Wheel Challenge - read and weep.

Today is National Bathtub Day so your mission, should you choose to accept, is to write a poem on the theme of bathtubs - or a bathtub. It can be any length , form - or not - and you have three weeks to complete it given that Thnx Giving will be keeping us Canadians hopping. So, Mon, Oct 28th, be here or be square.

GuiltyPleasure said:

Today is National Bathtub Day so your mission, should you choose to accept, is to write a poem on the theme of bathtubs - or a bathtub. It can be any length , form - or not - and you have three weeks to complete it given that Thnx Giving will be keeping us Canadians hopping. So, Mon, Oct 28th, be here or be square.

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..
Congrats GP! :confetti:

Oh that evening spent in the bath tub,
we splashed and laughed, then made love,
once for me and once for you,
climatic exclamations,
glub, glub, glub!

Rub a dub dub
three men in a tub,
two happy Doms
and one sucking sub!

Bath Night

Sisters

Two girls in a white tub,
green tiled walls, green
throw rug. Two girls
in a tub, singing
amid the soap film
and suds, singing

You Are My Sunshine,
squishing pruney fingers
in Ivory and flicking
droplets, singing You
Are My Sunshine
and laughing.

So much we take
for granted, so much
we fail to fully
love

until it's too late
to reminisce
except alone, as here
in the above.

Quinn, Bathing

For me, it begins
when she pins up her hair,

how a few loose strands
lie along her long neck,
drape over the collar
of her white terrycloth robe.

The steam rising off the heated water
has already left her neck damp.

Can I help but imagine
her soft breasts, firm thighs
filmed with sweat or condensation?

Her back to me, she drops her robe,
steps into the tub. I glimpse
the violin of her body, her shoulders,
her hips, and turn away to fetch

a glass of chilled wine
for her to sip.

Later, I will find her cleansed, warm.
A naiad quite open in the comfort of our bed.

Goodness me fabulous poems, I shall have to up my game!

Misplaced Malevolence

an old bath poem ^^

____________________________

Bathsalts Bliss

I never counted the jewelled waters of the Carribean
as a place to live. So far from my northern experience
that the closest I've come to the warmth of those waters
is in an enamelled bathtub - deep, and scented with ocean
salts and seaweed balm. The soothing ripples lapping
against my thighs and shoulders as the natural sponge
soaked up more water than what the unsuspecting bather
would surmise by looking at its dry and withered skeleton.

Such bliss as all those shorefilled memories flood back
with the release of water from the sponge pressed
against my cheek and neck, trickling down into my cleavage
to pool in the hollows of scarred sternum where clavicles
meet. The supressed giggle escapes as I remember
the touch of bottle-nosed dolphins in pretend kisses
and tolerant swimming rides circling the aquarium enclosure.
But then I remembered that those places exist in subtle
cruelty, trapping offspring on the wrong side of netting
and keeping the dam close for the pleasure of tourists.

Barricades to the unpleasant thoughts slam down, blast-
shutters blocking hurricane winds and debris from pummelling
tranquil moments afloat. Once more the salty scents assail
dry sinuses in a moisture laden denial that it is so far
away from my chilled autumn as to bring recall of a more
recent time spent in quiet evening conversation and watching
night fall in a glorious blazing sunset. The freshening breeze
from the west pushing the tide in as the sun said goodnight
to the Americas and good morning to Japan. All I could do
is pull the plug and remember your caresses putting me to bed.

They laughed, their peals ringing
a hollow drowning out of all I am
shame crawls over my skin in
a crimson whisper of seduction
the same a vampire would call out before
plunging his teeth into your flesh

I run the bath hot trying to wash away
a semblance of it all
trying to rinse some of the derision
from my body
unclean, unfit for human eyes
I hide in the shallow pools of water
dizzy from the steam rising

shunned, laughed at
torn down at every turn
my pain is nothing to them
and so i laugh
a high pitched echo
bounces from the walls
and they don’t even see what they’ve made
before I dance
in a crimson spray

and the bath is hot
and it helps I guess...

We Saw Phoebe In The Tub

Rub-a-dub-dub,
We saw Phoebe in the tub
and along with her were three
guys having to anal fuck her
one at a time as all of us had to see.

Submerged

It's old porcelain and footed,
fixtures long gone
leaving dark eyes and the O of a mouth
wide in surprise as minnows spew into the tub
where Koi bathe in dappled light
four foot under the surface on Saturday night,
behind the house perched high on Mulholland.
..

bathtub challenge:

Dear Husband...in the event of my death in the tub

dear husband
should i die
in fragrant-oil waters
—orchids, lilies, peonies—
an infinity of bubbles
whispered into nothingness

• drain the tub
• cushion my wet head
• cocoon me in fluffiest white towelling

• from our garden fetch forget-me-nots, to lay upon my brow
• blue poppies on my eyes
• pink roses for my cheeks and
• on my lips the sheen of honesty

• unplumb the fixtures
• set me adrift on a midnight sea where the water's always warm
• loofa between hands clasped modestly on my breast

p.s if the himalayan poppies are a problem, cornflowers will do in a pinch

http://cdn.homedit.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/7da6af2d19vineok.jpg

