Long Landfills Poems
Long Landfills Poems. Below are the most popular long Landfills by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Landfills poems by poem length and keyword.
It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of the shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled,
passing yet more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
and giving no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest,
unbridled from all luckless land grabs.
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.
Stone clad hotels and banks,
stone-faced facades.
Stone monuments carved by old money.
The stone-poor have no stone history,
they will leave no archeology
to be excavated and raised.
Their throw-away artifacts
go to the landfills,
If they have stone. it must be dug up
to clear the way for more hard-scabble.
Here is a celluloid picture,
I am in my prime,
a pretty woman by my side,
we walk a downtown boulevard
where solid stone is raised high.
The image engenders another image,
that same photograph
bursting into flame,
now curling to ash in a grand chimney
and hearthside,
a fireplace that speaks
of an opulent and gilt-edged wealth -
one built of an ageless and abiding
stone.
Courting days are long over now
men, well, what does define a man?
Certainly, it is not merely physical?
yet one would expect manliness to
involve some sort of strength?
Does a man let a woman cry?
Does a man make a woman cry?
Honey DO this! Honey move-do that!
The theater is mostly empty now,
no sedans emptying bushel loads of kids,
no popcorn flying through Saturday afternoon’s air.
The kids are reigned in plopped in front of laptops,
too elastically rubber-kneed to walk more than
from the bed to the chair.
I mean the lounge chair, where
they slouch in perpetuity.
A decade or two of days to reframe
two generations of total couch potatoes.
They sit glued to their IPhone, IPods, Kindle’s
not writing, not composing but gaming.
It’s enough to make a mother cry, daily.
Fathers rush down packed highways,
single sardines in smaller and smaller cans,
toward their own desktop comps.
Carpal tunnel runs rampant over the populous.
Emptying box, after box of environmentally correct
reused paper tissues and green nappies into landfills,
online they bet on the daily double.
Look around; Gaia is crying,
for whales and elephants dying.
Honeybee numbers are way down:
Gaia is crying; look around.
Plastic pollutes our world's oceans:
creating poisonous potions.
Despite organic substitutes,
our world's oceans; plastic pollutes.
Climate change, our future forecast,
was wrought by greed, present and past.
Today, global warming sounds strange;
our future forecast, climate change.
We've overfilled all our landfills
and cut down trees for our sawmills.
City garbage dumps are backfilled
all our landfills: we've overfilled.
We feign surprise while glaciers melt
at speeds not previously felt.
Because we choose to believe lies
while glaciers melt: we feign surprise.
O, the perfumed scent
of lilac and daffodil
You'll never replace the stench
of the repulsive local landfill
All hail to New Joisey, the Garden State
weeds, thorns and thistles your visit await
Yes, hail to Joisey, where the goils braid the hair
in their nose with acid rain from polluted air
Forget your long-stemmed roses and fancy poses
Gimme the stubby ‘toeses’ of Kardashians
Broads who look swell ‘til they open their yaps
Shut-up, honey. Unfasten your brassiere snaps…
All hail to New Joisey, the home of the oil slick
See the pretty colors stream o'er her highways
Yes, hail to Joisey, where the landscape's pure scum
Drink a toast to the reek of her rot ~ cheap Ripple and rum
~~~~ "Would You Like To Buy A Bag ? " ~~~~
Two years ago, to the day
If you needed a bag , you must pay.
A nickle a bag we did charge
Whether its small, whether its large.
The customers were incredulous.
Some were sullen, some caused a fuss.
Some threw things, some would curse,
Some would stuff everything in their purse.
Some loaded their purchases to their chin
As if it were a battle they must win.
You'd think we were crazy, out of our head
Suggesting they use cloth bags instead.
It's been two years, we still hear them say
"Me?...pay for a bag?, that'll be the day"
The landfills and oceans have plastic galore
And courtesy of us, they'll keep getting more.
for Susan Burch's contest "Paper or Plastic"
my theme - plastic
28/02/2012
All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts,
Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs,
Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted,
Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds,
Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons,
As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard.
You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance,
Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance,
As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts.
Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat,
As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity;
Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity,
Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies,
When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love.
Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life,
Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by,
Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead,
Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face.
Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph:
She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns,
She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance,
A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.
the horned toad
was told he
couldn't be
a frog
or a
prince
no matter
how horny
he was
but his head
doctor not a shrink
was of the phrenological
kind
feeling
the lay of
the land and
filling in
landfills and
landmines mind you
remember this time when
pressing a lump
to sum it up
this was
when
you
we're
seven
and you
decided
to ride your
skateboard as
if you were catching
a wave
but what
saved you was
your stubbornness
and so today you come
to me asking what
does this one
mean and
i see
well what
i mean is my
fingers talk for me
but
this is
a bump
of life and
love
that is
with my
touch seems
to be
from this
morning when
you forgot your
anniversary
Form:
When swallows on the wing, leave whence they came,
The autumn breeze, plays music with the leaves.
On trees adorned, with colours of the flame,
And sway, whichever way the four winds please.
While mellow misty mornings, blur our eyes,
Those wizened leaves, now dying, take to flight.
Soon winds of change, join in with their demise,
To help them dance macabre, day and night.
Now nature's never ending carousel,
Where extreme weather plagues, air sea and land
And mankind's lifestyle, sounds the earth's death knell,
Unless toxins misuse, are strictly banned.
Atmospheres pollution, Raw sewage spills.
Concrete jungles, Atomic waste landfills.
8 / 28 /2024.
Dear Future Generations,
We were selfish and thought only of ourselves
This is why the ozone layer is dead, and you will soon be extinct.
Do not blame yourself for the abundance of rats and explosive landfills.
This too is our fault; we thought only of ourselves.
We were insane consumers, who bought everything in bulk.
Generations before us were busier; they did not have conveniences.
Everything was convenient for us – buying online was convenient.
Making meals was convenient, being selfish was convenient.
We thought of ourselves first, others last.
We were the first generation to do this, and you are paying for it.
We fracked and lumberjacked until the trees and veins of gold were gone.
Please do better than we did but hurry. Your time is limited thanks to us.
Sincerely, The selfish generation