The Dirty Laundry Poem
This is the dirty laundry poem-
because we have traveled from town to town
accumulating soiled linen & sweaty shirts
& blue-jeans caked & clotted with our juice
& teeshirts crumpled by our gloriously messy passion
& underwear made stiff by all our joy.
I have come home to wash my clothes.
They patter on the bathroom floor like rain.
The water drips away the days till you.
The dirty water speaks to me of love.
Steamy in the bubbles of our love,
I have plunged my hands into hot water
as I might plunge them
in your heart.
After years of spots & splatters,
I am finally coming clean.
I will fly to you with a suitcase of fresh laundry,
strip my clothes off, heap them on the floor,
& let you scrub my body with your love.
poem by Erica Jong
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Related quotes
Can I Dry Clean?
washing the clean linen in dirty water,
makes the clothes to be dirty and colored,
white clothe will invite the color of contrast,
color of the water that it is dipped into.
When we think of the ills and manipulate with evils,
the souls that are born white, will be colored,
when we wash the evil thoughts in evil solutions,
our souls will be soiled, colored and in illusion.
believing the color that we possess is the brightest,
If it is the brightest of white, as white is pure,
then it is all right, even if we are in other colors,
don't worry, it can be bleached to white.
White and black are two extreme colors,
with extreme characters and properties,
when the white reflects everything as good actions,
the black absorbs everything as the mother nature.
Between these two colors,
there are thousands of colors,
blending of seven colors of rain bow,
where we live and be happy and sorrow.
Washing the clean linen of any color,
in the water of dirt and sediment,
will make the linen dirty and soiled,
Where shall we find the clean water,
to wash our dirty souls of multiple colors?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Dirty Laundry
I make my living off the Evening News
Just give me something-something I can use
People love it when you lose,
They love dirty laundry
Well, I coulda been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good, I don't have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em all around
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who
comes on at five
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash with a gleam
in her eye
It's interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation?
Is the heir dead yet?
You know, the boys in the newsroom got a running bet
Get the widow on the set!
We need dirty laundry
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're up
Kick 'em when they're down
Kick 'em when they're stiff
Kick 'em all around
Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybody's pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do "The Innuendo"
We can dance and sing
When it's said and done we haven't told you a thing
We all know that Crap is King
Give us dirty laundry!
song performed by by Lisa Marie Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty Laundry
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something-something I can use
People love it when you lose,
They love dirty laundry
Well, I coulda been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good, I dont have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em all around
We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who
Comes on at five
She can tell you bout the plane crash with a gleam
In her eye
Its interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation?
Is the head dead yet?
You know, the boys in the newsroom got a
Running bet
Get the widow on the set!
We need dirty laundry
You dont really need to find out whats going on
You dont really want to know just how far its gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your dirty laundry
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre stiff
Kick em all around
Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybodys pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When its said and done we havent told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry!
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Taps
At the Royal Festival Hall, on the third floor,
There is an experience which I just adore.
Every time that I visit there, I always choose
To wash my hands under the taps in their loos.
Out of the tap, the water suddenly gushes;
On to my waiting hands, hot water rushes.
Into the basin, water froths and foams:
I really wish we had these taps at home.
Round my wrists, the white water swirls
Like a precious bracelet, made of pearl.
Bubbles coat my hands, just like a glove:
It is a sensation which I simply love.
By the bubbles, my hands are massaged.
Luckily, for these loos, there isn't a charge.
With these taps, I am a little obsessed.
These are the taps which I love the best!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Survial.
Water comes from the river origin is clean,
I wash my head.
Water comes from the river branch is dirty,
I wash my feet.
Oh sure, when water in the pool is clean,
I jump in to swim.
But, when the pool is dirty, I leave at once,
And quit my job.
Oh who’s the original source not let me clean?
Keep my head and body clean without water?
How can I keep my head clean in the river?
How can I keep my body clean in a pool?
What is going on about the water?
