It is Good Friday, fourteen years ago.
I decide to go to the bottom of our hill and clean up the trash.
some marvelous person dumped three months earlier.
Wild animals have dragged the stuff around; it is a real mess now.
I get it all cleaned up, it takes me eight hours.
The next day somebody has tossed out twenty-tires and three couches.
This is my road people; and it is beautiful when it is natural.
It is the beginning of a trash pile now thanks to unthinking idiots.
This is maddening.
Categories:
trash pile, how i feel,
Form: Free verse
Twas the night before Christmas , and all through the trash pile.
The garbage men finished there shifts with a smile.
I the supervisor waved and bid them all goodnight for I would not see them for awhile.
The aluminum cans glistened, keeping the fear away from the night.
Then without a care, did appear a tiny black dot, he wobbled and crawled,
could it be st nick?
Lets hope not. Since he's only one inch thick.
As I looked down, and he did appear, it was Cleo the Christmas Cockroach in all
of his might.
He stood up covered in red paint, with cotton as a beard.
His bag of gifts was in fact weird.
He presented trinkets of garbage and foil.
Truly an angel among the dirty soil.
As he turned away with a smile, he waved to us all
and yelled Merry Christmas I'm off to the Mall....
Categories:
trash pile, 5th grade, 6th grade,
Form: ABC
O! My gentle little Jane
Amazing me with thy brain
Being a writer thou shall gain
When thy writings drip like rain
I shall smile in thy reign
Make it snappy writing pays
Pick thy pen and stop delays
Practise it in all thy days
I shall witness thy heydays
Thou shall live to make headways
Seas and oceans never dry
Garnished lines never shall die
Make them colourful than a dye
Paint like stars would paint the sky
In the end thou shall soar high
I know thou shall pull down rocks
Moulding poetic lines like blocks
Ignore all the talks and mocks
Get thyself a very big box
Where thy foes are kept like cocks
Ensure those lines are worthwhile
They shall marvel at thy style
Thou shall give them a wry smile
When they eat from the trash pile
O! My gentle little Jane
I shall give you a campaign
Thou shall travel in airplane
Being a writer thou shall gain
Categories:
trash pile, art, love, writing,
Form: Lyric
When I'm sitting sad and depressed, all alone,
And good events during the day are none,
When I'm sitting with a knife, making on my table a face with a sad smile,
I just get lost in thoughts, where I'm just a trash pile.
They don't seem to notice, all wound up in themself.
Why would they be concerned with some random's mental health?
In life, we're always alone, no matter how many friends.
Where will those people be when we meet our tragic ends?
They say they're worried, pretending they care...
Please don't lie about this, just go out bare!
Yes, the truth may hurt us to the very core,
But your lies is something that hurts even more.
Categories:
trash pile, care, depression, emotions, friendship,
Form: Rhyme
Brunswickian Who Bloviates
I once had known some sloppy Senator
With loose running mouth needing an inhibitor
And my view of was really quite very vivid
What he loved to do was make people livid.
He often embroiled and then would bloviate
Understand what this meant had to educate
Us so that we could recognize a mannequin
Of someone who looked like a Brunswickian.
A Brunswickian who bloviates here and there
Being afraid he has give up his fair share
So we will have to put your name on file
For auction from the Louie Lewis trash pile.
Must be from Bolivia to understand all of this
In Brunswick County or your just may miss
Each and every point I have been making
What next is the county cooking up and baking?
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
PS Bloviating and blow harding are both the same thing.
Categories:
trash pile, humorous,
Form: Couplet
That old clock on the mantle
That measured the moments
Of so many mortals
Enmeshed in mere time
Now dusty and disregarded
Disdained and discarded
No longer the master
Nor server of time
One could offer that it’s
Time has passed
That it can no longer proffer
The measure of time
That it no longer dictates
A definitive number
When to rise or to slumber
Gives no longer life reason or rhyme
The clockworks have stilled
The hours no longer chime
Gears no longer mesh
Nor it’s hands tell the time
It’s an anachronism now
Lost in time somehow
Relegated, delegated, exiled,
To the trash pile of time
It sits alone, quite content with the fact
That it’s exactly right….twice a day
And that’s much , much more
Than most people can say
…at least most of the time…
Categories:
trash pile, change, time,
Form: Ode
Total Trash Pile
We had just been leaving our humble abode
When I told husband to keep eye on the road;
Stop looking at all of the scenery around
And always continue to be safe and sound.
Did drive by what was a big dump
Full of rusted out cars and a tree stump;
Free from Brunswick County, we finally are
After driving away in our incredible car.
While there had been riding on our bike
When we say a Louie Lewis look alike
And no matter which way all his trash falls,
There he was wearing his coveralls.
So back to high society returned again;
Then a great restaurant we went right in;
When by a waiter we had been met,
All of Brunswick County did try to forget.
PS. Louis Lewis is owner of a big bunch
of trashed cars.
Categories:
trash pile, humor,
Form: Couplet