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Personally, I think tying garbage bags around your head and hands is overkill.

quote by April Winchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Allowing Us To Clear Our Heads

What I have done,
Personally...
To ensure the new neighbors,
Adhere to policies that have been in effect...
For many years,
Is to suggest and recommend...
Their children not smoke pot in the front yard.
Or put their trash on the curb,
For the garbage men to pick up the next day.

What I have done personally,
Is to show them how to put their trash...
In garbage bags FIRST.
And even though it has been slow for them to catch on,
The rest of the neighbors and myself...
Have agreed to meet the new residents,
In their backyard after midnight behind a closed and locked fence...
When all of the kids have been safely tied to their beds.
Allowing us to clear our heads and live together in peace.

'And you say you have a prescription for this? '

~I begged my doctor to find a medical need.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you put garbage in a computer nothing comes out but garbage. But this garbage, having passed through a very expensive machine, is somehow ennobled and none dare criticize it.

quote by Rory Bremner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suitcases Don't Have Wings

Small bags big bags
Black bags white bags
Suitcases hey hey hey
For work and for play
Crammed full of things
Suitcases dont have wings
White bags black bags
Complete with one-way tags
Dragging us down
Ever closer to the ground
All the time they sing
Suitcases dont have wings
Big bags small bags
That behind us we drag
Past present and future
We cram so much in n' gotcha
We've been forgetting
suitcases dont have wings
All bags every bag
That we painfully drag
Drop them at jesus feet
Cause all ur needs he'll meet
Suitcases hey hey hey
They get in the way
Drop them if you want in
Suitcases dont have wings

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freefall

the bouncing
of garbage
in a too-warm wind
slave of the street
i collect it
it is ugly either way
boxes bottles plastic bags

poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Y... Garbage Man

Become a garbage man
Every day, just for a minute
Search for some litter
Pick up some garbage
Where ever you can

Don't stoop down.
Not good for the back
Just sit on your heels
Stay squatted and look up
It gives you a special perspective

Pick up a hand full
Walk to the bin
Not the nearest
The walking is exercise
Good for your body

So, become a garbage man
It can give you perspective
It is good for your body
It is good for the world
Just a hand full per day.

-
Note:

Garbage men really deserve ou full respect.

I got the idea to write this piece when I was picking up a handful of garbage from the beach. I thought if there more people picking up garbage than people throwing garbage, littering would no longer be a problem.

I hope in this poem there is nothing disrespectful of garbage men. They really do a great job en deserve our respect as much as doctors and lawyers deserve our respect (as indicated in the comments by unwritten soul below)

poem by Aufie Zophy
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The right to private property meant at the same time the right and duty to be personally concerned about your own well-being, to be personally concerned about your family's income, to be personally concerned about your future. This is hard work.

quote by Mikhail Khodorkovsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rainbow Coalition

Rainbow Coalition

On the border between Chile from Argentina
there is a long barbed wire fence full of plastic
bags, some from posh shops in Paris, London
and New York, There are Japanese bags too
and some with Arabic letters, you can say it is
international garbage fence, but not quite, it is
eerily beautiful like a pale sad rainbow.

There used to be skeletons here too they all had
broken bones as dropped from planes, but
they have been removed now if you are lucky
or ghoulish you might find a collar bone or two
or a skull cleans by the wind; indestructibly sacks
flap, so deafening that you can’t hear the song of
the condors.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Drop Your Garbage

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away...
And when you step,
Kiss the wind!
Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away...
And when you step,
Kiss the wind!
Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

Don't dropp your garbage at my front door.
Get to steppin' take it back.
No one seeks to hear your preaching.
Or your point of view described while you teach'.
With self righteous sighs.
Too many sitting on the edge are jumpy.
And twice as many want to fight.

Don't dropp your garbage.
Get from my door and get to steppin'.
Don't want to regret what I do.
I wish to keep that evil sleepin'.
Don't wake it up,
I ask of you!

Don't dropp your garbage at my front door.
Get to steppin' take it back.
No one seeks to hear your preaching.
Or your point of view described while you 'teach'.
With your self righteous sighs.

