They Are Not Aware Of That Yet
Respect received,
From a people bleeding...
Of self worth and identity.
Has never been a consideration,
For those who do to get done.
Especially in an atmosphere,
Where those accustomed...
To shun their own integrities,
Have been fed to erase.
Like a thought process expected...
But will never surface to take place.
It is not on their fast food,
Addicted to self abusing menus.
But accusations,
Absent of self examination?
Is not to be questioned to ponder!
Folks like these lack that depth.
And a patience for them to awaken,
Has gone!
But they are not aware of that yet.
Garbage in.
Garbage out.
Until all lights are turned out.
And that is what their lives have been about!
A fear to connected to their own greatness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
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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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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My Narrative Today
My narrative today focuses on this...
A wish to meet more people of mental depth.
And aware of it.
The ones with identity and not in fear,
Of upsetting others with a correct pretentiousness.
I would like to meet those who have minds connected,
To something else besides themselves.
Or flaws and blemishes of others.
Maybe it is my aging process I am dealing with.
I listen more intently to every word not to miss.
And it seems today I overhear many expressing nonsense.
I can not believe these minds are free.
And they have chosen to be empty of thought,
With a seriousness to talk about nothing but materialism...
Sex and drugs and who cheats on who with a doing of it,
Just to use newly advertised lubricants.
My narrative today focuses on this...
A wish to meet more people of mental depth.
And aware of it.
There 'has' to be other ears and eyes observing this to witness.
And maybe they are like I am...
Looking on from the sidelines but keeping their distance.
And I understand this perfectly.
But it would be nice to have it validated by more who do agree!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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If The Surface For Them Did Not Exist
If the surface didn't exist,
Many wouldn't have a thought to cling to.
Many wouldn't know,
Which gossip heard was true.
If the surface for them did not exist.
If the surface didn't exist,
The many dependent on having lives not their own...
Would be lost without being told what to do.
Many absolutely would not have a clue...
How to find their way around,
Without following in someone's footsteps.
If the surface they sniffed did not exist.
And if the surface for them did not exist...
They would not be able to sit alone,
Doing something completely on their own...
And appreciating life,
With the minding of their own business.
If...
The surface for many did not exist,
It would be taumatic for them to seek a thought process.
Many would not know where or how to begin.
So many are accustomed to living lives that are shallow.
With an ability only to identify with that...
Which is supplied and arrives to them surfacely.
Even a dog sniffing tries to find a place to bury a bone.
And doing that alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Their Closest Relatives
People hypnotized and transfixed,
Have grown more accustomed
To their movie productions.
And those creative emotional TV shows.
So accustomed to myths,
People are.
And the praying to what is believed,
To what has been embedded
In their minds,
Exists.
People do not wish to be told,
About the thought process of Nature.
And how that goes.
Or about Earth and Mother Nature.
The relationship between them.
How that works and what they know.
People wish and desire to accept,
They are more powerful
Than that which 'allowed' them life,
And gave to them breath.
People reject with a dismissing of this,
That which gifted them and permitted their lives.
People have grown more accustomed,
To their movie productions.
And those creative emotional TV shows.
Yet,
Give zero respect to their closest relatives.
The Sun, The Moon
And how together,
They affect their lives lived here on Earth.
People have chosen to become accustomed,
To ignoring as if they do not hear or listen.
Or are aware of them with comprehension.
People choose not to accept this as is.
People choose to believe from that which exist,
They are not born from it.
People choose for themselves to believe,
For them
There is no connection to perceive.
Even though what is they can not conceive,
Flows through their veins and bleeds!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lack of respect
Respect? Yes respect
Lack of respect
Lend us in hot oil
And now we are fried like vianas
Because we lack respect
Yes respect
Respect? Yes respect
Lead us to put our feet inside the packet
And look now
We have fallen so hard in the ground
Because we lack respect
We had foolish remarks
Asked personal question
And proved to the world how jealous we are
Because we lack respect
We questioned facilitator than scenario
How? Because we lack respect for our colloquies
Because we mesmerize twaddle
We are futile
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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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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Those Who Sympathize Do Not Pretend
When a quantity lacks quality.
And a marketing of garbage is anticipated.
Since garbage and trash thrive with medocrity.
