Angel Reese plays basketball for the Chicago Sky
She talks trash like an overwrought magpie
The media compares her to the great Caitlin Clark
~ though almost all Angel’s shots miss their mark
The fire’s been out for the longest time,
there’s nothing left but ashes
A pathway scorched, escape route torched
—where light now sorely passes
(The New Room: March, 2021)
I remember in my youth
Give a hoot, don't pollute
And the Indian gentleman
Who cried a tear over his trashed land
As I view the world today
And the way we all behave
Tossing trash from out our cars
Where in the world do we think we are
When all is done and all is said
Who's going to clean up this mess
As garbage blows in front of me
Like haphazard desert tumble weeds
That part of life I don't get
Why can't we pick up our own trash
Were we all born into royalty
Expecting others to cater to our needs
Treating Mother Earth like a garbage bin
When did it come down to this
She says she's tired of being trashed
And begging please pick up your mess
Lies in a landfill memories represented
With withered flowers that never reached
The recipient hands , the photographs discarded
To behind a stage that is preferred to leave in the past
Or toys of grown up children replaced with technologic gadgets.
Trash can trucks empties garbage and items
Thrown away to close cycles meaning from broke up
Relationships, reaching a more mature age or restart a new life
Mixed with waste, meaningless to trash collectors
That continue their daily labors with the inclement weather.
Who is my neighbour after all?
The one who shares the boundary wall,
who lets his cat crap on my grass
and parks so badly I can’t pass.
Whose curtains twitch from morn till night
in making sure that we’re all right.
Puts out my bins when I’m away,
collects my parcels every day.
Good times or bad, through straights and bends;
my neighbours are my closest friends.
written and posted on 9/12/15
by Bill Lindsay
TRASHED #2
Sponsor : Broken Wings
A Dawn – Come Too Late
For we sometimes catch death – unaware
in our haste to live life on the edge
shout the dead words – who will care
if I fail to honor life’s pledge
bypass death on my way to the ledge.
For they feel not what I feel
entrusting my fate to the wind
touching a moment surreal
reaching to touch death’s – dead end
embracing his cape as a friend.
So do these moments encroach
sweeping across the pains face
evil’s attempt to quick poach
those who succumb to such fate
in the darkness – a dawn – come too late.
8/29/2015 - posted 8/29/2015
John G. Lawless
Trashed @2 contest -- sponsor -- Broken Wings
YOU TRASHED MY LOVE
You taught my heart to hate
On missing out on our first date
And when I asked,
Innocently as a gent’ man does,
Walked out on me through that gate.
You claimed I wasn’t man enough
As if I was man and woman half.
Cash and love I had
And tenderness, gave through my hands
Always there as a helping hand
In good and the worst bad.
When you were sick in the ward
Wasn’t I the reason you were glad?
Warming your blood when sad,
Creating that beautiful smile on your face?
Forming that crescent on your lips
Shedding moonlight on our now lost love
Reviving the stars beneath those sky-blued gem eyes?
I knew not hate loomed in love
And love loomed in hate,
Only that fate
Dictated what to dominate.
In me hate is great,
I gave you my love to taste
You turned it to waste.
The ashes have cleared and the rain is washing memories of you
I see it now as I gaze across those thoughts
I was pierced with the arrows and I hid the blood
I wanted your help but I couldn't find words
As I glide through the words I found after searching
I am back like a tattoo which has faded and is hidden
I am dressed in white and I matter
God has heard my cry and has seen my tears
All I needed was the first day and it was what was asked
You told me I don't matter and that I am a loser
The sticks and stones have broken my bones
Your name will always hurt me
You thought I would die and the trash men would carry me
But the cry was heard and as I lay my gift at your feet
I do so humbly and the fat lady starts her song
She is drunk and as she sways to that tune
You search for me in the closet that you hold
And like thunder crackling cross a summer sky
My eyes water like waves on the tide
But I'm riding that wave to freedom
And your search will find nothing
Pelted forth, hanging strings of moorland curtains,
Endless rains, tart and stinging nettles,
Drive the icy pitons, needles of frozen spite,
Through the scalp into the mind where it unsettles.
God, I hate this land, this patch of grub and blight,
And lachrymose faces, grimaced at their bitter sups
From cloudy glasses, smeared with last nights lipstick,
The dying dreams of women drown men in their cups.
Ah, but when the heather was young and moisture slick,
She lay with risen hems in gorse and bracken,
Below her lower belly rose the urgent scent
From the penetrative flesh so soon to slacken.
Thrown upon the graceless moors of cold descent,
Whatever garments I once held for her in moistened pockets,
Oh, if I am not to see her again, I might as bloody well
Tear my very eyes out from their sockets.
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