Long Trash Poems
Long Trash Poems. Below are the most popular long Trash by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trash poems by poem length and keyword.
I love all kinds of people and my life with them I'd share
I look for the nicest ones and I find them everywhere
But there's one type of person with whom I'd rather not be seen
And that's the big mouth know it all, who enjoys being mean
They seem to know all the answers and everyone else is a fool
They don't seem to enjoy a thing, unless it consists of being cruel
They know the answers to everyone's problems
And from their opinion they won't budge
Wasn't it nice that God created the world
And then appointed them judge
When you're in a private conversation and into it they barge
Just smile at them and ask, "Who died, and left you in charge?"
They take a lot of pleasure in seeing somebody hurt
They never have much to say unless they're spreading dirt
They take joy in the pain they cause, and wallow in the slime
Please don't take them seriously, they're really not worth your time
With every opportunity they find a problem that's for sure
They'd talk trash about the saints and boo a cancer cure
So if you want to have a life that's fitting for a king
Surround yourself with people that find good in everything.
The first time a belt struck my bottom, I became haunted. Dad raised his voice. The ghost covered her bottom and pressed her back against my bedroom wall. Fear clung to my back. Dad didn't break in with a raised belt. By nine, I was too close to puberty with a sense of identity outside my parents. I could learn to speak up. Dad's threat of a spanking remained while my parents were married. The ghost persisted after I severed Dad's belt from me.
My parents divorced the same year Grandpa grew quiet. The memory of Dad's violence echoed under Grandpa's wheezes. Grandpa moved in when Dad was shoved out. I cut up Dad's belts. Mom abandoned Dad's junk on the curbside. The garbage collectors didn't get to trash Dad's stuff on Thursday morning. Grandpa was a welcome change in the former office. Mom and I didn't have to tiptoe past the door.
I was tasked with staying nearby in case Grandpa needed something. Mom told me to ignore his mumblings and to call her if he starts screaming. Grandpa's foster parents weren't nice. He had to be thankful for being fed, and their belt was his closest sibling. He remembered them the closer he got to death. He was peaceful when I was there. I like to believe it was because I was his favorite grandchild. But I couldn't ignore the ghost beside him. My ghost acknowledged him. He didn't do the same. The ghosts' dynamic refused to change. Grandpa and his ghost died. Our shared truth haunts me.
There must be something I haven't written about
In over eighteen hundred poems
Searching and searching my large massive brain
But for now creativity has flown
Can't think of anything that's worthy of my time
I've started to run out of gas
Could write about anything just to fill in for now
But can't imagine writing just trash
Will bide my time, maybe suck on my thumb
That's how I usually get inspiration
In the future, the human mind will be extinct
That's the last of our imagination
A real sad day in the annuls of all mankind
Leave me out don't want to partake
In a society where machines are ruling the roost
And the freedom of mankind is at stake
Well thankfully I don't have too many years left
I know it would be hard to survive
In a world without warm and close human contact
This guy doesn't want to be alive
© Jack Ellison 2015
r.i.p. love, forget her, I hate her, get her out of my face
Oooo…love I miss her but she was such a disgrace
I said to love don’t you see that you’re the only one that I want
But sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what you want
I know what I want and what I see
And love you can be that everything that I need
But sometimes it feels like you’re running away from me
Other times it feels like you’re too close to see
So r.i.p. love, I no longer want to hear her voice
I mean my heart which is her voice
Which leads me sometimes to make a choice
Both good and bad, I’m conscious
I hate love and love love all at the same time
She had me up and down confused in this rhyme
Of life that I’m writing because we control our destiny, I mean time
I thought we were going forward but love wasted my destiny and time
So R.I.P. love, forget her, I no longer want her on my heart or mind
To love I was oh so much more than kind
All I ever wanted in this world was for her to be mine
But I guess she had other plans in mind
Which to me wasn’t really all that fine
It felt like I was left all alone with only death to dine
And it was just the other day she told me there was no one else she could ever find
I thought we could be until the end of time
But I guess the real love is something I’ll never find
So r.i.p. love I don’t need her put her in the past
Along with the other things I now call trash
P.S. does real love even exist?
Most of our cleaning:
Relocating stacks
From the sink
To the washer
To the shelves
From the racks
If all that you’re doing
Is moving the piles
There’s no end in sight
It goes on for miles
So stop all the hoarding
And adding to stacks
Just throw it away
So it can’t come back
My children will hate me
When I’m dead and gone
And all of my stuff
Will be out on the lawn
They won’t have a use
For all of my stuff
My precious belongings
I’m way past enough
I know how to help them
To sift through my trash
Inside random objects
I’ll insert real cash
Instead of a grimace
They’ll have a brief thrill
There in the underwear:
$100 bills
As I went to bed last night the snows began to fly.
I was awakened about half past six by the snow removal guy!
That dude crawled out of his bed about a quarter past three!
But somebody's gotta do it! Thank the Lord - it ain't me!
Thursday is the day the trash man collects trash at our curb.