Too many sitting with an edge are jumpy.
And twice as many look to fight.

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away...
And when you step,
Kiss the wind!
Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

Don't dropp your garbage!
I'd like to keep myself polite.
Get away!
I don't want to get those demons screaming.
Or stir a yelling to disturb my peaceful night.

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away...
And when you step,
Kiss the wind!
Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away...
And when you step,
Kiss the wind!
Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

Don't dropp your garbage!
Get away,
And step!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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D. O. A.

We was broke and hungry on a summer day.
They sent the sheriff down to try and drive us away.
We was sittin ducks for the police man.
They found a dirty faced kid in a garbage can.
And Im alone, Im on the highway, wanted dead or alive,
Dead or alive.
Broken down and dirty, dressed in rags
A from the day my mama told me, boy, you pack your bags.
Send the mayor down in his pickup truck.
The jury look at me, say, outta luck.
And Im alone, Im on the highway, wanted dead or alive,
Dead or alive.
Now, Im broken down and dirty, dressed in rags
A from the day my mama told me, boy, you pack your bags.
We was sittin ducks for the police man.
They found a dirty faced kid in a garbage can.
And Im alone, Im on the highway, wanted dead or alive,
Dead or alive.

song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here's a good thing to do if you go to a party and you don't know anybody First, take out the garbage. Then go around and collect any extra garbage that people might have, like a crumpled-up napkin, and take that out too. Pretty soon people will want to meet the busy garbage guy.

Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I miss my Dad. My Dad loved cheesy monster movies, so we'd have Godzilla movie marathons. Those are some of my favorite memories, laughing at how the monster outfits were so bad, like black garbage bags for heads.

quote by Ahmet Zappa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Cares

They stand and look at things
with their eyes closed tight.
They claim to see just what others don’t,
branding someone a liar and deceiver.
Sadly, they are the ones
who deceive themselves all the time.
Who worries if someone uses a different name
whenever they sit down to write?
I personally don’t.
Who cares if they make up an age they want to be.
I personally don’t.
Who cares if they exaggerates
about what they may or may not have done.
I personally don’t care.
Everyone no matter who they are
wants to be someone different at sometime or other,
and there is nothing wrong in that.
Just so long at the end of it,
they are happy in their own way.
I have no quarrel
with what anyone does
and I don’t think
anyone else should do neither.

1 April 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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436

It Is A Hug That You Need
When Some Parts Of You Dangle
On Your Shoulder
Like The Way Your Your Hair

Shouts For Help
For Fear Of Falling
And Here I Am Coming
To Hug You

This Kind Of Hug That Sings
The Song Of
Apple Pickers
And

Garbage Collectors
Whose Hands
Are Sworn
To Clean The Mess
And Keep The Pieces

To Put Them All Away
And Burn Them
As Often As Necessary

I Will Hug You Baby
But Only For
A While

I Am Both
This Apple Picker Somewhere
In The North
And A Garbage Collector
Some Place In The South

Let Us Talk About
Love Some Other Time
I Am Still
Learning The Art Of Loving

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learning The Art Of Loving

it is a hug that you need
when some parts of you dangle
on your shoulder
like the way your your hair
shouts for help
for fear of falling
and here i am coming
to hug you
this kind of hug that sings
the song of
apple pickers
and

garbage collectors
whose hands
are sworn
to clean the mess
and keep the pieces

to put them all away
and burn them
as often as necessary

i will hug you baby
but only for
a while

i am both
this apple picker somewhere
in the north
and a garbage collector
some place in the south

let us talk about
love some other time
i am still
learning the art of loving

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Garbage Can

Life is sometimes not as planned
What could be worse than a garbage can
For you are tossed and thrown away
just like the garbage to rot each day
Taken for granted by a ladies man
A woman is mistreated as much as she can
Love forsaken and lust Oozes out...
To put away his filth without any doubt
In the name of love this game is played
And it is defined as masquerade
The clock turns 8 and it's time to leave
The garbage is out and the man at ease

poem by Meena Mustafa
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Brown Paper Bag

