About You And The Old American
to please you and your old and rich American
'lover', i decided to take you to
Tabancura Cafe where
indigenous paintings are on
exhibit on that day
first we had coffee and some
sticky rice delicacies and ripe mangoes
then the American (was his named Ted
for Teddy Bear?) begins to view
indigenous art, from softdrink tansans
to plastic straw and
drift wood and used
tissue, and from which he
said ' Honey, we have to go now,
we will be late for the show in Dakak.
This is garbage! '
Then both of you are gone
and i am left out
alone again in the art works of
my countrymen.
I sleep early that time
after drinking beer
and i dream about myself swimming
in the river of garbage with Manny Villar.
Weird.
i wake up profusely sweating
goes to the ref got a glass of cold water
and drink
take a deep breath and
walk my way to bed again
i pray that i may not dream again
about garbage
that i may not even remember about both of you
(garbage too
you, whose dream is it to go away from the poverty
of this country)
that i may not remember this political mess
of lies and deception
and more corruption to come
after this year's election.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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American Dream
I used to see you on every t.v.
Your smiling face looked back at me.
I used to see you on every t.v.
Your smiling face looked back at me.
Then they caught you with the girl next door,
Peoples money piled on the floor,
Accusations that you try to deny,
Revelations and rumors begin to fly.
Now you think about reaching out
Maybe get some help from above.
Now you think about reaching out
Maybe get some help from above.
Reporters crowd around your house.
Going through your garbage like a pack of hounds,
Speculating what they may find out,
It dont matter now, youre all washed up.
You wake up in the middle of the night.
Your sheets are wet and your face is white,
You tried to make a good thing last,
How could something so good, go bad, so fast?
American dream, american dream
American dream, american dream.
Dont know when things went wrong,
Might have been when you were young and strong.
Dont know when things went wrong,
Might have been when you were young and strong.
Reporters crowd around your house.
Going through your garbage like a pack of hounds,
Speculating what they may find out,
It dont matter now, youre all washed up.
Dont know when things went wrong,
Might have been when you were young and strong.
American dream, american dream.
Dont know when things went wrong,
Might have been when you were young and strong.
American dream, american dream.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Creatures
I need it
The sex skin habit
You could just crawl out
And forget Im here
I need it
Love and something
Id just as soon forget
So keep it out the papers
I need it
the sex musicians
Ill show you something
While the boys beat time
I need it
And shes still waiting
We like to wake up
In a strange bed romance
One more time for me
You are the young things fed on garbage and lies
Please one more time for me
You are the young things fed on garbage and lies
Im talking far too much about my shame
I need it
Creatures calling
Ill tear my heart out
But I need some more
I need it
Im under pressure
I dont remember
If her storys true
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I guess nobody really reads poetry that much
Sometimes I ask
This question if the people out there really read poems?
A laundrywoman for instance
Does she even read? Have I told her that there is poem
For laundry soap and how her laundry can be magical?
Or the carpenter, does he ever know that poetry exists
As he hammers the nail on the stairs or puts the walls
Of the house that he is making? Is there a certain beat
In the strokes of his sawing the wood from a newly cut
Tree? Is there something sentimental about his pencil that
Cuts the exact plank of wood to make the railings of
The veranda?
And what about the garbage collector? Is there poetic
Sense in the smell of garbage that he collects early
Morning of the day?
Or about a friend who spent so much to move to
Some places in the U.S. or Canada or New Zealand
Looking for a dream for a greener pasture in foreign lands?
Well to tell frankly I write a lot about them, this laundrywoman
This carpenter, the garbage collectors and friends who give up the
Hope of finding a good life in my country?
I guess I have the right to ask, if they ever read the poems
About them?
I guess I have to ask if there is really poetry in what they
Do and what they dream and what they worry about?
I drink so much coffee to extend my nights to reach
A certain poetic significance about some uncertainties
And the meaning of all these which may not be
Magical, poetic, which may not after all
Be, in the most plain sense,
Readable.
Sometimes, I go outside this room where I am thinking
About them and write about them and just sit there
On a rocking chair looking far to the boundless sea
And I ask, sometimes, do they really read poetry?
I guess, no one really bothers that much. They are busy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Canal
when I go to school,
I have to walk by side of a canal
I would be curios to see fish and crabs
But when I look into water these days
I saw garbage thrown in the water.
There are no creatures living in water
The garbage blocks the flow of water
The water is thoroughly polluted.
Like this everywhere its happening
We all are responsible for it.
poem by Shaleeka V.p
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just as there's garbage that pollutes the Potomac river, there is garbage polluting our culture. We need an Environmental Protection Agency to clean it up.
quote by Patrick Buchanan
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sarah Cynthia Slyvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown Bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Grisly bits of beefy roasts...
The garbage rolled down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall...
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Slylvia Stout said,
'Ok, I'll take the garbage out!'
But then, of course, it was too late...
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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We need to address our Nation's mounting garbage problem by generating less garbage, particularly paper waste.
quote by Wendell H. Ford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am saying pornography hurts anyone who reads it, garbage in, garbage out.
quote by Jerry Falwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Message Failed
INDIGENOUS: Our lands are here to welcome
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: As long, as long ago we offer welcome
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: An offering from within deep within
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Who are your people?
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Our custom, begins like this
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do no come in peace
INDIGENOUS: From the tops of the gum trees, too
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: Beneath the earth our mother
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
INDIGENOUS: If you share with our traditions
PARLIAMENTARIAN: We do not come in peace
We do not come in peace
Die just be gone
poem by Lisa Bellear
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The Great Lie
urine stained sheets
tobacco broken teeth
gnarled old hands
and kerosene feet
check comes once a month
only lasts for a few days
a bony old cat
and cracked windowpanes
end of time, end of days
only the strong will survive
call it justice, the American way
call it the great lie
cast off, used up, and spent
thrown to the side
excess baggage, human garbage
already dead, waiting to die...
baby crying and cold
roaches run across the floor
dirty dishes in the sink
eviction notice on the door
washes up as best she can
puts on her dirty clothes
prays the old car will start
dont know where they'll go
end of time, end of days
only the strong will survive
call it justice, the American way
call it the Great Lie
cast off, used up, and spent
thrown to the side
excess baggage, human garbage
already dead, waiting to die...
excess baggage, human garbage
already dead, waiting to die.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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