Sonnet- Stark Reality
The garbage-dump, it serves as a cradle!
The female child is left here by the Eves;
Along with dogs, they search ’midst plantain leaves;
The beggar too comes here for his morsel!
The poor children, they search amongst garbage;
With bodies bare and sacks on their shoulders;
They beg too, in the street’s- no one bothers;
The plastic, iron, to sell they manage.
They work in risky jobs for a penny;
And go from pillar to post so many;
Beaten and abused and turned delinquents,
By drunken fathers, their cries, the air rents.
This is the stark reality today!
And children’s lives have not changed anyway.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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’Tis a Sad, Mad World!
A famished, ill-clad beggar stands
Amidst some barking dogs!
All searching through the garbage-dump
For left-over food, fast;
Each taking turns at emptying,
The things inedible;
Their hunger-pangs can drive them mad;
Will Dame Luck smile on them?
His eyes keep straining just for food,
On plantain-leaves by luck;
The scorching sun can’t bother him,
Nor can the stench within;
His pangs of hunger goads him on
To lick the residue;
His face keeps smiling when he sees,
A morsel of cooked grain!
The dogs are happy biting bones,
Though meat, they never meet;
He’s back to work upon the pile
And sorts the rocks from leaves;
There’s silence excepting the noise
Of scrambling for food found;
The garbage-dump’s a blessed spot,
Where man and beast share food!
poem by John Celes
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How can I be quite happy when…?
I see the beggar on road-side,
Unable to stand and to walk;
Begging for alms from passers-by,
Sitting upon a plank with wheels?
The lunatic so scarcely dressed,
Walking from garbage dump to dump,
Eating the left-overs on leaves,
And chased away by barking dogs?
The school-child works part-time to earn
A pittance for the family’s sake,
As mother cannot manage house,
And father drunk abandoned home?
Unborn children are killed in scores,
And elderly stay neglected,
And heinous crimes keep rising high,
Corruption runs across all ranks?
The poor turn poorer by the day;
The innocent are killed and maimed;
The educated jobless stay,
And country reels from debt-burden?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-12-2010
poem by John Celes
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Future of the Country
Tears in the eyes,
Fear on the face,
I often see children working,
Roads being there workplace.
Unwillingly doing work,
By the fear of being scolded
Or beaten by their employers
I see children working for bread.
Messy hair, torn clothes,
Children walking bare feet
And working really hard
Not caring about the rain or heat.
Children doing all sorts of jobs
Including selling and begging.
I have also seen children
Cleaning cars for an earning.
I feel sorry for them.
I feel it is very unfair,
That people make children work
When they should take their care.
Children are delicate,
We must care for them.
For every child in the world
Is as precious as a gem.
At least thinking about the country,
We must stop child labour.
We must stop burdening the children
As they are the country's future.
poem by Sneha Khedkar
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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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We Are The Children
We are the children of the sun
and the stars.
We are the children of the hippies,
who were strung out on peace and love,
and heroin when they conceived us.
We are the children of alcoholics,
conceived in blackouts.
We are the children of the punk rockers,
screwed into this world on beer and anger.
We are the children of the poor,
raised on welfare and food stamps,
and government housing.
We are the children of the middle class,
borrowing from the government to get a college degree,
to get a job with a pension from corporate amerika,
who has already fired our fathers and mothers,
before they could retire.
We are the children of the rich,
who, like our fathers and mothers before us,
care only about obtaining more wealth.
We are the children of the doctors, dentists,
and lawyers, who care more about their Porsches
and Mercedes than they do their patients.
We are the children of the American dream,
roaming the streets with a blanket,
and a garbage bag full of aluminum cans.
We are the children, who now have the children,
and we hope they won't learn racism from us,
like we learned it from our moms and dads.
We are the children who can change the inevitable,
alter our destiny, change the future from futile to
fruitful.
Amen.
poem by Mikel K Poet
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The Child
From pillar to post,
Some couples go,
In trying to have,
A child of their own!
They go on pilgrimages,
And they pray to God;
They donate money,
Expecting a child!
They see horoscopes;
They see the stars-position in the sky!
They do repentance,
To get a child!
They see the best doctors,
And undergo medical check-ups;
Some go abroad
For gift of child!
Some seek the help of science,
And try the latest advances;
But only a few
Manage to have a child!
Some give up every hope
And adopt a child;
Some remain childless
Until their death.
God gives children to so many,
And denies the same to some;
Some foolishly abort,
Invoking wrath of God!
Some beat the child;
Some enslave it;
Some starve it long;
Some neglect the child!
God’s sends nature’s furies –
Floods, quakes, famines, diseases,
Destroying people
Who kill children!
Child – the gift of God;
Child – a miracle;
Child – the joy of mankind;
Child – progeny of the human race!
Child – the love of God;
Child – mercy of God;
Child – grace of God;
Child – blessing of God!
A child makes the family wholesome;
A child ushers immense joy;
A child makes life worth living for;
A child is a divine toy!
God gives a child with ease;
Man drives it to disease;
God makes a life anew;
Man ends most lives but few!