Brown paper bag

Squalid incomplete

slumped to the side of the street

Like unwanted sacks of garbage

She left her track her smell

And like the brown paper bag

She had travelled well

She had a whole world in her head

Her first love

The man she wed

And the drink and the smoke

And the four o clock bloke

That returned with a bottle in a brown paper bag

And better days before

When she had carried her first round fruit

When the brown paper bag was waxed new

And he carried his bride to the door

Then the four o clock bloke

Full of stale wine and stale smoke

With a bottle in a brown paper bag

How he called her a hag

And that first punch to the floor

And the brown paper bags fell by her side

Crumpled and stained

And the liquor cans and the four o clock man

Who never spoke

Left her broke

Bones shattered in pieces

Flesh bare to the wind

Body out on the street

Skin tanned dirt brown

Hair matted locks

And two brown paper bags tied with string to her feet

yvette m smith 11.2.09

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The worthless stuff

I work here in a Gas station
As a Sales Associate.
But collect the trash bags
from the bins too
A part of my job?
When I remove the heavy bags
The kind customers dump?
My innocent thoughts flew without wings
to my bygone golden school days!
I love that old man we call him 'Charlie uncle'
Who collects garbage and look after the ground.
O that attractive Teacher for Literature
who wears Indian Cashmere saris at all
and she got dimples on her both cheeks
when she smiles!
One day she questioned me; 'Nimal you want to be a writer
Lawyer or a Doctor? '
'Yes Teacher, I would like to be a writer
If not a Scavenger? ' I replied happily.

To that uncle charlie & the Literature teacher!

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Punching bag..

Have a few friends, is good,
Be attached with our relatives, is the best,
because we can make them,
the punching bags.

quiet punching bags,
listening punching bags,
tolerant punching bags and
comforting punching bags.

They are just a call away,
call them with confidence,
talk to them,
we are happy and no stress.

They are just a call away,
call them with confidence,
share your thoughts,
only to people, trustworthy.

Stay alone not good,
be a punching bag,
to others. Listen to them,
there will no stressed out people,
loose on the roads,
tears in the eyes,
clouds in the brain,
betrayal in the heart,
looking for booze and drugs.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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One Man Parade

Do believe Im gonna clap my hands
Think I might tap my feet
Put together a one man band
Take a walk on down the street
Have a one man parade
Nobody needs to know
cause Im right good of holding on to secrets
And dont believe they show
All I want is a little dog
To be walking at my right hand
Taking a breeze just as free as you please
Maybe checking out occasional garbage cans
Talking bout a one dog, yall
Nobodys friend but mine
Hey now, you can say hes looking kind of funky
But I do believe it suits me just fine
We were off road again
A was wondering what to do
Ah, but honalei,
It was pouring down rain
Baby she had the low down blues
Hey now, I was looking for my walking cane
Tying on my highway shoes
Thinking bout a one man parade, yall
Nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody
Im right good at holding on, holding on, holding on
Honalei, its raining
Honalei, (sure nuf) its raining (listen here)
Honalei (its rainin)
Honalei (muddy waters)
Talking bout a one man parade, yall
Nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody
Im right good at holding on, holding on, holding on
La, la, la

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lacquer Head

Sometimes bored sometimes lonely
pimple faced and rather homely
He wasn't much for socializin'
The tv kept him mesmerizin'
In one ear and out the other
Picked up a trick from his older brother
Got him a can of sniffin' salts
Pinned his mind upon the cross
(chorus)
Lacquer head knows but one desire
Lacquer head sets his skull on fire
Lacquer haed knows no in betweens
Huffin' on bags of gasoline
Sniffin' paint since the seventh grade
She was high on gin and gatorade
On turpintine she lost her luck
Fell in front of a speedin' pick-up truck
(chorus)
He was a boy of soft demeanor
And he loved his caburetor cleaner
The vapor made a sweet aroma
He sniffed himself into a coma
Lacquer head feeds his one desire
Lacquer head sets his brain on fire
Lacquer head knows no inbetweens
Huffin' on bags of gasoline
Keep on sniffin' till yer brain goes pop

song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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