A Strangely Glowing Blue
If you like simple things but want to bring a touch of color
in your bathroom you can simply purchase a colored bathtub
and pair it with matching sets of towels. . .
—homedit.com

It looks like a cryogenic freezer,
Donna said, her hand wavering over
the oddly translucent surface
as if afraid that her soul would be sucked
from her body by touching it.
The brushed nickel fixtures seemed
to offer more logic than warmth,
as if they cooed Don't be silly,
we are luxury and comfort and
stillness—um, well, we mean Peace.
I was disturbed by the Muzak
in the store: Mahler's funeral march
from his First Symphony, which
sounded like "Frère Jacques"
crossed with "Dies irae," and
I wondered when they would
bring out the dead. It's shaped like
the base of Tutankhamun's
sarcophagus, said Benny, our
affable sales associate. Elegant.
Smooth. Very calming. I thought
of the Valley of Kings, of curses,
of how I might really prefer a shower,
and thanked Benny for his help
and moved on to look at rain heads.

butters said:

bathtub challenge:

Dear Husband...in the event of my death in the tub

dear husband
should i die
in fragrant-oil waters
—orchids, lilies, peonies—
an infinity of bubbles
whispered into nothingness

• drain the tub
• cushion my wet head
• cocoon me in fluffiest white towelling

• from our garden fetch forget-me-nots, to lay upon my brow
• blue poppies on my eyes
• pink roses for my cheeks and
• on my lips the sheen of honesty

• unplumb the fixtures
• set me adrift on a midnight sea where the water's always warm
• loofa between hands clasped modestly on my breast

p.s if the himalayan poppies are a problem, cornflowers will do in a pinch

Click to expand...

My husband once told me that if I died in the night he'd straighten me out so I'd fit in the coffin, because he was nice like that!!

In a world of everything for a tan,
hers is flawless white alabaster,
and as he passes a thumb over
each soaped erect pink nipple,
she sighs, lying waiting amongst
the bubbles for his hands to seek out
each intimate orifice, to cleanse
for his waiting tongue to later delve
deeply, as her body rises to meet him,
until their dance of writhing limbs
proclaims passion as only lovers can.

Just a quick one!

My Tub

My first philia is my tub
The place to rub-a-dub-rub
Warming my bubbly nub
Wet embrace away from the hubbub
Maybe topiarying my shrub?
Or being a naughty sub?!
A safe haven after a club
Oh how I love a good scrub
In my one true love, my tub.

Nanaimo Tubbers

Last July we broke
the record.

The Great
International
World
Championship
Bathtub Race.

The weather was perfect, calm and fine,
the sea blue steel.
Our spanking new motor purred us past the rabble
and we danced our way home.

No bailing or bawling
as in other years, just self
satisfaction and plans
to do it all again
next July.

These days most people only shower
takes just minutes instead of hours.
tubs are old fashioned so it goes
and all that soaking wrinkles toes.
But in the shower your E-reader shorts
just when the protagonist the antagonist thwarts
whilst in bath you leisurely turn the pages
letting your mind drift to romantic ages
if a toy appears to part the bubbles
indulge yourself and pleasure doubles.

!

Fantastic pieces folks! You done me proud! It doesn't have to end here.

Dear friend, partner
Pray tell of what

An evening long after,
A day of humid and human muck

Bodes for me next sunrise;
Once the filth from me becomes unstuck

Sayeth harbinger, squeak gentle and wise
Soothe mine soul, my rubber duck

...Bathtub in garden,
brimming with flowering plants.

............Bathe in its beauty.

.

Live Wet

Four more days to bathe,
five again to spot a swimmer,
slow
go
as
it
drains
..
!
,
.

Mikvah

It's not a bath
but complete immersion
in water
from a natural source.

It's seven steps toward prayer
and purity for the touch
of man, sanctified
monthly, an unclean bride
cleansed to be wed again.

I don't understand
traditions that must live
in my dna even as I scoff
at them and excise them
with my modern logic,
with my assimilation,
alienation.

I am bloodless
but oh how I long
to be sanctified once more
for the touch of my husband
of blessed memory.

Angeline said:

Mikvah

It's not a bath
but complete immersion

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I found this poem extraordinarily moving, particularly so once I looked up the meaning of the title. That I personally do not have a religious tradition at all similar to that of the narrator of the poem is irrelevant. It is a poem about belief, and love, and ritual, and how we as human beings try to make sense of this world.

It's a poem that helps me understand things. And that's always good.

Tzara said:

I found this poem extraordinarily moving, particularly so once I looked up the meaning of the title. That I personally do not have a religious tradition at all similar to that of the narrator of the poem is irrelevant. It is a poem about belief, and love, and ritual, and how we as human beings try to make sense of this world.

It's a poem that helps me understand things. And that's always good.

Click to expand...

You understood it perfectly, and your articulation of it helps me understand it better. Often when I write the poem comes out really fast (like 15 minutes or so). It's like it bubbles up from my subconscious and I feel what it means but not in a way I can describe. Does anyone else experience that when writing poetry, I wonder?

I've never been to a mikvah but my grandmother went. It's a tradition lost to me but buried somewhere in me nonetheless.

So thank you.