I’m So Proud Of My Murali Boy
I’m so proud of my son Murali
cos he’s always thinking smart
and efficient
I asked him the other day:
“Sonny boy
dear Murali
What’d you like to be
when you grow up? ”
And he says to me:
“I’ll be a garbage collector, Daddy”
And I say to him:
“O my dear boy -
why a garbage collector
of all the jobs? ”
And my little boy Murali
says, smart as he always is:
“Oh, Dad,
look at them:
they have such big trucks
and they work only once a week”
Oh yes, I’m so proud
of my little Murali
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memory Bag
I sit in silence with my own blank thoughts
Bored out of my mind my imagination rots
I turned to music, television, the books on my shelf
I gave up, looked up and said to God, 'Humour Me'
The sky grew darker as i waited to see,
A bag of memories forgotten, dropped on me
The past, the good things and the bad,
all the wonderful laughs that i had
Going through the memory bag kept me occupied
more than television, music, or books on shelves
God looked down on me and said, 'Humour yourself'
Copyright © 2010 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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Smile..! ! !
a smile comes out of nowhere
it brings with it love and cheer
a smile sets our moods right
it brings loved ones near
a smile is contagious
and there is no cure
and when you get it
happiness is for sure
a smile doesn't wait for any occasion
a smile doesn't really need a reason
it can come when you're least expected
a smile can come any day, any season
it spreads around, and soon you'll see
a smile on everyone's face
pass it on, don't be shy
and soon, soo happy the world will be
so now you know what a smile is worth
what joy and happiness it can create
and like the saying, you all know well
'a smile is a curve that sets everything straight'
Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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In Search Of Inspiration
searching the world for inspiration
searching books, music and nature too
a lot of effort gone into it, a lot of concentration
inspiration i think is hard to find
in the songs of birds, in the whistle of the wind
i search for inspiration, even a tiny little bit
when a baby laughed or when a woman grinned
i searched folr inspiration, guess it's harder to find
in the words of shelly, keats and shakespeare too
inspiration i searched and searched, no use
in 'gone with the wind'and 'the sound of music'
movies i searched for a bit of inspiration
'
without inspiration, what do i write
i wanna fill the pages with the poem that's right
i need to write a poem, i need inspiration
i wanna write a poem. wait a minute! ! , i just did! ! !
note: i never write poems for the sake of writing.......it comes from the heart......in reality...i dont need to search for inspiration much.....it comes when it needs to... :)
Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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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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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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Butterfly Collector
Stuck behind,
Only watching,
She moves fleetingly,
I’m only watching.
The glass between us,
Only watching,
The gulf behind us,
I’m only watching.
I don’t want to be
A butterfly collector,
I don’t want to be
Just a butterfly collector.
The class between us,
Only watching,
She moves on the street,
I’m only watching.
I don’t want to be
A butterfly collector,
I don’t want to be
Just a butterfly collector.
I want to be somewhere else,
I want to be far away,
I want to be somebody else,
Because I don’t want to be a butterfly collector.
I don’t want to be
A butterfly collector,
I don’t want to be
Just a butterfly collector.
I don’t want to be,
I don’t want to be,
I don’t want to be,
I don’t want to be a butterfly collector.
©Charlie F. Kane
9/03/07
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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I'll tell something, a lot of times I'd listen to Charlie and some of the interviews he had and he said, 'Well, yeah, I was a garbage goal collector.' But he knew the timing. I knew where he was.
quote by Marcel Dionne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Star Collector
Think Ill let her keep on going
Where ever it is, shes goin, too.
Give her my autograph and tell her
Its been nice knowin you.
Chorus
Shes a star collector (collector of stars)
She only sims to please young celebraties.
Shes a star collector (collector of stars)
How can I love her, when I just dont respect her?
When everthing is goin my way,
She wants to be close at hand.
She moves to some other doorway
When things dont go the way she planned.
Chorus
It wont take much time before I get her off my mind
Chorus (repeat)
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh Collector
Oh collector I'm so sorry
You had the notion that I was rolling
In the money no I'm sorry
But I'll pay you
No Worry
Let's Sing Softly
Let's Sing Softly
Oh so softly
Not so heavy
I've been heavy with my fortune
Like a crystal and a hammer
I'm so sorry Oh collector
I'm away now in a hurry
Repeat Chorus
Get up all you fighters
Don't you lie here now
Oh collector you had it coming
It was that funny we were rolling
Oh collector we're so sorry
And we'll pay you
No Worry
Repeat Chorus x3
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
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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Are you proud yet?
