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Re: Cleaning Time

it has been quite a long time
when the cleaning has not been done

the cabinet is dusty and the floors stained
the walls bearing the unnecessary marks
words of protests are written and the door
creaks with hinges not oiled for long

today i am looking for the clutter of
those i do not need
the garbage has to be discarded
what has piled must be inspected
the unimportant must go

i also speak about my anger
my indifference my selfishness
like garbage they must go too
lest i be like those that i have spoken before

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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A Happy Ending

i cannot always be a new
broom that must sweep well
your old floors

please take note of this

i cannot always be your new
broom that must sweep well
your garbage floors

please take note of this

time will make me an old broom
and you my dirty and old floor
overladen with scratch papers and
pens with dried inks and litters
and crumpled newspapers and torn
fashion pages scattered on your rough
floors,

time makes me a old, dirty broom
and now, ruined and stained, we shall
stay together, we now belong to each
other

please take note of this happy ending.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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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Inside My Study Room

five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep

the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain

i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables

i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted

no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places

the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls

the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened

i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods

it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move

the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed

i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual

i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again

on promises
like what hope is all about.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Its Been A Long Long Time

Its been a long time...
Since I held you tight.
Its been a long time...
Everyday in this fight.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
Since I've had a kiss.
Its been a long time...
You're pretty blue eyes I miss.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
This Iraqi tour.
Its been a long time...
I miss you so and more.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
Hot days with freezing nights.
Its been a long time...
Sunburned face, mosquito bites.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
Had a real bad day.
Its been a long time...
Lost some soldiers today.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
I suffer everyday.
Its been a long time...
For me to be away.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
For me to be alone.
Its been a long time...
No talking on the telephone.
Its been a long...long...time.

Its been a long time...
Since you heard me say...
Baby, my sweet darling...
I'm leaving Iraq today!

poem by Philip Lore
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The stained glass windows

God has turpentine the walls
And brushed out the cobwebs
And wax polished the floors
But he always resists in cleaning

The outside stained glass windows
That filled his heart with light
Even under the darkest throws
Of some evil godforsaken night

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Midnight

Speak to me, aching heart: what
Ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself
Weeping in the dark garage
With your sack of garbage: it is not your job
To take out the garbage, it is your job
To empty the dishwasher. You are showing off
Again,
Exactly as you did in childhood--where
Is your sporting side, your famous
Ironic detachment? A little moonlight hits
The broken window, a little summer moonlight,
Tender
Murmurs from the earth with its ready
Sweetnesses--
Is this the way you communicate
With your husband, not answering
When he calls, or is this the way the heart
Behaves when it grieves: it wants to be
Alone with the garbage? If I were you,
I'd think ahead. After fifteen years,
His voice could be getting tired; some night
If you don't answer, someone else will answer.

poem by Louise Gluck
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Least said soonest mended.

Least said soonest mended.

In the anger of the moment.
We react instinctively
Harsh words spill out by accident
Which we regret immediately.

Anger looses inhibitions
We do not think before we speak.

The spoken word can’t be unsaid
However much we may regret.
Although our anger’s long since fled
Those we offend do not forget.

Anger loosens inhibitions.
We do not think before we speak.

Old friends become new enemies.
Misunderstandings on both sides
Exchanging apologies
may help but bitterness abides.

Anger loosens inhibitions
We do not think before we speak.

Reacting to a perceived slight.
Something we are prone to do.
We forget to be polite.
It’s unfortunate but it’s true.

Thursday,13 October 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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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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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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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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Garbage Pick Up

Place your garbage at the side of the road
all that was treasured at one time.
Bikes and some exercise equipment
they had seen their better of times.

Your child has grown up
and your now growing out.
He 's worn off the rubber riding his bike
clothes hung on yours, cause it got too tuff!

Golf clubs never used at all
because dad had that heart attack.
Maybe if he let you come along
you both wouldn't have got so fat?

Garbage pick up man is looking
at all that lay aside the road.
He's looking at it likes it's Christmas Eve
with wealth of gifts untold!

One mans junk is anothers treasure
I've heard someone say.
I guess we shouldn't buy false man made hopes
It's all ends up, Garbage on pick up day!

poem by Linda Winchell
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Old Poets

The old poets
sit drinking and conversing.
Speaking with long words; parts
of forgotten phrases, and occasional cursing.
There was among them another day, when
they thought they knew
precisely what to say, what to do.
But time, with the help of wine
has taken up the words.
Stealing their once steady voice
no longer the stronger, nor even again to be heard.
Now, the old poets gather round early
in narrow dusty bars, looking
far off, and puffing fat cigars.
Satisfied to simply sit and sip, upon
the failing wine, and fleeting time.
Watching, as both run dangerously low, like
the finish of a long and
melancholy picture show.
Time and wine, words and birds, all
fly so quickly by.
Going south with a closed mouth
the verbs and nouns of the past fall broken, and
are no longer sacramentally spoken.
What once moved so fine, within these aged poetic minds
flows now, no less, throughout each new day.
It turns old bodies weak, yet goes on bearing
the delicate souls like gold, further and further away.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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