En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Domestic Duties and Chores

I wash myself and brush my teeth
comb my hair and spray beneath.
I put on some clothes, socks and shoes
and wonder about the household dues.

I feed the birds and water the plants
and practice a karate tai-chi dance.
I say my prayers and also meditate
and rest a while in a peaceful state.

I sweep the floors and mop them too
vacuum the carpet and clean the loo.
I have some breakfast in the morning
and later on prepare for the evening.

I check for any mail and bring it all in
then consider what to throw in the bin.
I read and write about what interests me
and if necessary go on a shopping spree.

I cut the grass and also trim the edges
clear the dust away from window ledges.
I occasionally have to prune garden shrubs and trees
and also to rake in and dispose of most of the leaves.

I usually manage to pay most of the rates and bills on time
and then wonder how or why people get involved in crime.
I generally try to do what I seem to know is best
and in doing so hope to pass my routine daily test.

If there are somethings that I have left out
there's a way by which I eventually find out.
I just do what I can and leave the rest to God
Who reminds me now and again what is odd.

poem by George Krokos
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Comb Your Hair

Girl comb your hair
It can't be that bad
I had it worse
Don't look so sad No money in the bank
No car to drive
I had to walk
But I survived You'll see some laugh
You'll see some smile
Your day will come
Just wait a while No suit in the closet
No shoes on the rack
One dress on the hanger
But you'll be back Comb your hair
And wash your face
Dry your tears
Thank God for grace

poem by MBA Carrie May Bennett
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The venom of loneliness

Loneliness is biting me like a cobra
Its venom is killing me bit by bit
Now I have become something like an animal
I don't bathe, wash my face and brush my teeth
Regularly

It seems without you I will die like a street dog
I don't comb my hair, Put on clean clothes,
Go out for a walk and do any job
Regularly

I can't concentrate on anything
I no more like to write, dance and sing
I spend sleepless nights like the rats and bats
I fall asleep in the morning like night guards
I startle hearing ring of my phone thinking it's from you
I keep on wondering why it's happening to me more and more

I am like a flower in a garden and you are like a butterfly
I wait for you all day long day after day
My beautiful petals fall one-by-one
My sweet smell is carried away by rain and wind
But you do not come, my friend

poem by Asif Andalib
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Washing And Dressing

AH! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss,
I can't even kiss her without.

You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd,
But would you not wish to be clean?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
This face is not fit to be seen.

If the water is cold, and the brush hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
And what good will it do you to cry?

It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.

I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss;
That's right–take the towel and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.

poem by Ann Taylor
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The Washing and Dressing

Ah! why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss,
I can't even kiss her without.

You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd,
But would you not wish to be clean?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
This face is not fit to be seen.

If the water is cold, and the brush hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
And what good will it do you to cry?

It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.

I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss;
That's right -- ­take the towel and wipe your wet eye,
I thought you'd be good after this.

poem by Ann Taylor
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A Boy's Trials

When I was but a little lad
One thing I could not bear,
It was to stand at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.

They didn't keep boys' hair as short
As it's kept now-a-days,
And mine was always tangled up
In twenty different ways.

I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
And say it wasn't fair-
It was a trial, and no mistake,
When mother combed my hair.

She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
That grew upon my pate,
And with her scissors nip and clip
To make the edges straight.

Then smooth it down until it shone,
While I would grin and bear,
And feel a martyr through and through,
When mother combed my hair.

She'd take my round chin in her hand
And hold it there the while
She made the parting carefully,
Then tell me with a smile:

'Don't push your cap down on your curls
And spoil my work and care;
He is a pretty little lad
When mother combs his hair.'

I'd hurry out and rumple up
That mop of hair so thick-
A vandal, I, for she had worked
So hard to make it slick-

And wish I were a grown-up man
So nobody would dare
To put a washrag in my ears,
Or comb my tangled hair.

Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,
Methinks I would be glad
To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,
And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'

A longing for the care-free days
Doth take me unaware;
To stand, a boy, at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.

poem by Jean Blewett
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More Hair!

You've already taken my lunch, my socks, my long-distance binocs,
Now what do you want?
More Hair!

My jeans, my spleens, my workout magazines,
They're gone, now you want?
More Hair!