How could I live in this world?
poem by Albert Wong
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Dirty Old Town
(ewan mccoll)
Found my love by the gaswork croft
Dreamed a dream by the old canalkissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town, dirty old towni heard a siren from the dock
Saw a train set the night on firesmelled the spring on the sulfured wind
Dirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old townwere goin to take a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fireand well chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town, dirty old towndirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old town
And oh well chop you downoh, dirty, dirty, dirty old town
Dirty old town, dirty old townand oh whoa-oh dirty old town
Chop you down one of these days
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tomorrow is the laundry day
Tomorrow is the laundry day
Though tomorrow’s bright and sunshine strikes
Seduce you to play outside
But duty must be priority
Washing the dirty to be clean again
And your day will feel light
After you do that
Tomorrow is the laundry day
Though tomorrow’s cloudy and can’t stop rainy
Bother you with damp laundry
But duty is duty
Washing the dirty so it won’t be stinky
And your day will be bright
After you do that
Tomorrow is the laundry day
Though your laundry is already loaded
And you don’t want to see or touch
But duty must be completed
Washing the dirty so it ready to be used
And your day will feel more comfortable
After you do that
Tomorrow is the laundry day
Though your heart grumbles “Later”
No, do not listen that lazy one
Duty is to be worked not be grouch
Washing is a fun job if your heart happy
And your day will be victory
After you do that
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Hand In Hand
The sky is crying the streets are full of tears
Rain come down wash away my fears
And all this writing on the wall
Oh I can read between the lines
Rain come down forgive this dirty town
Rain come down and give this dirty town
A drink of water a drink of wine
If I been hard on you I never chose to be
I never wanted no one else
I tried my best to be somebody youd be close to
Hand in hand like lovers are supposed to
As youd sleep Id think my heart would break in two
Id kiss your cheek Id stop myself from waking you
But in the dark youd speak my name
Youd say baby whats wrong ?
Oh ? here I am baby Im coming back for more
Im like a wave thats got to roll into the shore
Yes and if my loves in vain how come my love is so strong ?
Now you and me go parallel together and apart
And you keep your perfect distance and its tearing at my heart
Did you never feel the distance
You never tried to cross no line
Now its another dirty river and another dirty scar
And I dont know whos kissing you and I dont know where you are
So far from home dont you thing of me sometime
Sky is crying see the streets are full of tears
Rain coming down to wash away my fears
And all this writing on the wall
Oh I can read between the lines
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waterborne love with Neptune’s Daughter
I’m goin’ wash you
right outa my hair
I’m goin ‘to wash you right outa’
this torrid affair,
I’m goin’ wash my hands
of you untrue
Once made my mouth water,
the likes of you,
You held my love like water
on a ducks back
You conniving water nymph
dressed in black,
Plying your waterborne love,
in you I did trust
Lying on your waterbed
goading my lust,
My God I knew this would
not hold water
Are you really the delinquent
Neptune’s daughter,
Swimming off with that
water canon hulk
Hope your water course leads
to the Isle of Sulk.
Now I feel like a water holding
frog waiting for rain
To swim in rivers of
love again and again,
With my tear filled water pistol
I’ll aim at you,
To water you down,
finally meeting your Waterloo.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Questions Unanswered
Ah those days of starched shirts
Of water boiling in the copper,
And soap-flakes snow-white
And the mangle in the corner
Like a medieval implement of torture
Waiting to grind and squeeze.
And granny's hair wrapped in cloth
The goodly housewife at work
Hands red, hot water immersed,
Sweated in the washing room.
Each Mondays Herculean task
The stringing on lines for all to see
Of pure white sheets rinsed in Dolly Blue.
To wash the families dirty linen clean.
But never speak of the true dirty secrets
That scrubbing could not undo,
That gallons of bleach could not erase
Nor boiling water wipe out.
The lies told to protect
Which ended up hurting.
The scars though healed still itch.
The front of respectability kept up
But its upkeep too heavier price too heavy
Leaving me with unanswered questions.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Today a Windy Monday
Today a windy Monday,
brisk, businesslike north wind,
I would make a great altar
and pile it high as heaven
with washing straight off the line
shirts like roly-poly hunchback
astronauts like human kites
a sharp flapping of hemmed edges
the squawk of hens surprised
laundry baskets full of the smell
of Spring and freshness and new beginnings
laundry baskets that smell as if
a walk along the shores of love
all Your wind and air and water, and
sunlight soap, soapy sunlight making
iridescent bubbles in the washtub
the squeak of the mangle,
dripping into the sink
stained heavenly with Dolly Blue
the smell of love and motherhood
the hot iron’s steamy smell
the starch, the sharp warm ironed piles
ready for the cupboard shelves
and say, look everyone
this is a woman’s lifetime of unspoken love
see it made of the holy elements themselves
as on the first day of Creation
that is ever a woman’s life
men, worship this
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dirty Old Town
I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Springs a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Im going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty Jim
THERE was one little Jim,
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
He got dirty again,
And not at all fit to be seen.