Why kill children?
Why maim the tiny tots?
Why abuse children?
Why destroy lives, God-made?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-18-2008
poem by John Celes
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A Prayer On Child Abuse
Dear God Above
Bless the children that need your love
Bless the lives that are about to end
Caused by a stranger, relative, or even a friend
Children sometimes become confused
That's no reason for them to be abused
Children shouldn't be considered a game,
Nor should your child feel shame
To play with their favorite toy
Like any other girl or boy
Child abuse is a serious crime
But it happens all of the time
If the child is too much trouble
Please send help there on the double
Please don't take the child away
Because someone got angry today
But if these precious children should have to die
Please take them to your home in the sky.
poem by Ginny Cadle
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Sonnet- I Search'd For God
I search'd for God in things of earthly mould;
I tried my best to search for Him ev'rywhere;
I sought him but found Him not; years had ro1l'd,
My heart told me, he must be somewhere near.
All life, I pray'd to Him in right earnest;
I called to Him to appear just but once!
I tried to seek Him ev'n when I did rest;
Where was He, the Almighty who weigh'd tonnes?
At last, I found Him in a child at play,
And on the road-side in a beggar's face;
He was the Good Samaritan en way,
I saw Him ’midst the blind persons in race.
If God is Truth, He dwells amongst the poor,
And in the hearts and minds kept pure for sure.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: I Search'd For God
I search'd for God in things of earthly mould;
I tried my best to search for Him ev'rywhere;
I sought him but found Him not; years had ro1l'd,
My heart told me, he must be somewhere near.
All life, I pray'd to Him in right earnest;
I called to Him to appear just but once!
I tried to seek Him ev'n when I did rest;
Where was He, the Almighty who weigh'd tonnes?
At last, I found Him in a child at play,
And on the road-side in a beggar's face;
He was the Good Samaritan en way,
I saw Him ’midst the blind persons in race.
If God is Truth, He dwells amongst the poor,
And in the hearts and minds kept pure for sure.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song: The Cries of Today’s Children
I hear the cries of children,
Of children of the world; I Singer
The unwanted and unlucky,
The orphans and of streets!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children who want love;
The illiterate, sick, handicapped; II Singer
Poor, without any sheets!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children that must work; I Singer
To earn while young for family,
Have no place, time to play!
I hear the cries of children,
Of children war-ravaged;
Who know not what is joy in life, II Singer
Living in squalor, strife!
Let’s make this world for children,
A better place to live; I&II Singers together
With encouragement, dignity, * 2 times
And all love, we can give.
(
poem by John Celes
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Are There Poems For the Poor?
ARE THERE POEMS FOR THE POOR?
Are there poems for the poor?
What are they about?
Not having?
Not being able to buy?
Hunger?
Sleeping on the street?
Saying ‘no’ to those one loves?
Critical medications not afforded?
Children without bread?
Are there poems for the dead?
Going through the garbage cans
And remembering
How I once looked with slight contempt
On those who did so?
Are their poems for the poor?
The dead?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Dwellers
It was known as the street of despair, where the homeless
And destitute lived- but no one cared!
They all turned their backs
It wasn’t hard to do, because it
Wasn’t anyone that they knew.
They lived in abandoned buildings
with no heat or water, but respect for each other
And their own type of order.
They still walked with a sense of pride
And on each other they did rely…
They created their own commune
And each child had their own room.
The men would go out and look
For jobs that would pay by the day.
They built a playground where the
Children could play.
Lawn maintenance and painting jobs
Could always be found, and at days end
They’d lay their money down.
Although they did not live
The same as you and me
But They lived comfortably.
They would buy five gallons of water
So that they could sponge bathe
For their lives had completely changed.
They bought portable stoves
So that the women could cook.
A little ingenuity was all it took.
They would buy clean clothes for
The children to wear, for that was
The only thing for which they cared.
A proper education was their goal
They would not allow it to be taken away
Exchanged, or stole.
They lived and worked together with one
Thing in mind, that these children would
Live better in a different place and time.
These are the true DWELLERS
That you don’t often hear about
For there is no one there to tell
Their stories and scream and shout.
poem by Louis Rams
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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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Little Girl Left Alone
little girl left alone
where'd her parents go
they went for ride
and never came home
little girl left alone
doesn't have enough to eat
she digs through the garbage bins
in search of some meat
little girl left alone
at night she has to roam
the river banks and railroad tracks
cause she doesn't have a home
little girl left alone
has her daddie's eyes
a wild shade of violet
that darken when she cries
little girl left alone
pushes the blade in
with blood flowing down her arms
this little girl cashes in
poem by Linda Racaniello
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Trash and Treasure
So different we are in so many a way
That, every body knows I do not have to say
In case you do not know, here I will cite a few
See how luckless we are and fortunate are you
At times you do not eat, just for the lack of mood
Desirability of food in the table
Decides if you will eat or the meal just ignore
Often we do not eat, because of lack of food
Availability of food in the table
Determines if ever we eat or not at all
Sometimes your kind of food strays to our larder
Not via the grocer, a courier or waiter
But via garbage dump we rake painstakingly
For food and anything of value there might be
And when you go shopping In a department store
You choose the clothes you wear by the size or color
By the brand or trade mark, It must be signature
To us size and color matter not anymore
We cannot be choosy or be meticulous
Whatever comes our way, make do, accept we should
For these things come to us via similar route
Which is the garbage dump, we do not have a choice
And the roof that we have Inches above our heads
Are materials you throw away, considered waste
After your palaces and villas you have built
Your trash are wealth for us, possessions we cherish
Author's Note: In third-world countries, many people depend on garbage cans and garbage dumps for their subsistence. This poem is about them.