I gave you my gum, cilium, chromium,
my green shoes, my feet shoes, my mangy old street shoes,
Come on, you want?
More Hair!

Give me my CDs, my TVs, my Wheaties and my Levi's.
Know what I'll give you?
More Hair!

poem by John W. McEwers
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Some Questions For You This Morning

do you smile?
or have you forgotten how to smile to people

do you know that they too
are lonely and scared?

do you know what a hug means?

do you hug
the homeless ones?

you use things
no argument about that

you use people?
that can be a good question for you today

do you love yourself?
yes yourself too?

not just them in co-dependency

wash your face
with the gentleness of water in your hands
dove soap it

wipe your face and look at yourself in the mirror
comb your hair

spray perfume in your hair
the smell of lemon grass

you don't like it?
pick your choice

you have choices
you make decisions

please yourself
be free
and come to me

thus says the Lord your friend for a lifetime
beside you
as always

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tired by Talile Ali

Wipe the crust from my eyes
Put my feet on the floor
Stumble into the john
Evacuate just once more
Splash water in my face
Add some soap to the fun
Brush the hair from my face
And pick up the last one
Pull a shirt on that fits
Slide my ass in these jeans
Slip my feet in my socks
With my shoes and I'm clean
Walk myself to the window
Then walk right thru the door
I'm so tired of livin
But I do it once more

Copyright © 2009

poem by Talile Ali
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French Shoes

He was a good lookin guy
Stood about six foot three
Long brown hair
As nice as he could be
Everybody liked him
But he didnt have a clue
He looked silly as hell
In those funny french shoes
You know the type
Without any heels
Leather soles
Kind of a slip on deal
He was cavalier
Whether hed win or lose
But he looked silly as hell
In those funny french shoes
I know its not right
To judge a man by his clothes
By the way that he looks
Or the people he may know
Im embarrassed to say
If I had to choose
I could never really trust
Any man wearing those funny french shoes
Funny french shoes
Funny french shoes
No man should be wearin
Those funny french shoes
They look good on a womans foot
I must say that they do
But no guy should be wearin
Those funny french shoes
Get some socks on, man!

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hair Styles I Remember

There are hairstyles I remember wearing
oh so long ago.
My father had a fit with most of them
told me, 'go comb that mess out before you go! '

I'd rat it up with the small toothed end of comb
so the base would hold it up.
Then took a brush to smooth it some
and then I sprayed it so it stuck!

The wind could blow its hardest
but my hair withstood its gail!
When anyone would touch my do
they said it felt as hard as nails!

There was one do called the, Bee Hive
It was hallowed out in the center.
Some gilrs would hide their smokes in there
and have a puff or two after schools dinner.

Then there was the bouffant flip
it was the smallest flip you'd ever seen.
Your head looked like this big balloon
with a small hat rim of hair flipping up, was keen!

Then the Pixie and the Bob
boxed off hair cut for cool guys
long hair for the slobs!

Then the Beatles made their hair debut
my father hated them.
Everyone wore the Nauru jackets
and their pant legs tight and slim!

Then Farra Faucet, that's a funny name
but her hairstyle look, was in the hair book hall of fame!

Not too many new looks I see now a days
just long or short, no curls, no waves.
No teasing of hair, no spray or thick gels
But highlights for sure, all look swell.

I'm glad those days are over with
took forever for you to get ready.
Now it's just blow and go, and sprits or two
and your off on a date with your steady!

poem by Linda Winchell
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Here Comes Yet Another Day

Here comes yet another day, creeping through my window.
Drank myself to sleep last night, beer stains on my pillow.
I gotta pull my things together,
The night can last forever.
Here comes a new dawn, here comes a new day
Tune up start to play, just like any other day.
Cant stop, cant be late, mustnt make the people wait.
Cant even comb my hair or even change my underwear,
Here comes a new dawn, here comes a new day,
Tune up start to play, just like any other day.
There goes another night, here comes another flight,
Cant stop gotta go, here comes yet another show.
Gotta pack up my clothes, brush my teeth, blow my nose.
No time to use the john, gotta keep a rollin on.
Here comes a new day, here comes a new stage,
Tune up start to play, just like any other day.
Made a lot of conversation, talked a lot of weather,
I hope we meet again some day, and spend some time together.
No time for affection,
Im moving in a new direction.
Here comes a new dawn, here comes a new day,
Tune up start to play, just like any other day.
Cant stop, cant be late, mustnt make the people wait.
Cant stop to comb my hair or even change my underwear.
See that morning break, oh lord, here comes yet another day,
Here comes a new dawn, here comes a new day
Tune up start to play, just like any other day.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Creating Your Own Meaning

