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Zywa Aug 2023
In the scrap workshop

I build monster vehicles --

Modern Frankensteins.
Novel "The PowerBook" (2000, Jeanette Winterson), chapter "EMPTY TRASH"

Collection "Stall"
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2022
an interstellar vacuum
is far from empty,
all the water in the universe
is melted comets,
and it floods all reason.

bloodstar from afar
or Cape Canaveral close,
no astral projection there,
only a cipher in a foreign quadrant
big, wet, unsympathetic drops.

hear it now!
the sonic boom of
marooned tourism,
in short shots,
fast cuts,
horizonal eddy currents
ripe with thorns,
like lakes of suspicion,
if God is listening
then this mission is in trouble.

downcycled planet in the wires
and cigarette lighters,
a home without space,
Andromeda chained in sacrifice
to sate the monster,
her punishing beauty
cascading over the peril
that everything in the universe
is recyclable – even you!
Purcy Flaherty Feb 2021
We rearranged matter with our minds,
We made our children our home,
There's no singularity,
No negative vibes,
No distance between us,
Just a dream as we walk in the light,
Immortal; yet entangled in our dark material world,
There's infinite time to learn and move on,
We can't hold the matter in our hands, or our hearts,
Fear and materiality is not the true reality.
Let it go!
Nothing is truly destroyed, it's simply rearranged; just like our dreams.
I explained something similar to this; to my friend Richard Stanier back in 1985 and nothing has changed.
when I asked the question what is more beautiful for Milky Way or planet Earth?
Seranaea Jones Nov 2020

~a small pile of ash—

some teeth
metal oxide and
grated bone material

fitting a cardboard
vault with such a

a weighing of decision

to throw in some
flour or a handful
of dirt

upon a
lifetime allotment
of sanctified hurt

i sleep
to-night in a
shoe box casket

to fathom that
finalized state
of being ~

s jones
Nov 2020

PE Scott Nov 2020
the bird pecks the acorn,
fighting through the casing's steel,
the bird breaks his beak and falls to the floor,
the rainbow of his wings failing in spiel.

the floor becomes a deep red,
the acorn waggles and girds in its success,
not realising that his compatriot he had spent all the moons with was long dead,
and it falls with the passing winds of distress.

It hit's the floor in the same place,
bouncing off the stone statue corpse,
the acorn stares to the bird's face,
knowing that it won’t peck anymore marks in its force.

the acorns rolls next to the bird in solemn shifting agreement,
knowing that it's barrier and breakdown is imminent for its bereavement.
An old poem that i really love, I'm happy with how it looks and didn't edit it since i originally made it, I hope you enjoy!
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
I caught death
going through my trash,
looking for cans.
I asked him
if there wasn't somewhere else
he needed to be.
He said he was
in between jobs at the moment,
and thought he'd do
a little recycling
in the meantime.
I told him to move on...
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Aliens from outer space,
Annoyingly hovering above,
Invade my trash most Sunday nights.

They're after the recyclables
--cans, paper, plastic,
Whatever they can get their
Spindly grubby hands on.

Whether they plan to use
The stuff to build a doomsday weapon,
Piece of nifty gym equipment,
Or some fancy headdress,
Who's to say?

I just wish
The little buggers would clean up their mess,
Instead of leaving it
For me on Monday morning.
Carl D'Souza Aug 2019
Do we need
to be joyful and happy?
Yes we do.

Do we need
like plastic-bottles and aluminium-cans
to be prosperous
joyful and happy?
Yes we do.

Is there a finite-supply
on the Earth
of many materials we use to enjoy prosperity
like plastic and aluminium?
Yes, many materials are finite.

do we have to recycle
like plastic-bottles and aluminium-cans
to maintain sufficient supply
to achieve joyful and happy prosperity
into the future?
The Earth is hungry.

Down by the train tracks,
her smooth skin ripples and buckles
until her lips part.

She swallows the rusty railroad spikes.
She gobbles up the old rubber tire.
She devours the discarded work boot, ankle first.
She slurps up the dusty cheetah-print blanket like a limp noodle.
Something resembling a flashlight sinks into her gaping maw.
She drinks deeply of the shimmering oily water until her skin cracks.

We proudly call things “man-made.”
Yet we’re just borrowing them.

Despite our arrogant defiance,
they all return one day
to the Earth.
written: June 6, 2017
revised: July 8, 2018
Brian McDonagh Jun 2018
What is not entirely *****
Yet not entirely clean
And is at our disposal
All at the same time?
This was another spur-of-the-moment riddle.  I had the riddle part in mind, but I hope the title makes sense too (didn't want to give away the riddle in the title!).
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