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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Our Child
this is our child.
not just yours or mine
but everyones, that are born in our time.
a child is born every minute around this world
beautiful boys and girls.
these children are gifts from god.
and he has chosen you to be the one
who will carry the daughter or son
look into any childs face and you will see
that they belong to you and me.
the child has a bit of all humanity
this is the way god meant it to be.
these are the children of peace
the children of love
given to us from god above.
.
i read in the papers of childrens lives taken
because of anger, fear, sickness and hate.
lets stop them before it too late
put them in jail and throw away the key.
just so that children can sleep peacefully.
if as a child you was abused, neglected, and not loved
then it's time for you to change your life around
and not let these children die on the ground.
stand up and fight, and take
pride in what you do.
the child you save, could have been you.
poem by Louis Rams
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There Is No Escaping From The Garbage We Leave
At the end of any day,
A trash collector...
And someone else,
Who may have a Doctorate's degree...
Have the same thing in common!
Both have a lifetime association...
With the creation of garbage.
Whether that garbage is recycled or not!
Dropped on the street...
Or rolled up to put into one's pocket.
Regardless of 'who' is paid,
To pick their trash up...
Both can be observed,
Leaving something to forget...
To be hauled away from a curb.
And those perceptions of who we are,
With or without daily impressions to make...
Who we impress or charades we fake,
There is no escaping from the garbage we leave.
It's all over the place.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Have Raised These Weeds
I don't make this statement
To have you agree with me...
I make this comment,
Because this is what I see.
You can't raise children to be men and women!
The children of today have been spoiled
By what has been given!
They are nurtured like a plant or a pet
Around the house.
They are fed much nonsense and reflect,
What we have put out!
If it's garbage in our minds and garbage that we eat...
What do you expect to find on the streets?
Pansies and Roses?
Lilacs and Hibiscus?
Pruned trees and bushes...
And manicured lawns we sweat to treat?
If you have not encouraged your 'crops' to grow,
How do you expect your harvest to 'glow'?
You have raised these 'weeds'...
And that's the point I want to make!
You ignored advice from the 'gardener',
And that has been YOUR mistake!
Those choking 'vines' that grew from your home
That have driven you to heartbreak...
Have been your responsibility,
And it now shows upon your face!
And now you want them to leave you alone?
These 'creatures' are yours...
Reflecting what you have condoned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some People
Some people seem to have it all
Some people always have to crawl
Some people pay to be abused
Some people end up destitute
Some people search their souls for truth
Some people try to be of use
Some people pray before they kill
Some people kill just for the thrill
Some people follow one mans vision, some others die on television
Some people build their homes on sand, some people live in garbage cans
Some people think that live is dear, some people hope the end is near
Some people fight for right to life, some people hate to stay alive
Some people dream of life on mars, some people end their life in cars
Some people throw their lives away, some others go on holidays
Some people live and love in vain, some people dont and go insane
Some people always need to win, some other people love to sin
Some people breaking all their vows, some people slashing sacred cows
Some people like to worship stars, some people think the worlds a farce
Some people try to make ends meet, some others end up kissing feet
Some people find their holy grail, some other people go to hell
Some people never catch their breath, some people drink themselves to death
Some people seem to have it all, some people always have to crawl
Some people pay to be abused, some people end up destitute
Some people search their souls for truth
Some people try to be of use
Some people
!
Gold/ocean/1994
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quick to Dump Their Junk
Some seem ready to jump into a garbage dump.
Quick to dump their junk,
And then start running.
Quicker to abuse their minds.
Quicker to find the time to whine.
And quick to say who's nuts...
And who ain't crazy.
It seems easier to walk away from people raging.
Easier to say who should be who they are.
Easier to start a fight.
Easier to say who's not living right.
And easier to be the one who sleeps at night.
Quick and easy it seems not to worry.
It appears some live lives free of mental strife.
Quick and easy it seems for them not to hurry.
When a life they choose to live,
Is not disguised by lies.
It seems some can take their lumps and not be moaning.
Or groan from Sunrise 'til that Sun goes down.
Whether they keep a faith.
Or pray every second of each day.
They don't walk around,
With a face to frown.
Why is it...
Some seem ready to jump into a garbage dump?
And why is it...
Some are quick to dump their junk,
And run?
Why are they...
Quicker to abuse their minds.
And why so quick are they to whine?
And quick they are to say who's nuts...
But they're not crazy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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