i made it many miles without you i can make it farther i know i can
you never taught me how to ride a bike but i know how
you never helped me with my homework but i got A's
you never there to give me advice but i handled it without you
im tired of trying to make you proud, im about to give up its hard to never hear you say it
when i lost my bestfriend over a stupid gun you werent there to be my rock i made it without you are you proud yet?
im strong like mom im more like here everyday im proud of that she has been my rock, when i do something little she says she is proud
i made it thur middle school without you barely there i realized mom was right im glad im not like you
started high school your still not there physically yes but mentally you could careless, are you proud i know mom is
im turning 18 and going to graduate, are you proud yet, no you told me you didnt want to see me graduate, am i ever gonna hear you say it.
maybe not but i know one thing you have taught me is not to be like you, im like mom
i got pubished in a book, are you proud no you said you could careless, how can you be so heartless.
I let go of many things youve done, said and you promised maybe that wasnt a smart idea but ill learn so are you proud yet.
honestly i keep thinking im never gonna be your perfect kid, i dont care because mom made me the women i am and made me not like you, im strong are you proud yet?
After all is said and done i know mom is proud i made it this far without you, proud yet i know i am!
poem by Sarah Selinger
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Go Green
There is so much pollution, garbage, and so much electric use
We need to stop or something bad going happen to planet and us so we all need too
Go green
So let's recycle, reduce and reuse
If we just turn of light when not use,
Turn off water when you brushing your teeth,
Take a shorter shower, and list go on
It can makes a difference
We need to pass this on too other people
So tell your friends, family and other people to help save the earth
Go green
If we just do it
We feel proud, right and great, and for helping saving the earth
If we just ride with less gas for our car by carpooling with friends
Use reuseable bottles, and
Stop throwing away waste food
It can makes big difference
So come on and let's help the earth
If we all come together
It becomes bigger voice
Our planet is suffer so much
Lets help out
Do something nice for once
Pick up garbage, plant trees, use less electric, or
Put waste food in the compose that you can
We can think smart way of going green
We can protect the planet
You can get inspire like I did to
Go green
poem by Christina Phan
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Why I Love U?
What binds me with you dear?
As if an involuntary chain
I asked myself many a times
As if to know it in interest
Is it the gentle smile u has?
Is it the smart body which shine?
Is it the witty buttering talks?
Or is it your pompous state of life?
The reply reverberated quickly
No, all that are not at all
Then I asked once again
What will be then to bind so kind?
I fetched my mind once again
To get answer of that smart quest
I saw it written in bold and gold
In my book with fringing frills
I saw that page with shining stars
Bookmarked with a peacock tail
Do you want to know it right?
It is just your ‘touching heart’
poem by Sandhya S.N
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Poo Secrets
Poo Secrets
Are never kept..) It(s..adored
...) it(s..sharing....) it(...with..you
) it(s my deepest darkest fears you out found here.
If I am so smart why does It rant? you
are feeling this.
If I am so smart how did I end up inside
those cold, fast thighs?
I was smart enough to dodge, your slap.
Then the abuse really started....
I kept going back for more...
her verbals became more than Pascals.
My body became more, than her work of art.
It just, was not very smart enough, it became...
Her very own, personal....toy to hurt to maim..
just for joy..as it became dumber she became
smarter in waves...smarter so smart, she
could even stick knives in...it, > it
poem by Is It Poetry
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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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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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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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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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Obituary of a Renowned Indian Surgeon
A noble soul has passed away from earth!
He touched the hearts of thousands since his birth;
He sowed the seeds of sympathy and love,
Akin to that, that flows from God above!
His life was one of devotion to work;
He lit the lives of those living in dark;
He brought back joy to some who had lost it;
He made their bodies unhealthy, most fit!
He served his God by serving his brethren;
He made the world around him like heaven;
He left his glory upon earth for now;
His glory waits in God’s city above!
Such souls are rare who live for others’ sake;
Such creatures come from Maker’s special make;
Such lives have made this world like paradise;
Their lives will stay forever like sunrise!
This surgeon’s knife now rests in others’ hands!
His fame and name has spread to many lands;
His trail was etched on exemplary sands;
He’s gone to join the Maker’s choicest bands!
His noble life will pave the way for more;
He chose to enter God-sent newer door;
His love for human beings formed life’s core;
His example was one unseen before!
Such flowers blossom rarely once a while,
Perfuming air that spreads beyond the mile;
Their beauty has to wither but in style,
Remaining on the pages of God’s file!
‘May his soul rest in peace, till time shall some day cease! ’
Fondly dedicated with reverence to the philanthropist Dr.N.S. Murali, Hon. Sec., VHS, Chennai.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-5-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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