Wednesday, 27 January 2021

Poem 27


 


Hot water and suds

Glasses, plates, mugs, crockery

Dishes never end

8 comments:

  1. Such is life - in seventeen syllables. You've also picked up on the idea that has surfaced on blogger recently about repetition. Dishes and repetition go hand in hand in my opinion..
    Alphie

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Repetition has surfaced? I must read the wrong blogs.
      Dishes are the repetitious bane of my life....and there, I've told you the emotion rather than let you feel it 😂

      Delete
    2. No Kylie, you do not read the wrong blogs, just different ones. :-)
      I certainly read the emotion, it's exactly how I feel about dishes! There'll be a big gap at the end of this comment. I'm using my phone. It's a right royal pain.
      Alphie

      Delete
  2. Replies
    1. Yes. I find dishes so much more onerous though

      Delete
  3. Seventeen syllables
    Kylie's suds are words

    Make it new
    Ezra Pound

    (Online: The Making of Make It New. Michael North. Guernica.)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I muddled through that one.
      And yes. A lot of years ago I did a Thanksgiving series. Thinking about one thing I was thankful for, every day for a month, was a very different exercise to rattling off a list in an hour or so

      Delete
  4. We are thankful for your Seventeen Syllables no need to say more.
    (17?)

    P.S. I am counting Seventeen as three syllables.

    ReplyDelete

go on, leave a comment or four.