The French Maid
She is cleaning again
feather duster in hand
Uniform tuxedo
fanning flourish feminine
She wears fishnets black
lacing satin spic 'n span
Skirting sleek stilettos
with delicate depurate diadem
She dusts lust for fuchsian
florid fine and flourishin’
Disinfecting drains unclogging
impeccable spotless sanitary she
We clean the floors doors walls
with window crevices uncovering
Reach revealing mirror ceiling
pristine sheen for floor board squeaking
She has me knees and hand solution
wash white knuckle squirting
Sweat succumb from such scrubbing
recovers numb of our rage reaching
Spot scrub smudge fastidious sponging
mine meticulous love
Immaculate spectaculate
cleaning lady consummate cathartic
Rigorous grinding intent for finishing
swipe smudge smear clear her
Surface sheen pristine polish shining
glimmer glisten glittering gleam
We are Mister and Misses Clean!
Lover's sanitation fresh
supernatural sparkling breath
I wipe her back neck perfect precious
mine lips her hips' lips
throat heart stomach
Mon chambermaid cheri she
magnificent as such mess undress
Arriving mirth meticulous Frenching
made of our own making
randy resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Related quotes
Scrub, Scrub, Rub-a dub dub
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning is such a chore.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning's such a bore.
Washing, dusting every day,
seems there is no end.
I know that when I'm finished
it will start all over again.
Windows, floors and kitchen sinks
just can't seem to stay clean.
The kids go out. The kids come in
and there's the same old scene.
Wash the clothes. Let them dry.
Put them on to wear.
Before the day is over
there's a spot that wasn't there.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub dub
when will it ever stop?
If I could find those rub-a dub men
I'd gladly give them my mop.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Demon In Her Vanity
In the night's harried soliloquy
You tousle your hair and wipe
The miasma of the panthoms'
Breath flushing your pallid face
With such arrogance and grace
A complacence that synergize
With the stellar distractions
That your pristine poise behold,
You smudge the rouge and stains
Of the derided warfare in the world
Of alleys and myriad of empty stations
A fastidious ballet in front
Of the mirror's godly fingers
You grinned, oscillated your lips
Red as the devil swaying its legs
In the inveigling undulations
You whetted your piercing eyes
And fooled yourself again
In the pristine reflection.
poem by Norman Santos
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~Spring Cleaning~
Shaking out dirty rugs
That cover the earth eaten floor
Dusting the cathedral beams
That reach for heaven's door
Cant quite get it all
Fevered pitch to faraway heights
Tall ceilings in my den pretend
The dust has misted in flight
Shine upon the tables glaze
Clean reflections bent
Cleaning-clearing and polishing
Spotless-time- well spent
Carpeting link that floats the sky
Vacuum packed it twice
Spot remove-the black eyed groove
That dirties this carpetless prize
Spring cleaning on into June
With bleached out whale bones
Hanging from yonder oak paneling
Sparkling clean crystal gold tones!
poem by Theodora Onken
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Menno Krant's Cat
Mister Menno is playing
With a polydactyl cat
They both the rarest of breeds
Are do such without trying
Possessing unique dexterity
Demarking originality
God broke their elegant mold
There are no copies
She is at his easel impromptu
Chasing oily slippery cherry
Furtive follow for their forage
Flowing frantic feather frenzy
As his paint brushes
She brushes
Lunges violent
Leaping luscious
There is grace
Bewildering beauty
Prolific peculiar proclivities
Affinity between
Their very own and mutual
Pristine primeval sensibilities
They are purring perfect
Magnificent exquisite
Dancer-Painter symbiosity
They sweep stride brush bold beholding
Yet they are oblivious mutations enraptured
Supernatural organic process
Muted in their understandings less stated
Incomparable magnificent mutual organics
Original exclusive castings
copyright Randy Resh 2008
poem by Randy Resh
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Folding
Your poet kisses
long, full lung whispers
warmest of wondrous
unimagined wishes
To You:
Operetta Cantor
cello violin string vocal violas
stroking
listing longing
lambent limbs
crave calling
Fold, enfolding sheets
satin, stained staff line we
wrap toss tumble silken
slow cadence graceful
we magnificent maneuvering
joyful jump jockey jostling
horizontal equestrians riding
reach this compromise
ideal crescending paradise
we
tension hold hug share gasp thrashing
release incendiary
furious to fuming
warm shudders and stutters
delicate caressing shoulders
back of neck kitten kiss bites
salivate soothing
this same pillow
your hair strokes vicuna
your voice resonant
ripple pulse breathing
immaculate embrace drifting...
off...
more strokes...
more waves...
wash bodies cupping
sculpted coupling
warm breath splashes
wave craves...
