The dog wore a rainbow bandana
A feral cat hissed at it
Birds bullied each other at the feeder
A hawk in the shadows
Rats scurried through the alleys
Of both the rich and poor
(garbage is garbage)
Children waited for the school bus
Breakfast waited for them
An old woman collected “recyclable” cans
(a homeless entrepreneur)
I wondered
“do politicians ever look out the window?
~ the one who fears love...painful experiences must be included ~
my quote
Who twisted the strings on the guitar?
A fading sound from a noisy bar
As the wind from the bare window
barn swallows fly low, you know
His emotions blown away
recyclable, but will not stay
The parchment cracks
from bird's eye view a climax
the night charmer in camouflage
she is waiting for his following barrage
Her love was never reciprocated
being loved is complicated
Green is nature and growth
Green is moving forward
Green is conservation
Green is when you think wild
Green is recyclable
Green is love dipped in red
Green is a live color
I stay close to home these days,
my roaming needs seeming to
expire with age, finding more
of what I need in the Silence
of packing; of course, this
worn-out body is far too cumbersome
to even contemplate wanting – like
frayed clothing, now best for rags;
like empty cans for the recyclable:
I wonder how Earth will handle
my re-purposing?~as for my poetry,
will my works know future lips? Be
Whispered and sung, inspiring others
fancying fireside light and chat, within
the warmth of flickering, yet mysterious
shadows? Or will my words, unceremoniously
settle like bird droppings on tombstones,
surrounded by laurels of weeds, a forgotten
chapter? That settles it, I will opt for cremation!
Leaving tombstones and graves for
most politicians, TV Evangelists, and
Movie-stars, needing their world
monuments where the Devil will
easily find them for substantive
reunions....
It is a plasmid wraith of thickened odors,
its organs, the sticky slops
of dead-end days.
It hungers for discarded dregs,
the dispensed with and disposed of
are its haunt,
scraps of yesterday trail behind it
as grey tentacles no longer able
to feel.
Soon the trashmen will
ambush the bins,
heave them into a reeking wagon,
yet it will return tomorrow
smelling worse,
for nothing absolves us
from its un-recyclable curse.
Thoughts are Spiritual Substance –
part of living reality, but on a higher
plane of experience. We could not
think it, if it were not already a
spirit-arch-type, in the infinite mind of
God. Think it enough...and eventually
the thought becomes empirical, physical
manifestation – Cultivate, guard your
thoughts well...for they are tomorrow's
great scientific cures, or plagues of mass
destruction. We are born of star stuff,
quickly recyclable if an offended Universe.
We enter and exit
through the vision –
what we see, and
what we deny; never
knowing what is there;
nearsighted and a-far –
born unclear, our focus
a gradual ascent – eyes, not
a victory, but what they show
us of the world outside, unseen;
birth is a doorway ajar – the
vehicle, and not the journey;
the thrust, but not the fuel;
born to die so that we may
live...passing through and
beyond in recyclable
increments....
Wandering the maze of sanity
has now become a harsh challenge
to the psyche as insanity fuels
itself with echoing bigotry
soaring like starving hawks
while vultures are daily treated
to sights of warm human appetizers
laying out on blood-stained turf tables.
If only lives could be as treasured
and as recyclable as are old cold weapons
of war that continues to be allowed
to seek the devouring warmness of life.
The yellow roses in a lone star field of dreams
droop in waters of tears and dried blood;
long-horned cows and egrets go about symbiotically,
as wagon train-like funeral processions pass by:
Meanwhile, congress-persons attend NRA banquets.
Colored Memories ARTIST BOX OF DRIED UP MARKERS
I'm a temperamental artist
In instants I'm prompted to draw
Choice of tools to use my favorite are markers
Colored markers, orange-blue-red-green yellow
Each one that I pick up not writing
I'm all caught up want to draw a picture
But each marker I pick up using
All dried up
So I fuss
The sun is shining my imagination rising
And all my markers dried or drying up
So haphazardly I placed them in a box
Not to throw them out but to mail them in
On Ah! In an return recyclable envelope
Colored markers, orange—red-yellow-green blue -turquoise
I will return these empty dried up colored markers
That I've gathered in a box to recycle
Temperamental artist guess I have to go to the art store and by some more
Purple-black-orange-red-yellow-green blue-turquoise markers
Colored Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:craig cornish
9/4/18
Monomaniacal Mist
I am the finite of the infinite for the shadows bleed my presence
My habitual hunger is imminent and toxicant time is of the essence
Like the serpent swallowing sorrows slithering to sanitize your soul
In view of marauding morrows whispering winds wavering console
As a malodorous mist, I appear a demi-god of recyclable tangled time
A fallen angel fostering fear bringing forth a new pernicious paradigm
I come within denigrative dreams a diabolical debacle demanding end
A Svengali of silent screams an oblivious organism that will transcend
A jaded jackal conjured by the broken hearts withering to their demise
The grotesque genie that departs only to enslave before it’s downsize
I am the confiscating conqueror of night banishing your barren breath
Like a fallacious futile frostbite a feculent frozen fire ... for I am death.
