Long Littering Poems
Long Littering Poems. Below are the most popular long Littering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Littering poems by poem length and keyword.
Now, listen, 2020, you're looking rather tired,
you seem well past your sell-by date,so
sorry, mate- you're fired.
It seems nobody's liked you
since January first,
you gave them all a headache then,
and frankly, you've got worse.
You've not delivered happiness,
no, nowhere near enough,
your driving skills have lapsed a lot,
our journey's been quite rough.
I'll give you two month's notice,
then after that, you're gone,
we've lined up a new replacement,
he's called twenty twenty-one.
He's promised us some vaccines,
and holidays galore,
and dustbins full of PPE,
not littering the floor.
I'm sorry that I've bought you in
to give your wrists a slap,
you've had all year to get things right
but, really-
you've been crap.
Scattered plastic battles
and yesterday's newspapers
weren't tossed by a capricious wind,
blame this on the capers of careless humans.
I angrily watch them dispose of them where they sit....
on the seats of buses and trains as they stand up and rush out;
cities have their problems and littering increases abuse...
would anyone thinking of some kind of haven, do that with intent?
In my neighborhood I often observe a Chinese man picking up
Pepsi bottles and newspapers while cars ignore him and speed up...
doesn't he teach us to be neat, to clean after ourselves and be good people?
Many couldn't give a damn, leaving rubbish everywhere for the sanitation to pick up.
You have heard my allegory...did it offend?
Have you experienced it and really gotten you mad?
Who would walk at night, stepping on strewn trash, and fear the ugly rodents?
It's a social plague we can't cure, unless we clean up our act and try to make amends.
She gasps in shallow puffs; eyes half – lit
Thick fur once ebon littering the floor
With a belly that dangled like a lump of yarn,
On a vicious night when stars grew still.
Candy used to greet me, wagging short tail
A ‘meow’ strengthening me through rough days
Pouncing on my lap, she always got her whims
Like extra tuna and balls to play hide-and –seek.
Slowly, a feline gait lost its usual prance
Went through her pain, as she did with mine.
Had a few mishaps before, yet Candy prevailed
A tough bobtail gifted with lucky streaks.
While she looked at me with a fading glimpse
My heart bore the holes, why now?
Aren’t cats supposed to have nine lives
When they told me, Candy had to rest.
As she whimpered her deepest last,
I couldn’t bear the cry, the whiplash.
Hugging the urn where she now lays,
The ninth was ours, in soul and remembrances.
Elegy Form Contest of Broken Wings
11/14/2013
nette onclaud
Carousels and merry-go-rounds of beyond days
Captured and punished us because of selfish ways
Made projects of and dissected our lives
Raping women and beating children and wives
One-thousand knives cut deep into the heart
Always around and running our lives from the start
Murderous monsters are on the prowl --- loose day by day
Murdered and violated in every single possible way
Mobsters and gangsters take control of our streets
So many people gathered around mortuaries --- they weep
Why has all this evil flowed through our graced lands?
Why are there glass and razorblades littering our sands?
Babies without family and infants without a name
Who is all but ourselves for all this sin and shame?
The Devil and his minions infect the world we live
He has our souls and lives --- what else can we give?
How do you counter an attack from the other side?
How can we tell what's the truth and what's been lied?
I guess that deep within your heart of hearts the answer is
Finding the right religion is the answer and the quiz
The wind, a constant noise, keeps roiling on,
blows through bare branches with the leaves long gone,
cool April’s chill is warmer than the snow,
up in the mountains it has yet to go,
sticks and debris are littering the lawn.
The drizzle rain has fell for three days now,
when it hits metal roofs it sounds so loud,
add it to the water from the snowmelt,
all of the streams and creeks begin to swell,
overflowing onto grass that’s still brown.
The clouds above, a mottled ceiling, gray,
it’s settled in, and seems disposed to stay,
sits on the land, casting a weighty pall,
went out today but saw no sun at all,
warmth is to come, but now it’s just raw days.
Counting Down
Death
awaits thy coming
Life
to its transit befalls
Hearts
beat a countdown cadence
As feelings
— malinger and stall
********
Littering The Silence
There’s nothing
you’ve written
that I want
to read
Your words
like your thoughts
with pander
mislead
Intent
and delivery
are far from
the same
As you litter
the silence
to forever
— profane
**********
Straddling Wide
The rogue
the artist
and gentleman
belong to no one class
They straddle wide
the great divides
to dwell
— within the mass
***********
Defiance
Reviewers
of art
depressing
at best
Blue ribbon
or panned
a vacuous
quest
What’s written
or painted
sculpted
or sung
Stands in
defiance
of the dilettante’s
— tongue
********
Tempting What’s Hidden
The writer more focused
on knowing than judging
Each minute
confirming it’s so
The artist too busy
creation on fire
To stop and critique
what is known
This moment to value
more than diamonds or gold
Its gift but the present
on loan
To tempt what’s still hidden
to come out of the dark
And shower with greatness
— what’s shown
(The New Room: July, 2026)
to cross...use other side of the street
the wall sign said...no...
littering...loitering...or...
soliciting...and...
customers only...
for admittance or exit...
at the sunset grill...
hells kitchen café...
with jazz cannibal music...
savor the flavors...
and crazy jimmy...
with all limbs multitasking...
alone...at the bar...
at sundown it starts...
the doors close till the next dawn...
hells kitchen gets hot...
party's now begun...
friendship-center gastro club...
the cops park outside...
no entry...exit...
by order...a top cop...charm...
clean streets until dawn...
when everyone leaves...
with coffee cups for begging...
change...for next nights treat...
stan sand
Such a beautiful day to go for a hike in a national park
The contrast of stunning scenery against garbage strewn everywhere is stark
These parks are for all of us to enjoy, but we need to show our respect
If we see anybody littering the ground we need to report it to the ranger to have him catch the suspect
It is time to hold these individuals responsible, who use nature's gift to us as their dumping ground
Maybe a large fine to anyone doing this, if they are found
Perhaps the sanitation department could use their front lawn as a dumping spot
Maybe that would serve as a good lesson that needs to be taught
Respect for anything in this world is certainly eroding away
Maybe we could all do our part to reverse the trend, what do you say
In my heart, I know a lot of us do care
Nature is there for all of us, let's look after it, there is no time to spare
A bit of a strange person who lived quietly even secretly
none of his neighbours really knew him except to nod in passing
he would scurry by with barely a nod in return almost mincing
never a light did they see in his home the windows shining blankly
Strange sounds were often heard like he was talking in guttural tones
but to whom was never known, perhaps they thought to himself
it was all just so odd, some people swore that he was a elf
whatever he was people swore that they had seen a lot of bones
The type that came from small animals some littering his yard
and neighbourhood pets had been vanishing at a most alarming rate
at last they felt something need to be done, their curiosity to sate
breaking down his door they found no-one just some papers charred
In the middle of the floor lay a cocoon where it seemed he slept
glowing with an eerie light that pulsed as if it was alive
looking at it closer it became most apparent it was a hive
full of pulsing eggs they torched it as this they could not accept
I watched a documentary about if there are already aliens already living
here on earth
This is the first part of an on going story there are so far two other parts
"Death is the mother of beauty;"
Death
as nothing is
not separate from
beauty~
death is
mother appearing
as beauty~
resulting in This
as it is~~~
She says, “But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.”
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.
~~Wallace Stevens, Sunday Morning