...mmm...
dreaming...
...your breathing...
narcotic rhythm
spectacular
sensuous serene soothing
clasp arms cradle, enfold
loins brushing kitten smitten
magnificent tension softest biting
white pristine warms indigo
infernal
cadence cooling:
into upon one another
we are coda
we are folding
bold fold
utlrasonic speaking
We; the contour of cantor
we collapsing -
Randy Resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Black Market White Baby Dealer
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
My black market white baby dealer
Is rooting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Kidnaps clean, fresh white babies for me
Clean, fresh white babies for me
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
So sit me down in the family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
He brings back
Oh charlie, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
I come post-production
I dont need natal care
Im already fully assembled
Down to the very last part, its all there
So take me to your family
So take me to your home
Buddy, take me in as your next generation
And Ill take you out of the lost one and into mine
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jewels
I have small jewels for you
twinkling daylight sight
magnificent retention
spectacular for you
as wide and wondrous
you are
save my glass
spread smile for
private
I so you adore
in our glitter
diadem daylight
cherish green gradation
sheen with shadow I
inhale your breath
kissing simple
sipping shadow
moonlight flick for
candle throes your shows
ffffffmmmm... fantastic
So I have small jewels for you
They hold sincerest
spectacular treasures,
adoration peculiar particular
Long for such being as you
mine love, amazement wonder
Precious Blooming Beloved
My jewels our jewels some day
shall bloom
they are roses,
daisies cum blooming soon
I Daisies, inhale your pollen for wonder
soothing you daises
delight for discover
You never cease to amaze me
diamond facets for craving, crazing
Still you are Karen,
mine Muse precious peering
and you are Karen
between lines scholar sharing
you are steering
And I adore you
mine intimate original jewel
my letters your necklace breadth of
of depth
mine letters necklace breadth
drip depth
copyright R. Resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Seeing Outside
The moon and the fog create
high up, a window;
a window which shows the eye
that stitches together
the outer and the inner,
that makes breath
seamless with thought
and dusts the windows
made from living tree bark
with a feather-duster of frost.
It seems so silly
to use a feather-duster
on solid, uninterrupted brown-
the proof that one need not see
through any window
to see outside.
2 august 08
poem by Rebekah Gamble
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Finger Trips
finger tips
massage caress
circuitous
nips
eager edges rounding
reaching aching
outer lips
master baits
feline fetish fish
dragonfly dancing
on feather-landing
gasping, grasping
grips
Satiate
stroke tip slips
under cover cooing, crying
lower stiff upper lip;
tickling trickling
deluge drenching
flowing feline Frenching-kiss
Heart skip bliss
blowing bouncing boundless backflips,
serpentine successive
stiletto staccato licks
fumbling frenetic fantastic
for-raging
finger trips
copyright R. Resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Soiled Garments
He had a vindictive
wife once
who used his pliable
pledged heart
like an old worn
out hand-towel.
Wiped her feet
all over it
walked walked
all over it
then tore it
into strips
and threw it
to the garbage.
The funny thing is
old worn out hearts
don’t wash clean.
Soiled garments
don’t come clean
a single good soak
and clean
is not applicable.
Doesn’t wash out
all the stains.
Doesn’t wash out
the ground in pain.
Ground in deep pain
residue remains.
But time repeated washes
a good stain remover
love joy drying out on
life line bleach washes
old hearts clean with
radiant rays vibrant
sunlight sheen revealing
each days new wonder.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Daisies
I have daisies
for Misses Murphy
soft tender sheets
finest felt flannel
the meadow stains white
white dusking contour
white the colour
our silhouette shadowed
randy resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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The Char
It really is ridiculous
The lady's so meticulous
There's nothing that she misses
When she comes to clean the house;
She has the fastest duster
That anyone could muster
It's faster than a tom-cat
Who pursues a juicy mouse.
She's smart and very punctual
Fit and fully functional
At mopping I would swear
She has no equal in the land;
Attendance very steady
And always at the ready
Just why she chose to be a char
I do not understand.