April.03.2018
The Life of Death
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Life playing hide and seek with us...
Yes and no, alas long -
Not a riddle, not for answers,
Life the spindle.
Can fortunately, maybe with grief,
Life make sense -
Those who needed sometimes
And who needed himself.
Those who helped once
Unselfishly, from the heart,
Those who climbed into the soul for gold
Its certanily soul
But yet in this life
Always keep your heart of evil...
Life is a funny thing because,
Pits, bumps - until the end.
And who endure, did not give up,
The one who's heart is not blind,
He only becomes human,
Who each give to the bread.
I often think that in Zlata
Happiness... but love it...
And we are losing wealth,
Oneplease of recyclable materials.
People... think about loved ones,
Take care of those who have...
And chasing distant,
Stay on the ground.
Those who loves with all his heart,
Those who soul with you
You will be rewarded handsomely there,
If you soul with the family!
17.01.14 AKC
© Copyright: Konstantin Achapowski, 2014
The certificate of publication No. 114011701045
I work for things deemed sensible
and avoid the junk dispensable
while seeking what's appreciable
to learn just what's achievable
while backwards reprehensible
where everything's disposable
and all that's left that's savable
is garbage that's recyclable
So say a prayer that's plausible
and hold mankind accountable
to keep your faith believable
that there's a God perceivable
I feel like
I am all alone in this world
with eyes
watching my every move
you might think that
I was paranoid
but every time I open my eyes
to see
someone is responding to me
answering a question I have
but never asked
I turned up the sound
on my radio and TV
so that no one can hear me pee
at home
I communicate with others
on recyclable newsprint
which I keep to burn
at home
I burn all
my garbage and place the ashes and bones
in public waste receptacles
around town
I wear recyclable rubber gloves and leave no prints
I wear recyclable rubber condoms and leave no sperm
I wear a mask and recyclable rubber booties when I am awake
you might think that
I was paranoid
but every time I open my eyes
to see
I seem to
find me
There's nothing new for children.
The adults have done it all.
And now they've left for planet Mars
when all you do is crawl.
They raised you with their Google
and taught you of their hive.
They put you on their Facebook
and told you you were live.
They'll send for you at end of days
when you look to the skies.
That's why they left you Google Earth
and praying no one dies.
You'll call them on your iphone
when seas begin to rise.
You'll have to wait for voicemail
to leave your little cries.
You'll want to build a rocketship
to follow them to Mars.
And hope there's one recyclable
from thier abandoned cars.
Then when you've reached your newest home.
Their androids there to greet you.
They'll welcome home their little ones
and then you'll have to start new.
Where we live is universal
It is men’s abode, they fight for it
Only to become lethal
Man now without mercy is cruel
We love the EARTH and man is wise
To be a fool, he abuses trees for his use
Be it for personal and commercial
He does irresponsible mining to his detriment
His garbage and waste are left uncontrolled.
But sure in pageantry we are not forgetful
Of the monumental EARTH HOUR of this event!
Each one representing
The air, the water, the land, the fire, the rain, the trees
And, Miss Earth is found and crowned
A great face, an advocate , an ambassador
Torchbearer of environmental protection
Mindful of man’s obligation to save this planet
By the second, by the minute, by the hour!
Note: I will diligently sort my garbage into 3 categories: real garbage, recyclable and food scraps (recycled as fertilizers), my humble way of preserving our planet Earth!
Dalila G Agtani
4/25/12
Entered in a contest:
Sponsor nikko palmario
Contest Name: Beyond Earth Hour Writing Challenge
Related Poems