Best Junked Poems
Marred and minced remnants pile high in a storm’s swarm
Yesterdays, hardened-soft, surface where sea’s warm…
Flotsam found, lays tales around, in frayed traces
Another shattered shell whimpers of graces
vying with the sea-swept sands: gloss embossed fades…
Ocean’s dead! These are castaways of Hades,
rid of depth, stranded upon the dry shallow
Interred where the sun bleaches out the shadows
till whitened ivory fills cavern’s echo:
enmeshed lime, crunching upon errors callow
Jazz died - June’s sun sank into august abyss…
Undertow currents ceased their torments of bliss
Nipped life, silenced like frothing foam vacuum-sealed,
kept smothered in an opaque ocean congealed…
Yard junked, Neptune’s home’s now a derelict mess
and yet he clings to the crap amassed, crownless
Right always, up to the end --------- that no return.
Death will erase the un-sunk bones when they burn
(10/3/2019: '90 Sea Ray DA 350; Discovery Park; ‘my favorite junkyard’)
Categories:
junked, allusion,
Form:
Masnavi
Silently junked in a dusty corner,
You ended things up in unexpected border
Used me for year and said was so loved,
Carried your things and it was well packed
I was with you walking in school,
You said that I’m so nice coz’ I was so cool
We spent many good times together!
A year of happiness is so like forever
What happen to us my beloved oh pal?
You dumped me so bad and was so emotional
You found someone better than me
Surely forget our sweet memory
Crying so loud with plenty of dusts,
I’ll die so soon until world turn to rust
I guess this is how my life should be!
A school bag won’t last till eternity
Categories:
junked, school,
Form:
Personification
I live amazed in an amphitheatre,
A huge red and white domed tent.
Working with actors and jesters,
Enduring a perpetual torment.
The crazies I know are the clowns,
Red nose and a big head of hair.
And the gym junkies, they’re the strongmen,
Wrestling each day with a junked up brown bear.
And the farmers are the animal acts,
Talking with elephants, lions and a monkey.
While the women down town, they’re the hula hoop spinners,
Forever looking so spunky.
Then there’s the boss in charge, she runs the sideshow,
With magic acts, rubber man and the pony.
She makes up the rules as she goes every day,
Turning up as the bearded lady.
My life is in the flying fruit fly circus,
Others, are they oblivious to sights I view.
Every day brings a new surprise, I see it, I wonder,
I’m curious, do you see it too?
Long live James Tate. :)
Categories:
junked, humorous, life,
Form:
Rhyme
My first car was an '87 Camaro.
That car was fast and sharp as an arrow.
I was sixteen and in high school.
I loved it, but boy was it a piece of stool.
I had it for a month, then it became a joke.
I was driving one night and the engine broke.
It started to steam and smoke everywhere.
I was afraid, so I just left it on the highway there.
When I came back, I was hoping my day would be brighter.
But it got much worse when I saw about a dozen firefighters.
They were surrounding it and when I saw it I nearly froze.
They thought it was on fire, and filled it up with their water hose.
I should have junked it, but for this car I truly cared.
So I got a new engine and paid for everything to be repaired.
After that it ran like new and without a rattle or a squeak.
Little did I know that it had a slightly large oil leak.
So a couple days later, I was out on this amazing date.
I was thinking about us in the back seat, but that would wait.
As I was driving to this remote make-out spot,
I looked at the temperature gauge and it was very hot.
So of course it started to smoke and the firemen got called again.
When they got there, I didn't know what I was in for then.
One fireman smiled and asked if I was going to the make-out point up there?
I smiled back and said yeah, then he said really, with my daughter Claire.
After that night, I did what I should have long ago and got rid of the car,
I also never saw Claire again, her dad told me to stay away, very far.
***For Paula Swanson's Contest***
Categories:
junked, funny, car, car,
Form:
Rhyme
Our old Plymouth wagon sits junked in the yard
Collecting pine needles and rust
Ten years of abuse and driven too hard
Now an eyesore, the neighbors might fuss
Chrysler Corporation was not at their best
Before Iacocca, I think
"Car lot got flooded but we did a road test."
The salesman said with a wink
A knock on the door, 'Wanna' sell that ole wreck?
I live down 'ar right crost the creek'
"How much?" 'Thirty bucks!' "Okay, what the heck?"
