Best Trash Heap Poems
My one burning wish -
I want not to fade away
like rotten lace, dumped
onto a trash heap and forgotten.
I want to leave myself behind,
for those who come after
to inhale during breakfast.
Not money, like my mother,
who judged it to be the only thing
of worth she had to leave behind,
as though her love meant nothing,
as though her virtue didn't count.
A nonpareil pattern of motherhood,
of personhood for that matter,
written in permanent script,
propagated in layers of goodness,
flung onto her progeny
with the glue of infinity.
As long as I live, so will she.
I want that,
when it's my turn to go.
Blurry thoughts, hurried thoughts, they need to settle down.
Too tired to move, to worn out to groove, I'm frustrated all around.
Crazy voice, I have no choice, I want to surrender to sweet sleep.
Twisted thinking, racing blinking, my mind is an overgrown trash heap.
Eyes wide, I cannot hide, the redness of my inflaming anger
Too little relief, too much grief, the warning signs flash Danger danger.
I'm on overload, so I am told, need to shut my lethargic eyes.
Trying to sleep, car horns beep. can't they hear my cries.
My body is done, before the day has begun and it's only half past nine.
I hear you call, down the hall, pillow why can't you be mine.
Tic tock, goes the clock, the day is dwindling, departing from me.
Sleep, blessed sleep, is what I need, why can't anyone see.
Eyes burn, to close I yearn, my fists are clenched tight
This I can't take, going to break, I know it isn't right.
Shut down, the world around, this is my last attempt at sanity.
If I'm still awake, I will break, and you better stay away from me.
Night falls, my bed calls, the feeling is beyond compare.
Tossing, turning, salty eyes stinging, at the ceiling I still stare.
Your blood it boils
with the curse of oil
The backs of black
Their curse to toil.
The legs you wear
Covered in blood forever
And covered in gold
that can never get old
as it stays forever in a trash heap
But as you sow so shall you reap
Look to the sky
See the black?
It is that which you are scared to lack
The snow pounding your face
You so obsessed with race
How is it? That wonderful taste.
The cold, hot, and extreme all due to you!
Your car is gone, buried in the snow.
The stock market, it has been laid low.
The beach town now under water town.
Lawns in phoenix disappeared with Thirst.
As the fake city goes back under Earth.
Look down, to the ground
See your desk? See the black?
It is that which you are scared to lack.
The Earth it eats your room
filled with toys of conquest.
How is it? To actually need?
Too bad, because this is all due to your greed!
Your world it boils
with the curse of oil
The backs of now
Their curse to pay
For what they took away.
She left out of the store with several new garments in hand
Walking out the front door and now she's feeling pretty grand
And so down the street she walked smiling at each passersby
Rarely would one's eyes meet but some people did actually try
And about four blocks away nearly half way to her own place
She seen something that day something so hard to even face
But there the woman still laid on a box there at seventh street
In so guessing the reason she stayed there for the warm vent
She paused for a moment but then she started to just go past
With all the stink from the vent she started walking really fast
Finally she had made it by but maybe she needed a new way
A disgust she wouldn't admit but some of the things she'd say
That night as the girl slept she began to have this vivid dream
As all those fears had now crept or so for now it would seem
Laying there alone on that vent never again to feel any love
Except a few coins that were sent tossed down from above
Feeling such hunger and thirst and the chill upon her bones
Never had she felt worst in the losing of all that she owns
As there this girl had only slept but the pain was so deep
For she had even wept laying there upon that trash heap
When she suddenly awoke right in the middle of the night
Like her conscious had spoke putting everything into sight
The next day, still there, she took yesterdays bag of clothes
That someone still does care is what that old woman now knows
Note: All lines in this heap are from failed sonnets that I tried to stack without having any two consecutive lines come from the same poem. I had to break the rule twice. It was nice to find a use for this trash, though. I'm sure a few can relate:
Often I think of how the canyon laughs,
what jokes, I muse, would free stuffy stockades?
And if the sheep had herded men with staffs,
would darkness come out, not into the caves?
What lambs or sheep use cripples just for skin,
to drape within the light from early day,
From their helium balloon canyon’s den,
How would they know if tides were high to stay?
Of milk lavender tulips, though, I flow,
as satin lace in leather stirrups through,
The march I may in august do in snow,
for hell has frozen over, don’t you know?
Yesterday, even, on my t.v. screen,
I saw a child wearing a shirt that said:
“Help save the volta, doubles have been seen,
Terrible truths of one that two are dead!”
