Long Dustbin Poems
Long Dustbin Poems. Below are the most popular long Dustbin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dustbin poems by poem length and keyword.
Paternal Grandfather Aaron Harris...
Lovely bones long since disintegrated
into dustbin of genealogical history,
if still alive would rank as oldest person
clocking another one incremental increase
asper in chronological number
anniversary of his birth occurring within July
year unknown, but within
latter decades nineteenth century
obviously conceived nine months prior
perhaps after raucous Thanksgiving feast,
where biological exuberance
induced natural throbs activating
indomitable rutting boisterous merriment.
Nary handy dandy scant blues clue known
about biography of aforementioned
long departed grandpa
only smidgen smudged details recalled
vague nebulous memories, these predicated
upon his every now and again visits, oft
times after he relocated to Florida
sporting tanned leathery
toughened crocodile hide
predictably, invariably, delicately donning
name brand signature
wrist watch, (albeit analog)
affixed loosely dangling
from his well weathered
lobster like bony south claw,
this singularly enigmatic
eye catching jewelry
captivating, fascinating, intriguing
glittering name brand trademark timepiece
affecting myself and siblings, especially youngest
asserting, contesting, vouchsafing...,
who would occupy coveted seat
closest to simple mechanical contraption.
After supper, he would regale
us three Harris grandchildren
(offspring begat in part courtesy
his favorite native son named Boyce
thee father to yours truly)
illustrating multifarious adept skill
folding sheets of outdated newspapers
creating cut out dolls strung together,
and/or the knack whereby
with few brisk
(i.e. Jewish version of origami),
he quickly styled boats, chairs, hats
none of which survived our rambunctious
severe tests of durability,
nor could any of us kids
reproduce with any remote success,
those deceptively
seemingly easy to craft
paper dolls linkedin with joined hands.
I cannot forget Trayvon Martin - slain teen
no matter manifold more young people
unthinkingly killed, who spirits aspire
to ascend higher than a steeple.
revisited and slightly revised today
March 14th, 2021.
One deliberate shameful death,
whose demise linkedin
violent cessation of breath
thank heavy gun wielding hand
innocuous thug disguised
as armed neighborhood watch
firearm brandished
as weapon of choice.
Once again rifling thru outdated drafts,
I unwittingly repost grievous bulletin
that made headlines nine plus years ago,
an innocent lad received fatal shot
into said unarmed teenager's chest
according to testimony
courtesy Doctor Vincent Di Maio.
Memory of aforementioned crime
relegated to dustbin of criminal minds
whereby dime a dozen killings
(nowadays barely register shock)
countless young persons
genetically bequeathed with
healthy dose of melanin
gunned down during their prime.
George Zimmerman (then age 28)
ought to be pitched into the
alligator and crocodile infested Everglade
for his senseless killing (outright murder)
of Trayvon Martin slammed
as involved some illicit wick kid trade
(a slender African American
more precisely youth flush with color
only 17 years young -
(birthdate - February 5th, 1995
death date - February 26th, 2012),
whose martyrdom grows
as days/weeks fade
an exemplary gregarious helpmate
swimming against the tide
to make the grade
now slain while just a youth -
the unfounded killing
by a neighborhood watch volunteer,
who felt afraid
that this dark skinned young man
appeared suspicious pulled the trigger
with comeuppance to be paid
though -- no retribution can restore
lifeless body, still
agitated waters nor offer shade
from the justifiable media frenzy
sparked from Geraldo Rivera made
even with unanimous
approval of guillotine blade
for violence cannot only rejuvenate
a promising future
evinced by Trayvon Martin
reincarnated into tree or leaf blade
but only serves to beget subsequent
violence now unto his grave
said teenager laid!
The dream was of me
I dreamt off me in my dream
It was fearfully dreadful a dream
Long ago was the day of my last dream
Before the dream that came knocking on me
Startled still, as I opened up myself for it
Then comes the dream in a dreamy toga.
They were many of them gathered
Gathered only in one accord accordingly
Like the disciples of Jesus Christ of the then
In front of a room just like the upper room
Some in their usual ape-like suite with a tie
Others in Babariga ;Ankara ; Damask ;Lab coat
Pretending to be engrossed with something
Giggling with a mischievous stern look.