(He stuffs some more Skoal in his cheek)
"Whatcha' do with 'em?" I ask. 'Crush 'em!' He hacks
And spats on a flat balding tire
'Front 'uns look good, we'll haul 'er from the back
Now what did I do with my pliers?"
'Anything in 'ar you might wanna' keep?'
(The door handle sticky with sap)
A moldy child's baseball glove on the back seat
And a faded old little league cap
Slowly the wrecker-hearse jacks up the rear
It snaps and it groans in protest
"Thirty pieces, that's all? Please let me stay here
I'm tired and I just need to rest"
(It's backwards I tell you, something's not right
With the way that old car's being towed
So lonesome it looks, its hazy headlights
Staring sadly down at the road)
N/A in contest 'Pick a Title' judged on 11/13/2014
Categories:
junked, grief, me, son,
Form:
Quatrain
Why Care
Tears of joy
Replaced with pain
Chanced happiness
destroyed again
Just not good enough
To be more than a friend.
This is her life
Beginning to end.
Wanted as a lover
But never more
To chance more than that
Closed the door
Tears in the darkness
Tap the cold floor
Loneliness her partner
Forevermore.
Fought so hard,
for so long
I come to you again,
broken and forlorn.
Never did I weaken,
my fight always strong.
But now I crawl to you,
too tired to carry on.
Like a junked old car
Up on bricks,
She's been broken
More than she's been fixed
By her side when the weather was fair.
Now that she's down, nobody's there.
And that is life
When you decide to care.
Categories:
junked, care, deep, depression, emotions,
Form:
Personification
You have been persecuted.
You have been oppressed and depressed,
Wronged and aggrieved, even violated,
And for what?
Because of gender,
Because your body lacks a certain appendage,
Your chest is more pronounced, or your voice more pleasant?
You have been slighted.
You have been affronted and blasphemed against,
Insulted and abused, your rights neglected
And why?
Because of your orientation,
Because you chose to love another man,
You’re not attracted to the same thing that men like me are?
I know you hear me,
Because we all have been disregarded.
Why have you been dismissed?
Punished and censored,
Rebuked and cast aside, sometimes battered,
Ask the world why?
Because of the color of your skin,
Because your tan does not match that of another,
Your lips are fuller and your hair has more texture.
You have been shunned.
You have been ostracized and badgered daily,
Bullyragged and junked, even tainted,
And for what?
Because of your religion,
Because you have faith in God,
You say grace or pray five times each day?
Hear me NOW!
You have been besmirched and blemished
Shackled and shattered
Crucified and cursed
But why?
Why?
Because you must persevere
You must triumph and persist
You must overcome and conquer, even rejoice
And for what?
So that the next man who loves another man
Or the next woman who feels unequal
Child that feels different
Or for the next man’s whose faith becomes fragile
For them.
For these people we suffer
We take their burden
So tomorrow they can walk with their heads high above adversity.
For their children.
So their children will know not of the experiences of these hardships.
Today we brave the senseless hatred,
Tomorrow we smile
As the next generation finds a love we were able to receive.
Today we must not judge so that tomorrow they will not judge us.
We will not be angry at those who cannot understand us,
Instead we show pity.
PITY!
We pity them,
Their incapacity to open their minds and welcome anyone who differs from them.
Today we live this day
Today we wear the garbs of misfortune
Today we live so tomorrow will not live today over
Today
TODAY!!