How can anyone identify a high standard?
When reproductions are more suitable,
To those with aspirations just to be exposed...
To the theme of things.
And not to origins of originality seeped in innovation.
Or wish to come into contact with its depth!
That would involve a patience to comprehend,
Such motivation.
And comprehension is not the intention,
When some begin to pretend!
They may be patrons.
Fun seekers who enjoy being in the presence,
Of whatever it is prioritized at the moment.
But sympathizers they are not!
And those who sympathize do not pretend,
When there is something they know about truth...
In one's artistry.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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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There is a garbage culture out there, where we pour garbage on people. Then the pollsters run around and take a poll and say, do you smell anything?
quote by Bob Woodward
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Slavery of Irony
In the Slavery of Irony
Illegitimate Nouns arrive
and the wall of Other erects
its own wall against
sins covered up
in the pursuit
a better life, middle class
in a zero sum
Stockholm Syndrome Society
where crumbs eat the people
disguised as rats
where rats are seen as another race entirely
People Rats who live off the garbage of prosperity
in India, in China in Mexico
poverty so fierce
that whole generations
are buried in the holes in the garbage
covered over by still more prosperity-garbage coming in
for the rat people to eat and sell;
and when they wander away for even a day
the are fed to the ego of passerbys
who blame them for smelling bad.
This new feudalism is the progress of the 21st century
where we shall all be buried one day in our own garbage
and beneath that collapse that is sure to come.
Even as the Rat People revolt and show up at our doors
some will say 'just a minute, will you' I need to get myself a 'latte.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Baited To Fear Everything Unknown
Being perceptive is rarely accepted,
When associating with others...
More accustomed to neglecting,
Their own thought process.
To rely upon what comes to comfort.
And is easily for them to quickly access.
Sharing insight with those less connected,
Will often initiate an unwanted debate.
To prove what is perceived not yet to be seen,
Will actually take place and on a specific date.
Especially with those who are baited to fear,
Everything unknown but claim to have faith!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Will Know When It Has Been Discovered
I can not award you confirmation...
Of who it is you are.
With an identity felt.
Connected to an adjoining dignity.
I've never had the experience,
Of living with such emptiness inside of me.
I've been blessed to know who it is I am.
With a testing that is done daily,
By those who refuse to accept...
Nothing I do that appears on the surface,
Is not without its depth!
I can not award you confirmation...
Of who it is you are.
With an identity felt.
Connected to an adjoining dignity.
That you will have to determine for yourself.
And you will know when it has been discovered.
When few will accept,
The strength reflected you project.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Trapped and Needing Air
Slow to wake up!
Too slow,
To awaken to what has been real.
Don't expect me to freeze in place.
Awaiting for you to embrace life,
As it is!
It is to be lived.
Not turned into a quiz...
You just can't get and figure out.
And your pouting is not admired.
It's like a flat tire needing air!
You are just not there!
Slow to wake up!
No one's got time on hold.
To benefit them...
And/or their whims.
When for them time will begin again.
Show or no show folks...
Who poke along,
And make joke of it.
Putting off 'the now'
To live a yesterday today...
Should be left on steps where they sit!
Or wave to them through a window!
Don't stop to visit.
They seek someone to twist into a fit!
Many know such folks,
Who complain about their sorrows.
And they will drain someone's patience.
To stall tomorrow's anticipated taste.
And squeeze the sweet,
To share their bitterness...
With anyone they meet.
It is to be lived.
This life!
Not turned into a quiz...
You just can't get or figure out,
The wrong from right!
And your pouting is not admired.
It's like a flat tire needing air!
You are just not there...
With determination focused.
But despair you love to wear.
Trapped and getting ragged...
Like a tire needing air.
Addicted like an addict,
And trapped...
Needing air!
Trapped and getting ragged...
Like a tire needing air.
Addicted like an addict,
That's trapped and needing air!
Caged like a rabbit in fear and scared.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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
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A Street Sweeper
He wears a white uniform
That belongs to the Municipality.
While sweeping he worries about the previous night's dream.
The garbage he raked turned into currency notes
But when he took those to the bank to get realized
All converted into garbage again.
*'Worldly values are never really going to allow you to feel at ease' the Buddha said.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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