in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Eternities Yard
Into eternities yard, some wont go
in my path, all will tread
fear not today,
I'm always at a beckons call,
fear not tomorrow,
i will be waiting,
fear not yesterday,
i never look back,
fear not the end,
i am the end,
fear not the beginning,
i may not let it pass
into my yard, all will go
bordered by tears, a river of blood flows,
in my path they are no cries,
in my yard,
no angel lies
poem by Tinashe Severa
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I came home every Friday afternoon, riding the six miles on the back of a big mule. I spent Saturday and Sunday washing and ironing and cooking for the children and went back to my country school on Sunday afternoon.
quote by Ida B. Wells
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The washing monster
The washing monster
How it grows
It's fed well
On our dirty clothes
Relentlessly
We do attack
But by the next day
It's grown back
He has a friend
That's equally vile
It calls itself
The ironing pile
poem by Stevie Taite
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Do It All Again!
empty water buckets
on a porch long deserted,
the old house falling down
like a tree sheds its leaves.
the chimney stands cold,
almost roaring with silence...
and there's still a marker
in the back yard where we buried the dog.
love yellowed sheets,
and maggots in the flour.
spiders march on the outhouse walls.
empty mason jars that remember green beans,
a hoe, and a shovel with a broken handle.
ghosts walk cobwebbed halls,
the old floor sags.
and the sounds of two young lovers
haunt the ticking of an unseen clock.
damn! to go back...
and do it all again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Drink!
Ill take back my pinata its wasted on you
Just spinning that pool cue all over the room
And give back the blindfold thats under your shoe
Lets drink, drink this town is so great
Drink, drink cuz its never too late
To drink, drink to no big surprise
But what words rhyme with buried alive
What words rhyme with buried alive
You could be a float for the 4th of july
Based on your theme of wallflowers grown wild
Look thru your peephole, youve won every prize
Lets drink, drink this town is so great
Drink, drink cuz its never too late
To drink, drink to no big surprise
But what words rhyme with buried alive
What words rhyme with buried alive
In your monkey suit on a cigarette break
The lunchtime crowd, they wont even blink
But youd be sad if they did
But youll be sad...
Lets drink, drink this town is so great
Drink, drink cuz its never too late
To drink, drink to no big surprise
But what words rhyme with buried alive
What words rhyme with buried alive
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fence
Around my yard there stands a fence
It keeps the outside world out and I safe within
Though the structure is not that immense
It does the purpose as which it was built for and meant.
Neighbors and strangers it keeps out of my yard
Along with their trash and pets which does it harm
I am my yards protector, landscaper and guard
As it is my beauty, and not a trash bin or someone's farm.
My fence allows and welcomes the sunshine and the wind
Mother nature is always welcomed to visit and roam
The squirrels and the birds are always welcomed in
And welcome are the bee's with the pollen they've sewn.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects my yard from the enemies about
Too me it makes such perfect sense
Better to stop the entering, than for me to scream and shout.
As my yard is not the playground for a child to use
Or a shortcut for many persons to walk or run
As it it my yard which I won't neglect or abuse
And the work that I do on it, it will never be done.
In the summertime there will be plants to raise
And the leaves to rake when it becomes the fall
While hoping mother nature with me will always stay
And because of my fence, it will protect it all.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects and guards my yard everyday of the year
To others though it might cause an offense
As though it tells the people, not to come over here.
It is my yard which is mine to raise it like a child
To cut it and groom it and keep it nice for all to see
But truly it is GOD'S acre, which I saved from the wild
Then through the wonder of nature, in life I do believe.
So as days will come you will see myself in my yard
And sometimes you might see me nervous and tense
I hate clutter and trash so from there it is always barred
Also to protect my yard and myself, is my mighty fence.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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You can't get spoiled if you do your own ironing.
quote by Meryl Streep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The War Game
I am buried by time,
I am buried by love;
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
I am buried by the heat,
I am buried by the cold,
I am buried by the wings of nature!
