Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Day 327: Ode to Ironing.... and Poetry

Who thought ironing could be compared to poetry?!

Ode to Ironing - Pablo Neruda 

Poetry is white:
it comes from the water covered with drops,
it wrinkles and piles up,
the skin of this planet must be stretched,
the sea of its whiteness must be ironed,
and the hands move and move,
the holy surfaces are smoothed out,
and that is how things are made:
hands make the world each day,
fire becomes one with steel,
linen, canvas, and cotton arrive
from the combat of the laundries,
and out of light a dove is born:
chastity returns from the foam.


  1. The food is absolutely amazing. I hope I could taste and cook that in actual, maybe if
    I have much time since I am so busy working. Anyways, thanks for sharing your article.
    God Bless and have a good day. Visit my site too.

  2. Everything you an imagine is real. Have a good day! Keep on sharing knowledgable ideas :)


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