It gave him no pain
To hear them complain,
Nor his own dirty clothes to survey:
His indolent mind
No pleasure could find
In tidy and wholesome array.
The idle and bad,
Like this little lad,
May love dirty ways, to be sure;
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Dirty Jim
THERE was one little Jim,
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face. . . .
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
He got dirty again,
And not at all fit to be seen.
It gave him no pain
To hear them complain,
Nor his own dirty clothes to survey:
His indolent mind
No pleasure could find
In tidy and wholesome array.
The idle and bad,
Like this little lad,
May love dirty ways, to be sure;
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
poem by Jane Taylor
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My Little Town
Words & music by paul simon
In my little town
I grew up believ--ing
God keeps his eye on us all
And he used to lean upon me
As I pledged allegiance to the wall
Lord I recall
My little town
Coming home after school
Flying my bike past the gates
Of the factories
My mom doing the laundry
Hanging our shirts
In the dirty breeze
And after it rains
Theres a rainbow
And all of the colors are black
Its not that the colors arent there
Its just imagin-ation they lack
Everythings the same
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
In my little town
I never meant nothin
I was just my fathers son
Saving my money
Dreaming of glory
Twitching like a finger
On the trigger of a gun
Leaving nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Repeat and fade:
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem You Asked For
My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,
worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,
turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.
It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,
my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in
my hands, and carried it gently
out into the soft air, into the
evening traffic, wondering how
to end things between us.
For now it had begun breathing,
putting on more and
more hard rings of flesh.
And the poem demanded the food,
it drank up all the water,
beat me and took my money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,
said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.
Said it was going
over to your place.
poem by Larry Levis
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Larry Levis
My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,
worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,
turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.
It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,
my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in
my hands, and carried it gently
out into the soft air, into the
evening traffic, wondering how
to end things between us.
For now it had begun breathing,
putting on more and
more hard rings of flesh.
And the poem demanded the food,
it drank up all the water,
beat me and took my money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,
said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.
Said it was going
over to your place.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consummation Of Grief
I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great
I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines. . .
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Nothing To Gein
Cold and silent, soiled face I will wash it all away,
With my love,
Thats all shes ever needed, from me
Its my time, to mother,
One of my own in my life,
I am so alone, left with no one
In my life, Im so alone
Life submissiveness,
Hypnotizing the ignorant a little boys best friends always his mother,
At least thats what she said,
Life of a simple man,
Taught that everyone else is dirty,
And their love is meaningless,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Sheltered life innocence,
Insulated memories, spark reflections of my head,
Duality in my consciousness,
Caught in the war of hemispheres,
Between the love lost in my head,
Mommy do you still live inside of me,
Im so lost in my life without any guiding,
Protected me my whole life from everything,
Nailed shut the doors to the shrine,
To screen your dead eyes from me and my sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Deliver the remains from her womb of earth,
Prep the rack and tie up for new loves rebirth,
Covert understanding of novice surgery,
Ill focus concentration and only take just what I need
For sickness Im masticating,
Dancing and masturbating,
Celebrate in fields of night with skin upon my face
If I soak my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I wash my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I drench myself in others blood am I sick,
If I bathe myself in others blood
Blame mother for the sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Dance and masturbate in night light by myself..
Nothing is left for me to gain theyre coming to take me far away,
Chorus
Life of a simple man taught that everyone else is dirty and love is meaningless
Im so soiled
Soiled
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Laundries
She beats the laundry
on the rocks before the stream.
She beats the laundry
til the linens are clean.
She lays out the laundry
in the hot sun to dry
heated by the sun
and sterilized.
She beats the dirty souls
on the rocks before the baptismal stream.
She beats the dirty souls
til the dirty souls are clean.
She lays out the dead souls
in the blazing sun
til they are sterilized.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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