you wake up one day
finding yourself in the same dark and damp room
same dusty curtains
smelling like dried fish

light coming from the window
greets you with

hello, welcome
you are nothing special
you are just like everybody else

for one thing
your heart does not remember
what was that despair all about

you wash your face
brush your teeth
change clothes
walk outside

the world is still the same
it does not bother about you or
anybody else

man, you create your own meaning
no one does it for you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Taking You Back

Once, twice, three times I took you back
Common sense, it seemed, was what I lacked
Saying your sorry, time after time
My stupidity, should be called a crime
Each Of these incidents, was my fault
Even when you, were the one getting caught
Looking back, each of your mistakes
Equaled another, individual heartbreak
Threw out your clothes and your shoes
Figured I'd paid, more than my dues
But, if happiness, can't seem to be had
How much do I need, to be constantly sad
You don't know, what it is you need
But on my sympathy, you'll no longer feed

poem by Jr James D Nall
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Hairbrush

how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair

i wish you'd hold me in your hands
and let me skate thru all the strands
of your hair, of your hair

i could style it anyway you like it
i could brush it straight or even spike it
au contraire! au contraire!

or i would wait patiently in my box
until next i would comb the locks
of your hair, of your hair

i would braid it tight, tousle, and tease!
or pull it back in a ponytail, if you please;
if you dare, if you dare

how often is it a man confesses
that he wish to run barefoot thru the tresses
of your hair, of your hair?

you may think me a little touch'd
but can i tell you just how much
i hate your hairbrush?

this obsession may be zealous
but can i tell you just how jealous
i am of your hairbrush? !

poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
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When You Are Too Tired

the mind does not complain
if the socks and the shoes are still stuck
your toes without air keeps on breathing
in the darkness of your
early dreams

sleeps takes you with your clothes on
someone beside you
keeps company and in the middle of your
conversation
you do not remember if a kiss is planted
on your forehead or your hair
or your neck

or was it on your lips?
your eyes close
you do not mind if the lights are still waking

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death When You Come

i am thinking when death comes,
i wish it has hands
to knock three times my
door
before it enters
chances for me to say
a prayer or two
for my safe and enjoyable
private journey into the
exciting unknown
to dress up
comb my hair
brush my teeth
and leave
a short handwritten message
for those who still do not
believe about
the propensity of life.

and then i will welcome
death
sweetly like a long lost
lover
that i kiss
lips to lips.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cleanliness and Happiness

Cleanliness! Cleanliness! Cleanliness!
Cleanliness ever gives you happiness! happiness! happiness!
For cleanliness is next to Godliness! Godliness! Godliness!

Keep your surroundings very clean,
Dust and tidy, wash and preen,
Spic and span-it must seem,
In an environment that does gleam.

Physical cleanliness is a must,
Brush your teeth and attend to bathing;
Clean your hair and wear clothes clean;
Be fresh and to be clean, be keen.

Flush all evil thoughts from your mind
And gush it with love and ever be kind;
Honesty and sincerity; goodness and cheerfulness
Implanted, will make one bounce with happiness.

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Three Lazy Bulky Women

Three lazy bulky women,
Sleeping on a bed,
What a loud snore they have,
Almost busted my ear drums,

If you see them watching TV,
Or you know how they eat,
They have such untidy manners,
You’ll feel to vomit in that scene,

Three lazy bulky women,
How disgusting they are,
Don’t comb their hair,
Or brush their teeth,
Just walk around the way they are,

Three lazy bulky women,
Don’t go too near them,
For you r going to get a disease,
That is lazy-yendriya.

poem by Meriam Joseph
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Comb Your Mind

Comb your mind
............................every moment
.............as you brush
................................your hair
....................ruined by the wind

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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In my hand luggage I always have my camera, iPod, make-up bag, tooth brush, cleansing products, clean underwear, socks and a change of clothes in case anything goes missing at the other end - and of course my passport.

quote by Lisa Snowdon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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