So sink and seize this season's silliness,
who does her hair while wielding a sword,
unspoken are the kisses between us.
when prayers pray for want of loving lords;
Yet, my own veins feel lighter they do,
she cuts at skin but doesn’t say good bye,
I’ll tell you this, that it doesn’t do you,
hand me the Kleenex, someone spit in thine eye!
I was in love and now I’m still in love,
but she, or you, you spin me crazy love!
But then, I breathe, as canyons laugh at me,
What? Laugh at these! I hope you stay thirsty!
We the old and broken, have become the pawns
in the grand game of politics. We are as in the game
of chess of the lowest esteem, expendable
if not worse unwanted, a barganing chip.
For three years we haven't even received
a cost of living increasee
while their income they have
increased handsomely.
They have as they so often do broken
their promise to us. Social security was a
promise made by them, that we paid
for when we were able to work,
extracted from every pay check we earned.
Those revenues where to be put in a trust
for us to draw from when the time came
that we had need of them. However our
government for decades have used those
funds as they pleased, for things other than
what they were intended for. Why am I not surprised?
because our so called public servants have
broken countless promises and in the process
lined their pockets from the spoils of their deceptions.
The Bill of Rights and the Constitution
they have shredded and the first casulity
was the truth, now we are the second.
Most of our fatrhers fought and many died to
defend the rights that they have cast into the
the trash heap. Our national debt is now beyond
any hope of us ever repaying, robbing the young of
any hope of a future or even a job, taxes they will have
to pay tremendous to pay for there folly. China Told
President Obama, We're not going to lend you any more,
sure can't say I blame them, probably never pay back what
we already borrowed form them. England is burning because
of the same folly of the politicians, won't be surprised
if the same thing takes place here. People with no hope
and no future what do they expect. They'll go on filling their
pockets with the taxes we all pay, the don't care it's all
well and fine for them. Will give themselves another big
pay increse next year, you just wait and see. Like mother
Hubbard everyone elses cubbard is bare, no bone for
the doggies anymore. They have destroyed everything
Along with, "One nation under God". This once upon a time
good nation has quite literally gone to the "Dogs". The only
Thing that I can say is that I wouldn't have said before,
I'm ashamed of what this nation has became.
I once spent a week in the drunk tank
couldn't handle the spirits that I drank
the cuisine wasn't half bad
we even had a few laughs
but I had to guard my butt with a shank
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trying to keep sinking relations afloat
is like patching a old boat with stones
for certain It'll go under
sharks will move in to plunder
then crap out your miserable bones
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"Its a girl" are the deadliest three words
in the history of the world.
They were impoverished,
and the birth of a girl did not bring smiles
as boys were always more cherished,
what it did bring were many options
all of them heart crushing and desperate-
To lay her on a trash heap outside of town
seemed cold and harsh they reasoned
and wild beasts might painfully finished her off..
and to toss her into the froth of the Yangtze,
she might get battered about to much.
How about lovingly putting a hand over her little mouth
but neither one had the heart to do such a thing,
"besides it may take much longer than we think
could we handle the stirrings and quiet screams"...
We could gently place her in the chamber pot
they thought and seal off the top
at least it would be dark and quiet,
but the pot would surely
be a constant reminder...
They finally decided, like million before,
to place her in a basket
perched high in the arms of a tree
at least (they reasoned)
her last day or two would
be spent amidst birdsong
moving along the leaves..
and the breeze might comfort her soul
as it makes its way toward the heavens-
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The robin's egg rolled far away from the haven tree.
A wee devil's hole in its side.
I took a one -eyed peak...nothing left inside.
What to do with such a perfect shade of broken blue.
Feed it to the trash heap hag.
To spend its final days with rotting fruit and metal rags...
So, I placed it gently on a nightstand.
Beside a wind-up clock.
Now I'm playing mother bird.
To caged time and unborn songs.
young whippersnapper brain
pours out her last idea
flicking adjectives into dirty dumpster
nouns prance off, disgusted
without elaboration or fancy descriptions
verbs take the lead,
kicking their adverbs to the curb
your nuances no longer welcome,
a mob mentality
seeking satisfaction in a brick alley
prepositions begin to arrive at the front
under the discarded boxes
searching through the rubble of the day
one climbs up the filthy trash heap
jumping into a pile of overused words
word play being what it is,
startling, laughing, loving gerunds arrive
carrying participles on their backs.
They cannot stop hitting, hurting and killing each other
Stop! Title yells. I want some kind of legacy.
I have no words to add, being mute and respectful of my elders
I am a mere homophone,
too consternated to know these two warring factions
well enough to take sides.