In one accord they all nodded cynically
Mimicking no one but the Agama lizard
It was of me they discussed endlessly
Still refusing to leave the only path
That leads to the other world of light
From the darkness we were plunged into
They scornfully displayed the key before me
It was the key to the other world of light.
Tiredness suddenly zoom off me
As I regain my strength to continue to
Force my way out, off the men who held sway
For several moons only in darkness in a garden
Meant to be of light en-route knowledge.
Alas! My freedom came like a proverbial thief
The king of the jungle only in the dark.
For the misfit mistaken as men in our garden of light
They were swept off the ground, nurtured, captured
And ruptured into the dustbin of history,
As I regain freedom from the shackles of their fiefdom,
I shared the dream of me with other dreamers
That was me in my dream.
Alayande Stephen.T
13th,July,2006 , 9.49pm
Linkedin thru tenuous
webbed world wide
electronic thread defied
no matter flurry of emails/
messages exchanged flattery applied
courtesy transient online
tête à tête downside
cyber venue offers convenient exit
personal aversion, I chide
brevity figurative thorn in side
futile effort Androcles tried
I haint lion, familiarization denied
fledgling cyber acquaintanceships
dead on the vine, yours truly sighed
potential friendship never fortified,
cuz immediate value judgement cast,
instantaneously prejudiced aversion
perhaps hidden agenda implied
maybe intimated illusions of grandeur
netiquette nuances overstepped, I chide
yours truly vouchsafe
absolute zero great expectation
love smitten wounds pride,
the Italian girl in Algiers
inchoate mystique forever unknown
nonetheless fantasize bartered bride
figment of overactive imagination
hence grist for poetry mill
grateful fleeting rapport tried
to take flight before sputtering
doomed to dustbin of history (mine)
filed within memory as template guide
against future unnecessary disappointment
best stick to your guns abide
against infatuation lest
conjured lass doth override
focus on reality no matter who espied
Facebook post, tis foolhardy
to allow, enable, and provide leeway,
hence aimless thoughts elide
dear boy, ya never learned always denied
rapture becoming ensnared
noose sense and sensibility stride
ding blindly, dumbly, foolishly...,
into own perilous entrapment, verstehen?
RAIN AND FLOOD
Raining all through the night,
Mum and Dad kept busy
wading water .
Soon, the flood overflew
the wooden bench we
Sat on. And nowhere was
Safe again. Soon again,
The cock crowed crookedly.
He too was drenched in
Rain and flood.
Daybreak
We must go to School.
We walked through the
flooded Streets, groping
to school.
We couldn't go through
the Pako Bridge.
We turned to the New Bridge.
Standing and looking into
the school, flood was everywhere.
Only the headmistress and the
Teachers groped in the flood
Waving us back home.
Heavily drenched in rain and
Flood, my teeth knocked
In drumbeat against one another,
rhyming with the rains.
All Babies, all children cried,
Walking back home.
My sister strapped me on
Her little back.
Nylon bags, dustbin, human
Waste, animal dung floated on the
Flood.
Amidst staccato of crying voices;
Kids’, children’s,
Adult’s, Africans’…
anarchy was loosed
upon Nigeria
AKUDOLU IGNATUIS
[email protected]
Unknown, unseen, the invisible demon has arrived to annihilate
Anybody out in open becomes a pray of his wrath
Soon gasping for breath, gone forever
Such is his might that no one dares to go near dead body
Lest they be killed mercilessly
Huddled at home, a life of scare
Millions dead, count increasing
Governments battling the hidden enemy
Nothing is working
All are living a caged life at home
This monster has spread its tentacles all over the earth
Dead bodies fill crematory, human population coming down drastically
Surprisingly he is targeting only humans
Nature, trees, animals, birds, insect, air, water, all are happy
They are glad the monster came to save them from human atrocities
Land animals still living in little space, now roam about more freely
Water bodies are relieved as they are no longer being used as a big dustbin
Trees are breathing fresh air
Birds are chirping merrily
No honking of vehicles, no loudspeakers, no loud human noises
It seems this monster is a friend of all except humans
He wants to kill humans for atrocities committed against others
Man's ego stands crushed
One who thought he was the greatest
stands helplessly in front of a microscopic creature.
