Best Recyclable Poems
Black Bird
Sitting on a wire
Why is your back turned towards me?
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes,
or do you wish to create some mystery?
I have seen you
Here at this old dump
Picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
Check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of unfixed
The not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best"
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded clothes
Wore them without pride
I should have been proud
For I dug for them with wanting hands
Hands that waded through decadence
Refillable
Recyclable
Usable
Black Bird
I watched you and your brothers
As you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
Fighting for morsels
Unconcerned with the rotting
Intoxicated by fermenting fruit
Pungent aromas
Bones that needed to be picked clean
Me noticing but not recalling until now
Back then
I was hoping
Praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
Escape my then
My embarrassment
My, I hope no one sees me!
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothes now.
No one makes fun of what I wear!
Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
To see what I left behind
Reclaim
Recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
Bleached
Picked clean
Manicured
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
You sit on your wire
Back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
Knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
For this place
Is not closed to you!
The lunchroom fart
of turbo pasta
scatters garlic teargas
laced with meaty mystery
without mercy to
flatten cubicles.
Chain-reactions
of Tupperware battles
erupt to devastate
once discerning pallets
until hobbled by stabs
of shrapnel to the gut,
prompting an exodus
of mournful bodies
propelled along that cloud
of processed misery
to wander, ashen-faced
along the concrete void.
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....
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
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
Take out the trash on Tuesday and remember the white bags are recyclable;
Don’t mix the trash with the pig food, we’re saving the world;
Put the yard waste on the curb on Friday after you finish pruning;
Don’t oversleep on harvest days;
Be careful, remember we deal with squash, not squish;
Vacuum and cover the pool today;
Take your shoes off before you enter the house;
Always hold the door for the ladies;
Half-naked girls aren’t friendly girls;
Don’t do drugs for they hinder your mind;
Be sure to keep holy on the Lord’s day;
Don’t cuss for this is the infamous cuss jar;
This is how to tie a figure-eight, this is how to shoot a doe;
This is how to treat your lady, and this is how to treat your foe;
This is how you wear your tie;
This is how you plant the seeds;
This is how you chop a fallen pine;
this is how you hoe some weeds;
this is how you talk to Pops and Ma;
This is how to drive your tractor;
This is how to cook a steak;
But don’t fix dinner for God’s sake—you’re not a girl, you know;
Don’t go shopping, go farming;
Don’t do girly things for you are a young man and must become and old man;
This is how you burn the leaves;
This is how you study;
This is how you use a saw;
This how you change the break pads and this is how you build a house;
This is how you work out—you might want to play some sports;
This is how you take care of your wife and your kids;
This is how you change a diaper like a man;
Sometimes it’s okay to lie, or leave without saying goodbye;
Sometimes its okay to skip work to fix dinner for your lady;
This is how you set the table;
This is how to track muddy footprints through the freshly cleaned house when work just wasn’t good today;
This is how you kiss a ladies hand;
But what if the lady won’t let me kiss her hand?;
You mean to say that after all you are really going to be the kind of guy who a lady won’t let kiss her hand?
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
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
Black Bird on a Wire
Black Bird
sitting on a wire
back turned towards me
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes
I see here at this old dump
picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of their unfixed
the not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best."
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded garments without pride
I should have been proud
for I dug for them with my wanting hands
Hands that waded through
their decadence
the refillable
the recyclable
their unused reusable
Black Bird
I watch you and your brothers
as you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
fighting for morsels
Unconcerned with the rotting
intoxicated by fermenting fruit
the pungent aromas
There are bones that need to be picked clean
I noticed but did not recall until now
the depth of my wanting
the hunger within
Back then
I was hoping
praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
so that I might escape my then
my embarrassment
my "I hope no one sees me!"
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothing now.
No one will ever again make fun of what I wear!
Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
to see what I have left behind
So that I can reclaim
and recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
bleached
picked clean
Manicured
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
you sit on your wire
back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
for this place
is not closed to you!
This piece grew out of my childhood experiences. We got our clothing from the dump and I still remember a girl saying to my sister " That's my coat, we threw that in the dump." I felt so bad for her and also for myself.
They said I should act my age
the committee of higher ups and wanna be’s
all perfect citizens in good standing of the co op
where we shared a common postal code
and little else
hell…. lets be honest ….nothing else
waiting in their self built quieu of crossed t’s and dotted eyes
as if they were orderly soldiers
waiting to be dispatched on a daily crusade
to make sure the hallways were always tidy
your name plate not too big….and certainly never too small
the elevators went up and the elevators went down
that dogs kept their owners on a leash at all times
stay on the path…. stay on the path…
don’t you know you must stay on their path to be one of us
I started to believe the rumors
that even the candles on their birthday cakes
stood perfectly erect for hours
as the burning wick took all that there was to take
leaving the solitary evidence of their existence
a mere pool of cold wax
spent …listless… shapeless…
not even the scent of ever being here remained
having been blown out to sea
by the whim of nobody cares anymore..they never truly did
a life had simply come and gone as if it had never been
like an unused paper plate waiting to be discarded in a garbage bag
recyclable of course or at least that was the dream
or perhaps it was it the plan
A life unlived is a song never sung
an uneaten morsel of chocolate cake
laying under a layer of calorie reduced icing
of course why would you want to enjoy icing
as you counted down the days the minutes
the seconds…… your heartbeats
to arrival at never never land
do they not know
has no one else been brave enough to tell them
none of us… none of us… none of us
get off the planet alive
let me eat the cake of my choice please
I’ll take the large one…
if you don’t mind
Irish
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
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.
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
My majority years have bolted
and this Mothers Day
Has left me to suppress thoughts,
from our past,
left curbside as rubbish;
That God never intended
to be recyclable;
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.