Lost in the alleys of despair my heart an open parasol
Protection of gray clouds and rain over the darkest hole
I curse every weeping tear from my forsaken eyes
Empty promises discarded into a trash-heap
Doors locked from the inside to an invisible keyhole
Limbs spread to sweet pain
moans echo to warm door
Averting leaping into what was left over lost sleep
Darkness,
Silence,
Loneliness,
Anxious whispers of failures is all I can hear
Broken and vulnerable living deep in gray soul
Stop the rain from falling shining the way
To awake to a close parasol and sunshine
1/24/2017
GREENY MIX OF VITAMINS AND PROTEIN
clenching my fork —
in my garden of leafy
goodness,
a ladybug
salad sweats,
running
into the trash heap.
forgotten tines and teeth
release voluminous vitamins and protein
to sow what they reap,
bottom of bowl weeps…
but I’m okay with that!
4/20/2018
*greeny (defined by Merriam-Webster):
of the color green; marked by a pale, sickly, nauseated color
I am the owner of many possessions
A great big abode
A mansion if you will
Set on top of Hillary’s hill.
My mansion has many rooms
Thirty-four to be exact
Twenty-four to the front and sides
Ten along the back.
I own a raceway in Minnesota
It’s quite huge if you would
Forty-three cars a day
On a million acre wood.
My Lamborghini is in the shop
Threw a rod; I was only doing three-eighty
I do still have this trash heap to drive
A brand new Mazerati.
I have a runway for my jet
It’s parked just right outside
It gets a bath most everyday
And once a week I fly.
My yacht is on the lake
Three helicopters flew it in
I go there everyday to fish
And some days just to swim.
My mansion holds two restaurants
McDonalds, open all night
And when I want Italian
Marcellino’s to my right.
What a breathtaking life I live
With all the many amazing perks
I think I hear singing; my alarm clock
My word I’m late for work.
Conflict and fear
still useless mechanic's
within' the framework
of our mind's gear's.....
The battlefield's rage on the greater stage
while humanity wage's the smaller within'
inner conflict becomes the outer we inflict
instead of nourishing love to cherish
we extinguish each in fear and perish
sad legacy of divinity for humanity
defilement of divine unity...a tragedy
Exchanging love for fear and hatred
false sense of security is hurried
by those who perpetrate hate,and
would have us believe in what they create
Whether it's a neighborhood brawl
an ugly scene in our learning hall's
all this violence only stall's
our purpose true,
to become better and improve
Until we,individually,can accept this truth
we will continue this trash heap
this polluted state of mind we'll keep
as love continue's to look upon and weep.......
Children of possibilities navigate the classable realms,
settling upon the measurable.
Amorous piglets, their peachy snouts delve,
rooting through the trash heap of desire.
"In a time beyond now," wheatenly speaks the tale-spinner,
plucking a clover, pale and crowned with stardust,
among the untamed grains sown in the depth of breath.
I crave an eye bathed in Bengal's blaze,
eternity riding a celestial pyre,
Cetus dancing on an ocean canvas,
whose seas flow no fresher than the confessions' wicked drippings.
These realms are places of suspicion,
where pigments of reality and fantasy fasten,
and I am compelled to dwell within my cresset,
guardian of the trimming glimmers.
Snipping the subtle freshness,
a novice to the gallows of Experience,
I gaze through colored glass,
where each tint tells a story of refracted truths.
he could not remember when he last put it to purpose
but nostalgia stared at him straight at face values’ frown
the typewriter ribbon hung onto the spool for dear life
a once proud carriage corroded and set on no return
like in a silent movie the roller release was speechless
a tray full of paper lay moth ridden in lost anticipation
a story in itself abandoned on the trash heap of sorrow
then an air raid warning siren disturbed his thoughts
incendiary bombs were drawn to the attic of his mind
fighter planes cradled the sky and dropped heavy loads
they called it retribution but it was massive slaughter
of epic proportions as memories flushed out retrograde pain
the laptop gave one final moan and the electric circuit
tripped and trapped him powerless in regressive void
his fingers burned on the keyboard and he was careful
to ration the oil for the machine in view of explosions
and the fine screwdriver trembled in his weary hands
somewhat disconnected but he refused to give way
to arrest as he fiddled with the Olympia Travel Deluxe
out of touch but in tune with overwhelming detonations
the trigger of flash backs emerged from his conscience
a candle of life flickered and breathed a sigh of relief
wax smirched his hands as he tried to steady the flame
accused him of falsification if he failed to recall reality
and recollect the dangers of power politics and assault
his only weapon remained the antiquated portable tool
and his only chance of survival was to narrate the truth
they retrieved his body and thought a finger was missing
but found it firmly attached to the shattered front scale
like a ghost writer some part of his memories told the tale
31st May 2021