Already into my sixth month of blogging, I was trying to get a grip on which of my 'old' poems I'd included in posts, so yesterday, I trawled through the archives and made a list! Laborious, but worth it, so that I don't keep serving up 'seconds' of the same thing. Of course, this was never an issue when I 'invented' another poem on the spot, but not every day inspires me to flights of fancy, as you may imagine.
I had no intention of taxing the grey cells this morning. Writing another poem could wait for me to get the 'urge' - which wouldn't be today. Or so I thought. The powers that be had other ideas. As I finished loading the washing into the machine and turned to leave the kitchen, the early morning sun on my forearm drew my attention. It was warm and glowing and made me brush my right arm with my left hand, to doubly experience its warmth. And that was it; the unexpected push to gather a few more random words into a little ditty.
Wash Day Blues No Longer
Sun through the window is warm on my skin.
The washing machine will soon start to spin,
it's cycle complete, the clothes turning round
to the motorised hum of the whirligig sound.
'Traditional washday', that's Monday, for sure.
But, time was, for ladies it held no allure.
Up to their armpits in water and soap
they slaved by the washtub with nary a hope
of relief from their labours till all work was done.
No time for them to relax in the sun...
How times have changed. Now washday's no chore,
load up the drum and then close the door.
Add soap. Push button. Machine does the rest,
helping us keep ourselves suitably dressed
in sparkling clean garments from morning till night.
This kitchen appliance is such a delight!
hello jinksy
ReplyDeletethanks for dropping by and leaving a comment in one of my blog
i added you in my blog roll at my main blog so i can visit you here often
have a great day and happy blogging
What were you commenting about the mind having a will of its own? I like the poem very much, a good thing that your inner resources took over, if you ask me!
ReplyDeleteAGH! You just reminded me I have a load of wash sitting in the washer souring (that's what happens when you start a load before the sun rises).
ReplyDeleteFUN poem and love your comment about the grey cells-- mine are on holiday. :-)
Wow, Monday really IS washday, no matter where you live. I am wearing my last pair of socks and will officially start laundry after work, except now I'll smile while I'm doing it. Thank god for automatic washers.
ReplyDeletehey! thank you for visiting! and what a fun (but hard work!!) poem this is...
ReplyDeleteI can't decide whether to dub you Anna Pest or Dorothy Dactyl....
ReplyDeleteI know your poems are worthy of a higher calling, but I'd be willing to bet you could seel this one to be used in an advert by some sort of washing machine manufacturer :-)
ReplyDeleteOnly you could make the washing machine sound lovely.
ReplyDeleteIamnic pentameter: wouldn't The Bard be impressed?
ReplyDeleteHaha: a little typ up there -- make that bic not nic.
ReplyDeleteOh ... another typ ... er typo there. Time to rest.
ReplyDeleteA remarkable off the cuff poem.
ReplyDeleteI remember the days when my mother biled clothes in a big copper thing to get them white. Long ago wjhen I was little.
We are lucky aren't we?! Good for you for reminding me as I frequently moan about the size of my laundry pile!!
ReplyDeleteI'm with Suldog. This can sell any washing machine, any day. Why, I want to wash my clothes now!
ReplyDeleteYep, I thought the same thing as Suldog and Lakeviewer. Your lovely poem would be very appropriate in an add for washing machines. Actually, come to think of it.....are there still TV-adds for washing machines? I see the most horrible ones for washing powders or what have you, but can't remember one for a machine. There is a market for your poem!
ReplyDeleteHugs xx
Carolina
Haha thats very cute! Im a new follower came from janine's blog.I cant wait to read more of your poetry I love it!
ReplyDeleteAnna, don't listen to Anvilcloud. There ain't an iamb or a pentameter in sight....
ReplyDelete"You have some talent in washing," an Australian told me when she once saw me washing my shirt with my hands years ago in an encampment. Until now, that still makes me laugh. I never thought washing clothes is a talent. But I've always believed that the inventor of washing machine is (was) a genius. Your poem explained why. :)
ReplyDeleteHave you ever tried to win competitions, with your words, la Jinks? I just know folk who've done very well, as they enter the ones where you finish sentences, and have practically furnished their houses with stuff, particularly white goods...
ReplyDeleteOf course, knowing you, you'd never find the time, with all that work and craft and writing you do already... :) xox
Here I am, starting where I left off the last time I visited. I've been really busy with the new job but it's like I've been there forever now. I remember the old roller machine my mom used to use and every once in a while she would get a finger caught in that thing. I don't think we stop and think often enough how much easier we have it nowadays. Great poem.
ReplyDelete