Washing days

By Parson Thru

Sat, 15 Feb 2014
  • 1439 reads
5 comments
 

water churning

back and forth

moist heat

and rubber hose

the hot iron’s heavy smell

singing all your favourite songs

 

children playing

outside the door

in shining streets

filled with hope

windows set to new horizons

distant fathers gone to work

 

all I see is washing day

the straining of the ironing board

the twin-tub

and the radio

eden with a lino floor

 

now the street is quiet

the garden grown

you sing your favourite songs alone

I hanker for those washing days

when everything was new

 

when everything was me and you

Certificate U
Poem
Mortality Games
Love

Comments

Submitted by Jewel Serpent on

Beautiful. This is beautifully remembered without entering the trap of nostalgia, which is hard to do, and I admire you for that. The last line ends the poem with a soft whisper that leaves the reader thinking. 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi JS. Thank you. That's really nice. Glad it worked in that sense. The last line was a blink of the eye afterthought. Like a last tug at the flower arrangement. Really nice of you to comment. Thank you.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Bee on

What's brilliant about this is the way the detailed description of the then washday with all its paraphernalia  conjure up not only a vivid picture and atmosphere, but along with it, a longing for that time from the point of view of the narrator. But really, it's about so much more.

Loved this!

Bee

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Wrong link again...

Parson Thru

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hello Bee!  Where would a lost writer be without you hovering by?  Lost.  Thank you.  This was one of those, if you know what I mean.  It began last night with that certain light - the Servis twin-tub and everything so new.  And those times in the kitchen with my mam - young then.  As we all were once.  Just the sounds and the sense and the innocence.  Where does it all go?  I took down the first effort - don't get me wrong, this isn't about cherries or reads - I want to write her something that does justice to all of the above.  I don't think I have, but that's the name of this game, isn't it?  Who can take that sense of the spirit and lay it down on a page?  Well not I, that's for sure.  Not many.  Maybe even they only come close.  It's like we all know something that is not of this world and we have to keep scratching away like the Close Encounters people with their hill. I'm going on a bit, but I want you to know how much I appreciate your ongoing support.  Scribbling is what I've always done.  Hearing back from someone who reads and identifies is like sitting in front of a log fire of a Saturday night with the people you would want to spend that time with.  Thank you.  From me and everyone you read and support.  Bzzzzzzzzzzzz................

Parson Thru