Stop pretending to be something that you are not
be someone that you are dreaming of
stop stealing my poetry or someone's life story
come up with your own find the experience
stop kissing ass because you believe it might change
your life or put food on the table just starve be real
look for food in containers and behind closed restaurants
see the disrespect that these people u rub on every day
in the subway on the way to work they don't see you
or your pain, the only thing is money that counts
your home isn't yours but banks till you die
your land your children's playground sits on
will never be yours because government owns you
eat that food from the dumpsters, it might cure your brain
bring sense of reality into your life, nothing is real
but what you believe it to be, nothing moves
but your life before your eyes, you are gone
after you there is only your clothes, and your bills
wake up and don't fall asleep, but if you do
no one will believe you existed.
They say, one’s man’s trash is another man’s treasure,
one person’s sins, is another person’s pleasures.
What ever floats your boat you see,
all kinds of things, been said to you and me.
But not all, are healthy, they can make you sick,
in your heart, they become a prick.
We were raised in the darkness, so we could live in the light,
as through our lives, our flesh and spirit did fight.
The flesh wants to live now, but the spirit, forever, you see,
so our flesh, and spirit’s shall never agree.
And sometimes this can make a wreck of you,
if one person’s sins, is what you do.
We weren’t created, to live in the darkness forever, you see,
stay outta the dumpsters, leave those pleasures be!
Pigeons scour from high
Ailanthus strives with concrete
to blend greenery with stone
Streetlights announce dusk
as critters stalk ripe dumpsters
under a moonless night cloak
Saturn's rings mystify me indeed!
All seem bound with no purpose or need.
Spinning boulders and ice-
pictures of them add spice.
In the end, where will good answers lead?
But last night I woke up from strange dreams;
found I landed by way of moonbeams!
To my greatest surprise
right in front of my eyes-
Large space monsters fast led to my screams!
The group traveled on magical skates
fixed beneath monster dumpsters with grates-
which then opened to spread
the trapped boulders instead
of their roaming around with bad fates.
They sprawled tons of old space-filled debris,
and I gathered from what I could see,
kept those rings plumped up well;
captured for a long spell
eased collisions in our Galaxy!
Now, I know that these facts aren't true
cause that's not how those circles accrue!
Magnetism makes rings,
space debris spins, and clings!
So, this theme earned my fun poet's view!
days are dust
co+war+d/ice
but to eliminate the evangelical —
archfiends of madness reign.
fractured fantasies flirt with fugitive flesh
dilapidated dumpsters
desire's discarded gentleness
crepuscular crescent moon casts a gaudy glow
stolen scripts
where shadowy figures entwine and go
sordid snippets stutter
a scandalous serenade
echoing eerie echoes
as the night's darkness is made
surrender to the wanton waltz of vice
this baroque brothel of broken dreams
beauty is a sublime
palliative profundity puckers
puckered lips proclaim
sweetness of surrender
succumb to pain
this fusillade of fetid fever
find my thrall
blessed bondage to the maelstrom
where madness is the only law
I am not sure where to go first
I have not taken much
just what I could fit into two backpacks
One of them gets heavy
I sit down on a park bench and sort them out
throwing away ten things I thought I needed
because this is day three
and I am tired of carrying two backpacks
I have not asked anyone for help
because I do not know how to do that
and it would feel awful
so far I have just raided dumpsters at night
after regular people are asleep
I become active
searching for half eaten sandwiches
hoping the bugs have not gotten in them yet
Start your revolution secretly,
don't tell the priest,
he's a blabber-mouthed gutter-skite.
Don't tell the cat,
for at might he whispers to Alexa,
and she listens always
to the political tenor of your snoring.
Your body must be mechanically sound,
and on speaking terms
with every loose nut in society.
Trust the crazies, they have eyes everywhere.
The banks need you to deposit blood,
as your plasma will be useful
to power your electric doppelganger -
then they can go after your soul
Revolutions need money, mainly for dope and drinks.
No great movement can long survive,
on stale guacamole pilfered from city dumpsters.
Hail to the Chefs at Wendys
who surreptitiously offer cold fries,
to the snooping Feds.
Long live the freedom to carp and cavil,
never surrender your constitutional right
to watch, the 'My Pillow' Man,
revolutionaries need soft pillows,
to dream upon.
Tithing untested talents to tyrants;
Heaving hearts and minds in Humpty dumpsters
With vibrant energy and emotional overload,
As sensible as armadillos playing on a road,
To forge a Nirvana from breathless life.
