Tag Archives: household

The Procrastination Song

Procrastination Song

Procrastination Song

Oh how difficult it can be sometimes
to do what I have to do.
When the most important things that day
are behind a big hurdle,
and I just can’t seem to jump it.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

Suddenly my path is filled
with a million other little things.
The laundry awaits,
the windows need cleaning.
I haven’t dusted the picture frames in ages
and menial tasks keep intervening.

The garden has to be ready for Spring,
I have to order carpet swatches.
And I recorded a cool show last night
that really needs watching.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

I give myself an imaginary slap.
Focus, now, snap out of it!
It’s like high school’s lack of toil,
when the night before the exam
you were burning the midnight oil.

I must do my taxes,
I must write another 1000 words.
But my brain won’t focus
and flutters like a flock of birds.

You’re a grown-up now, I tell myself,
face up to reality and your responsibility!
You know what’ll happen if you don’t do it on time.
The authorities will just bury you in hostility,
and you’ll regret not taking the 60 minutes
to finish off that compulsory business.

I take a deep breath
and force my feet to my folders and files.
This is it, I’m going to clear that big hurdle,
but not before the towels are in a perfect pile.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013


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Nail The Day

Snowdrop signalling spring

Snowdrop
Image credit: tsekhmister / 123RF Stock Photo

I’m gonna nail the day,
I’m gonna seize this mofo.
Damn you, dark of winter,
I’m gonna surf this golden glow.

I’m gonna skip the Prozac,
leave Oprah in the lurch.
I’m gonna open up my mind,
give my soul time to search.

And while I am at it
may as well do some more.
I’m gonna dust off the trinkets,
mop the kitchen floor.

I’m gonna strip the beds
and wash the sheets.
I’m gonna clean the loo
and sweep the streets.

I’m gonna shop for groceries
and bake an apple pie.
I’m gonna plug my tire,
and learn to tie a tie.

I’m gonna wash the clothes
and scrub the dirty tub.
I’m gonna iron that pile,
and potty-train the bub.

I’m gonna set up a charity,
find a cure for disease.
I’m gonna stop every war,
and learn to make cheese.

I’m gonna do it all in one day
like a whirlwind on a mission.
I’m gonna tick that whole list
spurred by endless ambition.

I swing open the bedroom window
and greet Mother Nature fair.
I thank her for my spirited energy,
and for putting Spring in the air.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2013

The Splits

THE SPLITS

We women
we straddle
not a man
not a saddle.

It’s the path of life
that tears us apart
one way is society
the other the heart.

No matter where we go
there is always the fear
did we make the right choice
between kids and career?

No matter which way we go
there is always the guilt
we are our own harshest critics
it’s how we are built.

We juggle and we muddle
we comfort and we cuddle
we give everyone all of our love
and yet it just never seems enough.

But the generations before us
and millions ‘round the world
could only wish they had what we have
so really, we should be told.

That we women are fortunate
to have this privileged choice
the freedom to decide
what is right for us.

So I pull my feet together
and drop the negative attitude
because right now I decide
to walk the path of gratitude.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2012

Domestic Bliss (An Ode to Mr. Mraz)

This is an ode from a housewife
as found all over the world
who swoons at your beautiful voice
and marvels at your de-frizzed curls.

Not a desperate one
with lots of bling and a nanny
but a slightly unkempt one
with too much hair on her fanny.

Who listens to you as she cleans up
the day’s beautiful mess
and attacks stubborn shit streaks
with the utmost finesse.

Who now leaves the car and
rides her bike to the recycling station
and has put her family
on a strict organic-only ration.

Who now bends herself
into an impossible pose
as she desperately tries
to touch her toes with her nose.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Jesus Christ
but with a Mal and a spliff
you preach love and light
as you shield me from the cliff.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Tom Jones
without the rasp and fake hue
and you make me want to throw
my daggy panties at you.

Oh Mr. Mraz, you’re like Fifty Shades
but a hundred times better
your words spank my tushy
with every single letter.

Your every note
strokes my bushy butterfly
as your voice carries me
to unprecedented highs.

Your music touches my heart
and kick-starts
a divine event
that can only end
in utter blissssss…

My cheeks flushed
I’m left in a quandary
but then I duly go back
to folding the laundry.

© Maggie Elizabeth, 2012