Earth belongs to all, live and let live
Stop destroying earth, or I will come kill you
Message is loud and clear!
05.05.2021
Contest Name : A Poem of Horror
Sponsor : Funom Makama
Billy the Squid and the Octopus Kid
Live in the sea in an old dustbin lid
Who would have thought that an old dustbin lid
Could ever be somewhere that sea creatures hid
But sharks mean and nasty and ever so crafty
Also live there where at least it’s not draughty
For draughty wind might turn the lid upside down
And Billy the Squid and his friend would be found
But wind doesn’t happen there under the sea
The sharks won’t be getting their dinner for free
Oh no, the dustbin lid’s under the sea
And a crab flipped the dustbin lid, tipsy turvy
So Billy and Octopus thought they’d be lunch
They thought they were gonna be shark ‘crispy crunch’
But shark wasn't looking for someone to munch
He said could I maybe be friends with you bunch
So Billy the Squid and the Octopus Kid
Live with a shark in an old dustbin lid
But the shark is too big to live underneath that
So it sits on his head like an old Chinese hat.
13 March 2021
For Eve Roper’s Nursery Rhyme 2 contest
Dustbin = trash can
** Apologies for anyone unfamiliar with the metaphors used, they're quite British ***
Most people in life work for someone
as all the statistics have shown
but I thought I'd go out and start up by myself
as an entrepreneur, go it alone.
My radio shop called in the receivers,
someone got in and all the stock stole,
so I switched to creating a unique shampoo
but that all went down the plug hole.
I started a wallpaper business
but that quickly went to the wall
My pet grooming venture has gone to the dogs
And my parachute school took a fall.
My submarine business went under,
my brake shoe shop, that hit the skids,
the paper shop folded, boat builder ran aground
but I wasn't surprised when it did.
The detergent idea is all washed up,
and my driving instructor school crashed,
my water filtration is in liquidation
and dustbin cleaning business got trashed.
My hairdressers, that came a cropper,
I thought that would do well the most,
then my skills as a medium,
nobody did need 'em,
and that has now given up the ghost.
My last chance is growing tobacco,
as that should appeal to some folk,
it does sound quite appealing,
but I have a bad feeling
that the whole thing will go up in smoke.
When darkness falls
You find your freedom:
Fantasy.
Don't say you didn't know.
The Tyrant told us all, for many years,
What he intends
Though he speaks mountains of lies
Regarding specifics
His truth absolute regarding his intentions.
Don't say you didn't know.
There will be no redemption,
There will be no forgiveness
Should he and his minions prevail.
We shall be consigned to the dustbin of History
All nobility forgotten.
This cannot be permitted.
This cannot be allowed.
We shall fight him to the last breath,
We shall fight unto our very death
They cannot win
They shall not win
Don't say you didn't know.
Once, they claimed to hold the torch,
To light the world with truth and reason.
But the West’s media empire—
Was born not in truth,
But in treason.
From BBC’s royal scripts,
To CNN’s manicured myths,
From Fox’s fury-laced fables,
To NBC’s polished distortions—
They were trained, not to inform,
But to perform
For the empire's applause.
Every lens tilted,
Every headline coded,
Every silence calculated—
To shape the world
In a mirror that flatters the North
And shames the South.
Africa—your beauty drowned in dust,
Your children shown in flies and famine.
No word of your wisdom, your gold,
Your thinkers, your songs,
Your revolutions and sacred soil.
Only "chaos," "war," and "tribe"
Like shadows on a cave wall.
Asia—painted with dragon breath and fear,
Latin America—forever "corrupt,"
Middle East—where "terror" walks with every name,
And yet no mirror turned
To NATO's blood-soaked hands,
To sanctions that starve,
To drone strikes in dawn’s silence.
The Global South has turned the dial.
We do not listen,
Not because we cannot hear—
But because we now know.
We are not fooled
By the Oxford accent of a liar.
We are not convinced
By statistics that reek of empire.
We see your scripts,
Your cutting rooms,
Your photos cropped like colonial maps.
Truth is rising in Timbuktu,
In Caracas, in Kerala,
In Harare, and Hanoi.
And you, Western media,
Are being archived—
Filed away in the dustbin of history
Where all fallen empires rot.
The world is watching,
But not through your eyes anymore.