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
Keep talking it,
Keep saying it,
Keep doing it,
Keep walking it,
Keep dancing it,
Keep swinging it,
Keep climbing it,
Keep trying it,
Keep asking it,
Keep working it,
Keep moving it,
Keep flying it,
Keep acting it,
All in the time frame to be buried;
Like the War Game in Afghanistan.
Buried under the nature of things,
With bombs exploding from left and right;
Like a message from Herat in Afghanistan.
The War Game,
All in a time frame to be buried;
Keep rolling it,
Keep changing it,
Keep trading it,
Keep building it,
Keep covering it,
Keep painting it,
Keep writing it,
Keep blocking it,
Keep cookin it,
Keep posting it,
Keep accepting it,
Keep driving it,
Keep bombing it,
Keep squeezing it,
Like the war game in Afghanistan.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I'm eighteen years behind in my ironing.
quote by Phyllis Diller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buried Treasure
Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down I couldn't change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head but the woman in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one, fade away in the mornin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I let you know-ow
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well it's a long way down and you gotta get up, you gotta figure on a master plan
You couldn't do it, if you don't get ready, you'll be beaten by the other man
Do you wanna be the last one in, play the game that you just don't win
I can see me makin' you cry, sayin' goodbye, but I could never let you go-o
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well you're takin' my life in the palm of your hand, make you mine for another day
Ain't nobody doesn't need anybody when the good times turn away
I don't wanna be the lonely one, fade away in the evenin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I told you so-o
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
(Baby we don't need i-i-it)
We don't stand on ceremony but life is
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song In The Front Yard
I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things.
They have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine
How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).
But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.
And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,
And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace
And strut down the streets with paint on my face.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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The Day Of Sunshine
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I roved to the woods, on my back I lay,
In cradle of fancy rolled me;
But there were ants, and gnats that bite,
The horse-fly was keen, the wasp showed fight.
'Dear me, don't you want to be out in this fine
weather?' -said mother, who sat on the steps and sang.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
A meadow I found, on my back I lay,
And sang what my spirit told me;
Then snakes came crawling, a fathom long,
To bask in the sun,-I fled with my song.
'In such blessed weather we can go barefoot,'-said mother,
as she pulled off her stockings.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I loosened a boat, on my back I lay,
While blithely the current bowled me;
But hot grew the sun, and peeled my nose;
Enough was enough, and to land I chose.
'Now these are just the days to make hay in,'- said mother,
as she stuck the rake in it.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I climbed up a tree, oh, what bliss to play,
As cooling the breeze consoled me;
But worms soon fell on my neck, by chance,
And jumping, I cried: ''T is the Devil's own dance!'
'Yes, if the cows aren't sleek and shiny to-day, they'll
never be so,'-said mother, gazing up the hillside.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I dashed to the waterfall's endless play,
There only could peace enfold me.
The shining sun saw me drown and die,-
If you made this ditty, 't was surely not I.
'Three more such sunshine-days, and everything will
be in,'-said mother, and went to make my bed.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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A Crazy Theme
sulking penetrates in deep veins,
deliverer becomes bald,
jumps to his death in scorching sun,
a starfish inherits the costume of
skull and crossbones –
the cynosure tries to wear a crown
of hawthorn for the freedom of soul,
the bonds of pink capped dahlias, a version
of milky smiles, in a battle of withdrawls,
it was impossible to wrench the crumbling style,
the caterpillars were walking with iron shoes
never to become butterflies, the secret
of eggs will be buried in bitterness of separation,
I was drowning but for my faith for the river
flowing in my back yard.
poem by Satish Verma
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Fencing
The flower in my yard
has no appeal.
The flower that has appeal,
is in his yard.
The flower in my yard
to him has appeal.
The flower in his yard
for him has no appeal.
The fencing makes all the hell
11.11.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Thou Art Hot Too Much
Thou art hot too much,
Wow! I can not stand thy touch;
Iron! loose your clutch.
(I experienced this when I was ironing)
poem by Nilakshi Das
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