Like junk, like bruises, nothing precious, boop.
Garbage is just junk in a network from dead (or living) people.
The funky unraveling.
I could be mentally ill except…
Mudslides.
Old magazines are not much older than me.
And yet, only one of us needs air.
That’s the magazines, I don’t need invisible stuff like air.
Cloaked in medicine.
The mossy rocks in my head.
Garbage is collected every day because…
Otherwise we would bruise for real.
Vaccuming every
inch of yourself
They vacuumed
everything
Every inch they
think is
dirt
Vaccum it all up and
throw it in the trash
Watch it all go in the garbage
Watch as they
threw away
Every part of you you
spent years building
Gone because they think it was
never good enough
Cleaning a room you
took so long to decorate
They
Vaccum it all up
Put everything in
boxes and bags
Throw it in the
donate pile
Donate the very thing that makes
you, you
to someone else
Let it get
recycled
Maybe
someone else can
fix it
Someone else can
have it
Maybe they won’t be
judged and
hurt
That’s fine
You aren’t
you anymore
You’re in
garbage bags
and boxes labeled
donate
You’re just
the vessel
You, were the person who
they
donated
and threw away
The keep pile
Is as empty
As your heart
After you let them
Throw
Away
Everything that made
You, you.
All cause you let them
control you
bombs and fray is a clear example of used blab blab garbage post
POETRY SOUP IS GARBAGE
why did i subscribe to this nonsense?
read the terms and conditions
no foul language, nor innuendos
FFS...can we not be adults?
can we not express our true selves?
No, we gotta cater to the weak minds
the forever-effing-blind
keep pushin' that purity nonsense
so we can all stay in-line
ignore truth, ignore dissent
keep the simpletons happy
bury our burdens with a fake smile
for utmost accessibility
Garbage poetry,
that’s why they make you pay—
a toll booth on the road to nowhere,
ink-stained palms held out
by men who couldn’t read a pulse
if it bit them.
Poets strutting like roosters
on borrowed dawns,
calling vanity “vision,”
calling noise “truth,”
calling themselves necessary.
Christ, the hubris
could pave a parking lot.
They workshop the life out of it,
sand down the blood,
polish the scream
until it sounds like a brochure.
Then they wonder why
no one listens.
I’ve seen better lines
scratched on barroom mirrors
by men who knew
they were already lost.
Those men didn’t pay to publish—
they paid with their teeth,
their livers,
their nights.
It’s hard to work
when everyone’s busy applauding themselves,
hard to write
when the room smells like resumes.
The real poem
is hunched in the corner,
drinking cheap beer,
waiting for everyone to shut up.
Most never do.
The world is a giant potluck
And humanity is invited.
But what we too often do
Is forget to treat others as ourselves
Seeking to give more than we take
And instead just bring our garbage to the table
The table then becomes a cluttered mess
Of all the stuff we’d never want
Nor even acknowledge
We don’t know how to deal with.
And why can’t we deal with it?
Because it really isn’t ours.
It’s just garbage we picked up
The last time we shared in this ritual.
Garbage which was sold as the latest
And greatest soup du jour
And which we in turn
Will do our best to sell.
(10/9/25)
kitchen clean broom sweep
chipped dishes cracked wishes weep
mess runs into garbage fun
I hate that I let people waste my time.
They'll clutter my head with busy chatter
and I let them unload their garbage.
They walk away without a clue
that they have defecated on my peace.
I keep thinking they'll get wise to it
but they never do and still I say nothing
but maybe just maybe today's the day...
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Sea trash begone, as youth shall surge
with their passion and devotion
Debris where land and water merge
Sea trash begone!
Breakthrough solutions in motion
ending plastic pollution purge
Serene is a blue-green ocean
Unafraid to swim and submerge
inheritors, high echelon
Fallen baton cease and emerge
Sea trash begone!
Sometimes, people are missing some dignity here
Of being good and unclean is two different things
Have we lost some honor to become dishonor then
Can we sometimes be good men than being barbaric
Two days ago, when I woke up, nice scenario here
I saw the scenery of rice field, lush and green
Today, I woke up and saw the scenery of garbage
It feels like a dream, but it's real to appraise
Between rice field and garbage affecting our life
It's unfair to good people for one act of vagrancy
Let everyone act according to the precept of law
Let government execute and solve this without flaw.
They dive and circle as if in hypnotic state,
Tiny wrens, and ravens, and coal black crows.
When trucks dumps their loads, the flurry of fowl contemplate
Savory morsels or just household throws.
The noise of large tractors, and of sharp shrills and caws,
Of wild wings flapping over a landfill,
The thrown scraps from a table bring the birds to a pause,
Then landing en mass for a full belly fill.
It's exciting to watch them, yet worries my mind.
Some of the garbage is not fit to eat.
To the forests and meadows, there are rich foods to find,
While hanging bird feeders are quite a treat.
Garbage Bins
I recommend garbage bins outside to
be spanked, but ...
not publicly. Why? Because
they stink! Roaches and
blow flies might
uphold, defend that action of
spanking.
there's a second ocean
sprawled like an accident,
a spill of plastic guts and chemical veins
choking what swims,
suffocating the tides
that once dreamed of moonlight and salt.
we did this.
with our coffee cups and straws,
our six-pack rings,
our shiny wrappers crumpled
and forgotten.
a monument to convenience,
an altar to laziness,
floating like the unburied dead
on water too poisoned to sweep.
somewhere out there,
a bird swallows a cigarette lighter
and calls it food.
a turtle struggles in the straitjacket of progress.
and the ocean,
the god we ignored,
becomes our mirror,
ugly and infinite,
what kind of emotions do you feel when I call you out about that?
Everyone throws trash/
To the garbage/
How can a person feel/
Like a piece of trash/
When they are always feeling/
Used up and unwanted/
Garbage is beneath us/
To stomp on in life/
People go through life/
Treating us as trash/
Looked down upon/
Garbage thrown in our faces/
Like we are not worth it/
Or anything else in this world/
Which becomes cruel to us/
Feeling like a dump/
For everyone to unload/
Their garbage on top of us/
Always struggling to climb out of it/
A heavy burden on the shoulders/
To assume we deserve nothing/
We are the lowest people in life/
And, in other's eyes/
We are nothing but garbage/
Puerto Rico has had a long and proud heritage.
A comedian said it was a "floating island of garbage".
Voiced during a rally for a presidential candidate;
this was a comment one can easily hate.
That certainly didn't get any laughs from me.
Such a remark was a political travesty.
This person should keep his mouth in a pucker.
That way, he won't sound like a dumb ________.
(fill in the blank)
from various news sources.
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