Her talents are incredible
Her meals so very edible
A Jill of every trade
She's twice as good as any Jack;
And, glad of her employment,
She shares in her enjoyment,
And evidently loves it
As she keeps on coming back.
Written April 1996
poem by John Carter Brown
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White Babies
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
Sit me down in your family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
(I changed this verse for you)
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always clean before the cleaning lady comes. If not, when I come home, I can't find anything. Cleaning ladies are always hiding things you leave out.
quote by Celia Cruz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Custodial Artist
Not suicidal
Just along for the ride
I prefer to live on
Along with my maker
In stride
For a soul, to withstand the test of time
When it cries for freedom
A mark that holds on to my heart
I need that new start
So, back to that school
From six years ago
Cleaning the mess
As my souls' verse, begins to flow
Scrubbing floors
Vacuuming carpets
Shining the chrome on the water fountain
That was once dull
Dust mopping the hall
It's good to be back
For my heart needs repair
I'll take a fresh scent
Through the mildewed air
People do change
If given a chance
Onward I surge
A custodians last dance
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Prepare the world for the pleasure of being fair
Many a people do not live
They are just alive
It is not, believe, not a lie
But as true as the blue sky
Not that they can’t try
They are always lost in a cry
Over spilt milk and fry
Their enthusiasm in thoughts dry
Never take that this does mean
That they are weak and mean
They are as strong and clean
As each one in any clan
Make them understand and feel that
My things are mine
And they are like a mine
Unexplored and a lot remain
To be discovered and made fine
And that
My things are much more
Than what surface above the floor
Rigorous search brings them to the fore
As exercise only makes you sweat more
Teach them how to be assertive
Help them become sensitive
Quite sure, they grow positive
Productive and thus effective
The ultimate is to make everyone share
The things, they think, are rare
And only for them, and to prepare
The world enjoy the pleasure of being fair
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Airports
You can always tell the staff from travelers
by pace demeanor and dressing
those leaving
bright bouncy beaming
effervescent 'thusiasm bubbly
arriving disheveled disoriented
discombobulate relieving
Stranger still are sorted strangers
best chum company coordinating
mindless conversation even sounds interesting
...anything for entertaining
But I like the bar
with it's wide window view
runway traffic take-off terrific
And my by far fantastic favourite
what surely sends me airborne claps
...are the skycaps:
smart slinky uniform stewardess
those to whom I ever tip my hat
bearing 12 o'clock mile high blasting-off
belligerent boisterous beaming smirking brat
Air France has me arriving
randy resh 2007
Futureale Magazine 2010
poem by Randy Resh
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Bikini
She is now in her bikini
for the past week
I've been waiting dreamy
She buys two:
one white, other black
Which one first?
my august choice
white smear knuckle spit sticky slick
models under over view
She is even asking my preference
I am overcum with honour,
sincerest gratitude
(knowing my taste in texture, colour)
It is lace; skirt extending convertible
far beyond my fantasies' measuring
inspecting delicate fit becuming
I am lost with wonder, marvel
sculpted wear cut of contour
She is elegant, fit for form
statuesque classic beaming
face radiance ripe from raining
searing sea foam frothing
She fills form as the finest model
she mermaid, fantasy French Maid
She has been to the gym
my slack-jawed mouth open
Salivant drips drooling
I of gleeful pride
lascivious
blush flush smirk slick slide
my glass is now want for waiting, panting
plead her pleasure fill for flower
stamen seethe for flowing
spend mine most intimate reaction
complement
in most moist manners arriving
squeeze the sunscreen shooting violently
lotion liquid shear half wineglass
filling
I gush flush ferocious
share slick stick spill trading
my tan for hers
copyright R. Resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Fantasies Of A Mirror Part-1
The mirror gasped as she stood in front of it with her tresses flowing longingly
The mirror looked in her dark brown eyes
The mirror admired her almost perfect lips
The mirror gazed longingly at her perfect hips
The mirror took her in its arms
The mirror embraced her reflection in itself
The mirror ran its fingers through her soft hair
The mirror kissed her lips a thousand times
The mirror bit her slender neck
The mirror whispered a thousand nothings in her ears
The mirror …..The mirror ……The mirror
The mirror left its love bites all over her soft warm body
poem by Leonard Rebello
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