He's one of those unsung heroes who performs a job superb!
Oh! How my back aches watching him heave barrels of debris!
But somebody's gotta do it! Thank the Lord - it ain't me!
I'm thankful for the dairy folks who provide our milk and cheese,
And for the long-suffering cows that tolerate the pull and squeeze!
But the guy who mucks the stables is vital to no less a degree!
But somebody's gotta do it! Thank the Lord - it ain't me!
Maintaining sewer lines to keep things flowing is honest work.
We'd be in a heap of trouble if his duties he should shirk!
The "sewer engineer's" pay stinks but he presses on willingly!
But somebody's gotta do it! Thank the Lord - it ain't me!
I enjoy a tuna salad sandwich or salmon patties now and then.
I can appreciate the folks who filet the fish and pack 'em in a can.
It ain't the most desirable occupation, 'tis very plain to see!
But somebody's gotta do it! Praise the Lord - it ain't me!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I ride the bike even when it's a little cold
I am now biker trash so I am told
What has changed I just can't see
Has parking my truck really made a change in me
Or is the fact that I like to ride
And that my friend I'll never hide
From the ones that can't understand
How that throttle feels in my hand
Yet it's still the same man as before
That now you have some need to ignore
Last week when you were broke
I didn't laugh or at you poke
Instead I held out my hand
Helping you as much as I can
When you once had no food to eat
Who put that sack of groceries at your feet
The that time your kids got really sick
My phone seemed to ring awfully quick
At those times you were not afraid
And a friend I thought I had made
But now my face you can only slap
Because I have a leather jacket and some chaps
Go ahead and judge me if you must
And I really don't need your trust
I have shown what I can and will do
In your time of need I was there for you
Now that you've seen me ride
Have I some how hurt your pride?
Now your friendship may be missed
But don't dial my number I must insist
Because in my truck or on my bike
I am still the man that for 5 years you did like
Maybe the stories are really true
Everyone is trash unless they live like you!
An Uncle Charlie Original
Glimpses of light in garden dark,
Embrace soul grief in doubt and fear;
Truth in full sight as turmoil sparks,
Heaven seems brief as hate draws near;
Son of Man prays that love draws close,
Entrust soul frame to death's domain;
Mind that hard way where pride plays host,
Attest meek name to message plain;
Now evil comes to slay the flesh,
Echoes of Hell keep matters harsh.
Gain welcomes sum in silver trash,
Alive to tell vile slander's brush;
Rush of blood drops in painful sweat,
Deep prayer grips this sacred heart;
Etch without stop true sorrow's threat,
Now forlorn trip in mindful part.
Christ knows sad truth in garden scene,
Horde now invades with rowdy fuss;
Rouse sleep with proof rough soldiers seen.
In certain trade a kiss prompts buzz;
See Jesus bound and led away,
Tell twisted lies to keep your face.
Pride lays the ground for makeshift play,
Rest betrayed ties for hollow pace;
Apt Judas feels his shameful sin,
Yields guilty heart to put things right;
Ends with a kill as suicide wins,
Ripe windy start to horror's plight.
Leon Enriquez
01 April 2018
Singapore
Confused Miles
You...
are too far away.
I live here and you live there.
The world,
smaller all the time,
but still.
Parts are on fire.
Some are even flooding.
Be safe my dearest one.
You are family to me.
There are worse things,
in "other" places...
and monsters are breathing,
real air.
Not for the first time,
but certainly the last.
That is what is written,
so it is so.
Paper masks to keep from dying.
Children passed into the fire,
on heaps of trash...
searching for food.
The angel has blown the horn.
Time is raining in the desert,
quicksand for camels,
and the hands of the wicked...
to pull passers-by into the next world.
Walk softly.
If you do not hear from me...
If I/we are not allowed,
to know more of what today will bring,
tomorrow.
I tell you this;
Flowers ever to your step.
Bees to sing songs.
Butterflies to delight.
Sun and rain to erase all pain.
I will see you again,
my friend.
In this world,
and brothers and sisters...
in the next.
Closer even now...
by the simple hope,
of it all.
Is history not the study of war,
treading on nations that flourished before?
It's how civilizations rise and fall,
tyranny is a weapon known to all.
Is it fear that allows us to be led
toward greed and not our conscience instead?
If larceny supersedes our morals,
then wars are how we'll settle our quarrels.
If there's no possibility of peace
then will the hostilities ever cease?
In the hands of madmen, we are mere tools,
they but promise peace, to pacify fools.
Is there a reason Earth's a patchwork quilt
threaded with ethnic lines of hate and guilt?
Insomuch that Man is devoid of trust,
the truth is we build borders cause we must.
Is it wrong to unite the human race,
though we all claim the Earth as our birthplace?
If we can't move past our innate mistrust,
there’ll never be enough time to adjust.
Is there still hope for the future of Man,
though we've turned the Earth into a trash can?
If we do more than keep our fingers crossed,
the benefits will then outweigh the cost.
(Couplets)
08/20/2022
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