Maunder not over permanent silence:
So, what are a few children, more or less?
Let not debate impede virtue’s progress:
Free speech is Utopia's enema!
After weeks of vegetarian snacks
a part of him was still searching city dumpsters
for chewed-over Big Macs.
Then in a moment of weakness
at the County Fair
he purchased one greasy Irish pork sausage
so sweet and thick -
it was on a stick.
Deliciously it licked his tongue
with a fulsome,
sweet succulent fried meatiness.
H actually swooned
over its savory, lick-able tenderness.
That night in restless dreams
he slow-cooked two more of them,
pork drooled, dripping from his mouth
- a kind of porcine phlegm.
Night long he slurped
upon the suet of his soul
only to awake
hangry and left un-whole
for those pork bangers
were still banging in his sleepy head...
and so he arose to deep fry
a large, peeled turnip in almond fat,
and sadly sucked upon that, instead.
Garbage accumulated days and months
Money burnt away in bags
From dumpsters to dumpsters
From houses to houses
From factories to factories
Old objects, food remains
Chemical, medical and radioactive waste
Gathered in bags and trucks
Many are hazardous and non-recycle
Showing extreme selfishness and extravagance of man
Inside the garbage incinerator
I think they tease their hair
just to look a bit wilder
a little more… “coyote ugly”.
Perhaps a dash of “sports make-up”
under the eyes
to cut down the glare
of the headlights.
They roam the streets
hang out behind dumpsters
(probably smoking, telling coyote jokes”)
wondering why Mom and Dad
moved to the city.
Their den is in the Arboretum
overlooking the Boston skyline.
They go to Public School(s)
dumpster diving….
Covid box lunches.
Soon there will be more
a litter is due.
They may have to move
find a bigger place…
in the city….
good luck with that.
John G. Lawless
©11/20/2021
The Alleys of Virtual Municipalities
By David J Walker
I love walking
the rutted roads
Running in
hidden groves
Through
the residential jungles
the rambling
backyard boulevards
dividing the
single file plies of
dirt and gravel
A straight line between
Picket fenced fortresses of
Flimsy privacy providing
Trash truck Sunday drivers with a
A No man’s land-bound with trees &
Treasures found by
dumpster divers
I love listening
To the feral catcalls
in the last stand of
wildland
Overruled by skulks of city foxes
I love trekking
The pioneered turnpikes
On fast mountain bikes
Riding & reading between
the telephone lines
mapped by
XYZ Municipalities and
The vague virtual realities of
An alley’s informalities
I love the
Tell all tall tales
Of what fails to be
Needed anymore
Underscored by
Overflowing dumpsters
barbeque ruined seagulls have no respect.
An old write of mine, which I decided to post. Seemed topical with all the barbequing that is going on. Also, I have never seen so many seagulls. Apparently, they are extra hungry due to the fact restaurants have been closed ~no dumpsters to raid.
I keep my window open for fresh air
Just in case I jump out one day
I keep the curtains pulled for privacy
To block the suns rays
I can't get no sex so I do it myself
Just call it voluntary man slaughter
I live by getting away while I still can
Never finishing what I start
But no matter how hard it gets
I never thought about killing myself
That kind of thinkings gotta to stop
Because skydivers dive sometimes their chutes don't work
Dumped in dumpsters tossed in microwaves
Some of us were born by mistake
Hey! A peek hole in the alley fence
weird but of course I have to stop
hear birds, not sure what kind, black though
a man whistling a tune my grandpa probably knows
it sounds familiar; it is a young guy with a blue cap
He looks like my grandpa; I wonder about his heritage
I snicker knowing my grandpa would be horrified
Being a Baptist minister and self-righteous and stuff.
A young girl with brown hair sits in an apartment across the alley
She is staring down here, I try to figure out what she is looking at
Is that a dead body? Wait! It’s a mannequin without a head.
A headless mannequin wearing a yellow and pink striped dress.
And one red shoe; what ever happened to fashion sense?
Someone dumped a lumpy black garage bag.
Maybe that one has a body in it; this is a weird place.
Smelly too; there are potent fragrances. I see a rat with ugly tail.
Green metallic garbage dumpsters, one has lots of graffiti on it,
a skull, a cow, a couple of daisies, a lightning bolt.
I get tired of looking now and wander away.
But I will be back.
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