Categories:
junked, gender, meaningful, race, religious,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
You call the police on my son
You pull a knife, he has a gun
You call my wife a tramp, I call you a loser
I drive an Escort, you drive a junked up Cruiser
I ask my wife what's for dinner, she says slop
We are inbred white trash cream of the crop
We finally move in together and become one
We do the horizontal bop until the morning sun
We are now husband and wife, sister and brother
Our kids won't know what to call us, maybe father and mother
She is now pregnant with our child
We are exhausted from our rituals and breeding style
The neighbors say this is wrong that we should just adopt
We must have our own or there will be no inbred white trash cream of the crop
Now after 19 months, we have 2
We steal from the goodwill box to get clothes for me and you
We use electrical cords for belts and to discipline the children of ours
We always encourage our kids to reach for the stars
Their potential has yet to be achieved
My wife says she has something up her sleeve
We believe our kids will always be on top
It helps to be inbred white trash cream of the crop
Billy Sue is twelve and in the fourth grade
Charlie does addition, he's got it made
Our kids will bring us fortune and fame
Too bad all kids ain't as talented as ours, what a shame
Now our son hosts an AM radio program called the Swap Shop
Our kids can feel privileged being inbred white trash cream of the crop
The love between us is very strong
We feel as inbreds, it's where we belong
Our kids have impairments, which brings government funds
We keep our inbreds on the priority list they are still number one
Now my daughter does unbelievable hip hop
All other kids are jealous because they are not inbred white trash cream of the
crop
Categories:
junked, funny, son, wife, son,
Form:
ABC
The light of his eyes are growing dim
He creaks across the hard floor
A mouth so large it holds a ton
No longer remains doors
Leaks and drips sometimes pour out fast
Loud noises as dinosaurs
But that mouth scoops up rank garbage
It's as if an amour
Soon retirement in the picture
He doesn't want to be junked
That yellow John Deere loader
Man! A great machine hunk
Every week day he is so busy
He doesn't want to rest
Up and going at six in the morn
That is when he does best
He's seen those loader graveyards
on the way to be repaired
If only they would oil and grease
him as if they did cared
He has been faithful to do his job
Even though neglected
Tears run down his radiator
His metal is affected
Sad to see the death of such a one
it pains to see him go
But life is short even in service
The graveyard such a blow
Inspired by contest:Garbage
Categories:
junked, life,
Form:
Personification
Then more you will love all English
and deeply obsessed by them,
than more you have been progressive
and ept and fast for gaining success,
and granting by freedom and blessed.
Then more you will love Russian
in temporal staff and condition,
than more you have been temptative
by post-soviet integration and stagnation
and trapped by sovereign democracy
and rule by ambitious and dictatos.
Then more you will love Arabic,
then more you have been islamic
with turban on the head
and Koran in the heart
with chronic problem of technology
and prisoning himself, womens and others
in oldest concepts and methodologies
from Al Kasim abu Bakr mister Mastodontes.
Then more you will love German
then more been precise and prosperous.
Never forget about it, chaban,
if you want to ride Mersedes, Opel, Bantley
in the company of kind and free persons
blessed by future elegancy.
Not in company of terrorist,
fanats, imperialists and others banditti.
riding the junked autos,
with weapon of mass destruction
and prehistoric instincts and traditions.
That is clear comparisons and bananas
for our dear shepperds,chabanes.
Categories:
junked, freedom,
Form:
Pastoral
The Fakir is under no compulsion
To teach you
To relieve you from pain
To grant pleasure abundant
You may walk to him
You may not
Fakir will walk with you
Fakir’s journey is no seasonal
At times when you feel
You walked too far
You are lone traveler
You are junked
Even at home, you occupy only a corner
The onset of remorse
You have to, you feel like
To bow
To surrender
This time, Fakir’s arrival, around the corner….
Categories:
junked, religious, may,
Form:
Free verse
Stop and think for a moment
about how it has creeped up.
Its a world of throw away.
Just trash you think; disposible.
Everything just junked
athough it has a use still.
Piles and piles of things
filling up the landfills.
And when it comes down to it
so are we disposible like trash.
The promotion promised gone
the excuse flimsy and week.
Because at the end of the day
we live in a disposible world!
With no or little value attached
to anything its all simply disposible!
Categories:
junked, life,
Form:
Verse
Today's garbage day.
I had almost forgotten
as I run through the house
as if I'm besotten.
I grab for the trash,
looking this way and that,
throw it all in the can
and rescue the cat.
"Have I missed him?" I wail,
"Then what will I do?
There's no room in the can
for next week's garbage too."
Where was my mind?
I continue to run.
I know why I'm late
when all's said and done.
I had turned on the screen
and searched on the site.
Has anyone answered
my poem overnight?
I read my email
and sent some replies.
I junked all the stuff
that was sent in disguise.
Then I turned to home page
and looked for the news
not watching the time
as I idly peruse.
They will find me some day
at my computer I know
knee deep in clutter
but still hitting "Go".
Won a 7th place
Categories:
junked, funny
Form:
Light Verse
Each dawn's debris sort
of wreckage from day before
yields jetsam just junked
and flotsam break-up relics.
On the beach who can tell which?
Categories:
junked, relationship,
Form:
Tanka
I junked up my pretty kitchen.
I filled up my loveliest hall.
Dragged in filthy dirty boxes
And that is certainly not all.
Swiftly filled up our three car garage,
And demolished the living room.
Someone better try to stop me.
Frankly, they cannot come too soon.
Categories:
junked, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme