"biodegradable" poems
And so the green balloons did grow
Inflated, nurtured over time,
This tree of air
Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Carbon
Dioxide,
Argon,
Traces of other gases too,
Out side was warm
Internal temp minus triple degrees,
What had been barren branches
Now sustained as these
Strings matured forth
Buds of latex and rubber grew,
Liquid air exhaled as the buds nurtured
Air expanded with warm the green balloons
Grew
&
Grew
Sprung forth in to life what once was
Small, now expanded fuelled by the
Cold fuel of the tree of white,
In the winds they did gesture
As if dancing putting on a show
Tree,
Branch,
String,
Green balloons flourished there veins
Feeding air anew,
Blustery winds picked up
Strings did snap, green balloons did
Float away, drifting upon high
Into a sea of blue,
But as seasons change,
Green balloons became loose
Many floated away to places new
Those that did not,
Deflated,
Depleted,
Exhausted,
Nourishment of air, no longer green ballons
Phenomenon's of gases changed
And green faded now this tree of air
Brought forth new shades of
Yellows,
Purples,
Black,
Oranges,
So these colours did fall from the tree,
Floating not as before,
They did descend, slowly to the floor,
Biodegradable. they did fade
From view, not what they were before,
The life cycle of these green balloons
The tree of white grows evermore cold,
For seasons change and green balloons will
Grow again next spring floating in the air once more.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Plenty of parking for people
to penatrate the park
with their paddles and packs
prepared to take prolonged trips
for picinics out of purple and pink
plaid biodegradable packets
presented perfectly perferated for pouring
packets can be used for proccessing your potent ***
for proper and pertinent disposal
lol
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
You became dust
at the falling of another
biodegradable relationship
I'm kicking up ashes
from a paper urn
decaying beneath
where feet now tread
The Centre of my Universe
in just the palm of one hand
a completed process
no bone fragments
of shards, just ashes
*b
l
o
w
n
a
w
a
y*
Our whole world in mere
grains, each part of us
ground into ounce weighing
particles; each a tale of
experiences shared
It was a mourning
a funeral service
without a death, only
grief racing through
my every vein
I'm dressed in black;
veiled
my skirt dragging along
gravel below, I know
as the crow manifests
it's time to let go
*cah
cah
cah*
Times are to change
a passing of the old
rebirth of
my beloved
Candle light forms
shadows, as night draws
closing in, &
I understand
Life is ephemeral
my appreciation grows
&, as I lift myself to
the temple
I scatter what remains of
*us
us
us*
&, as darkness falls
carried by the crow -
our communicator,
he crosses us from
this world
to the next.
© Sia Jane
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
we're friends right? no we are strained acquaintances we are yin yan
g with nine colors we are tv static on all night when you're too tired to
get up and turn it off we are doodles in the margins of a very importa
nt research paper you are lost in everyone forgetting that my middle
name is freedom i am putting on metaphorical makeup to mask my
emotional blemishes we are sour candy and ginger ale we are obscu
re genres of music shoegaze my ****** valentine we are a waterco
lor clusterfuck bleeding together like an amateur blood drive read b
etween the lines we are biodegradable plastic half covered in the soil
untouched for two years we are sunshine and chill bumps I hate you
for the same reasons I hate myself we are nostalgia and anxiety we a
re insomniacs who only want each other between the hours of 8 pm
and 6 am we are avoiding eye contact in the halls
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
I wrote a book in this place.
I have filled notebook pages
hunched over this very table.
Virtually every time I’ve
come here to write,
I start with a ¢.97 chocolate
chip cookie and the ‘Sunday Special’,
an ¢.87 cup of dark.
Today, upon entry,
I stumble upon
Chocolate Shift Change.
I watch as she tosses the
first molasses disc into the
garbage can.
I ask:
“You’re just going to throw them away?”
She says:
“They’re old.”
“As am I.” I think, but don’t say.
Instead:
“I’ll buy them all right now.”
(She looks at me embarrassed just a bit,
but hurries to pull the rest of the expired cookies
out of the warmer.)
“We can’t sell you the old ones.”
“The fresh ones taste better.”
I doubt if I’d have known the difference.
(Expired confections slide from her grasp.)
Purchasing one, fresh,
I speak of lost profits
and typical first-world
wastefulness.
She nods knowingly,
but shitlessly,
(In that she couldn’t have
given a ****
I ask for a pack of smokes
as well,
meandering off in search of pulp
and fire.
My mind racing with the temporary
status
of
everything.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
Femenina, pero sin excesos,
que fluya la luz de sus ojos
pero sin apagar los neones
de MONSANTO, luz biodegradable
pero agradable al tacto.
Libre y Natural, como un sombrero.
Mezcla sutil de lana y jacquard.
Silueta relajada a la altura del *****
como una virgen romana,
y un concierto de colores húmedos
según va cayendo la tarde
Muy casual a partir de los labios
y un lindo ABCdario entre las piernas.
Transmisión sin pausa, dejando un eco
al volver a casa, sin caer en brazos
de una sonrisa armada hasta los dientes.
El color blanco es su aliado
y los pájaros pintados en el jardín
de sus sueños, en las manos, la imprescindible
lencería de una imaginación sin prisas,
y la siempre impredecible pasión
en su fresquito pequeño, aroma a alba
con un poco de opio en los cristales.
Un look de muerte para terminar
con el ideal de hombre, todo sin dejar de ofrecer
la cara oculta de su luna, un poco descabellada
al caminar por el Mercado
dejando claro que su hogar no se marchita.
El éxito como una póliza de seguros
guardado a la altura de su láctea paradoja.
Y de vez en vez mostrar la plantación de flores
cultivadas por la maniquí secreta
que en ASIA o en los fiordos del alma, arde.
Sin dejar oír nunca un si te quiero
que no sea el fru fru de su trastienda,
seda y sede de coral ***** y una navajita
para degollar pecado como peces
sin dejar de ser sofisticada con los dedos
y una delicadez a prueba de balas.
Es lo que se va llevar en las Avenidas de este Otoño.
Y un cielo en rama para amar un poco.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
first--
my big brother came through the door, hoodie up,
L close behind--
a farm girl,
small features
warm eyes
Bean boots and rough hands,
i could smell the cigarettes and the new cash in his pocket.
he showed me the pipe he'd fashioned out of driftwood
the one thick silver band on his left pointer finger glinting warmth from the dining room light
and in a drunken haze i wondered if there was anything in the world he couldn't do.
second--
she set the canvas bag on the counter,
and out came heirloom apples,
and mittens
and fresh honeycomb in an old plastic container,
label worn and peeling from all the hours it had traveled, and i thought suddenly and strangely
of all the times it'd been placed in bags as an afterthought, left in the backseat of a golden texas-plated '95 corolla
(an alien up here)
warming between biodegradable soaps and pottery filled with sprouting seeds,
how many raindrops it had shed sitting on the front steps of an old clapboard house.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
The last of the leaves blew off today.
But don't worry, they are biodegradable.
And they realized it was their time to go.
And they really did give us quite a show
Their sacrifice was appreciated by a few
And now they are given a mass burial
Their corpses lying on the sidewalk...
And I've realized that
The beauty of fall is prettier
When shared by two.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
begin the
first day
new year
with
thumb and forefinger,
tracing in no organized
specific pattern upon
her arm’s smooth skin,
just a sliding meandering
she grabs the intruders
for a squeezing acknowledgment,
unnecessary, for the sensation
sensual is shared equally,
soft, of course, but so far beyond,
there are elements that lie beneath
that requires mining deep within
yourself, contrasting currents that
soothe the heart and yet, electrify,
simultaneous, a concerto for
piano and violin
this delightful touching is the stuff
of poetry, a wish, a commandment,
for long after after the first day of
the unknowns of the measuring stick,
a ruler with 365 ticks to check the
day’s of time concludes, the touch
will be
implanted on thumb & forefinger’s
cellular memory, and be carried on,
reusable, recycled, even biodegradable!
but then heart hears a lyric,
“she is living proof”
and now!
happily concluded,
is a poem that is gifted
a title, entitled, certified,
and recorded for
*every ordinary moment
when memory is required,
and the thumb and the forefinger
can be diverted to write this all down
for the day when a memory fades,
and the skin is eroded!*
Jan 1, 2025
Jan 1, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
Made of a biodegradable material,
You asked her to put her shoes back on
But she wouldn't,
So you pulled her arm
And she got upset and started shouting
And you couldn't understand.
We are all made of biodegradable materials
Not made to stand the test of time
And it hurts;
You've been dying from the day you were born
Stuck in a plastic world
Where bad things don't die.
And you were pleading with her
As she threw her shoes at you;
You couldn't leave without her,
But she didn't want to go.
You've been counting down the days
Every second is precious,
As you lay in bed, staring
Watching the walls decompose
She didn't come with you
And you think she's lost her mind
When in reality,
She just can't find her shoes.
You're the one with the real problem,
Countdown timer in your pocket
As you watch and wait
For the day this will all end.
*(It's never going to make sense,
You do understand that...
Don't you?)*
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
These are the end times.
Judgment is coming
For our iniquities and apathy
For the ****** of the unborn
For worshiping money
For voting Democrat
For buying non-biodegradable products.
Or so they say.
I don't enjoy discussing
Or even hearing
About eschatology
When and how and why the world will end
Which is what seems to pervade the air at home
Every time the conversation suffers an unfortunate lull.
Some cathartic culmination
Of a Deity's wrath
No doubt for all the
*** drugs, and rock & roll
Humanity indulges in
On a daily basis.
Hearing about the end --
Demons born to women
Automatons wearing human skins
Talking animals
Seems so redundant.
The signs had been here all along.
We've been living with them for ages now.
What if
Instead of a violent, sudden cataclysm,
The end comes
As an implosion
Drawn out over billions of years?
What if the second law of thermodynamics
Is the prophesy
Doomsday prophets overlooked?
There are no aliens coming
To **** and subjugate this planet:
We're already here.
This is the end
We've been simmering in it
Fighting and spitting and cursing
In puddles of our filth and hate
The end has been unfolding
For the past few millennia
As humanity continues to multiply
Like rats beneath New York.
And here we are
Making plans
Getting married
Hoarding money
Getting **** drunk
Too busy preventing
The little apocalypses
Of our petty lives.
We're planting gardens
In the shadow of a warhead.
We all saw it coming
We were just too busy to care.
My world's already ending
In bits and pieces anyway
At random intervals
Every time I let someone in
And she inevitably leaves
Taking a piece of me with her
My sun dies in agonizing degrees
Even a quiet infatuation
Eats away at me
Crumb by crumb.
All those theories about the end
Forget them.
I'm living my own apocalypse
And surrounded by human-sized
People-shaped versions
Of the Four Horsemen
So shut up already.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
After an eventful
And exciting water balloon fight With my grandkids,
I have realized the world
And grandmothers' backs
Are in desperate need
Of biodegradable
Water balloons
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
It’s all loves fault.
I didn't want to be happy anyway,
why the **** did it have to come strolling along
to show me how asleep I've been.
Why did I give it the right to parade around me
and then keep marching off
with its drums and dancers,
leaving only confetti behind
and a wide-eyed person relentless
of letting go of the procession but
FORCED to clean up the massive mess on the street that
no one else seems to notice.
It’s in that same moment that we all realize,
we should never throw parties that big,
that festivities that grand shouldn't even be legal.
They’re messy and exhausting and the confetti is
too scattered
to rest assured that we’ll ever
clean every last bit up to toss away.
It’s in that moment that people assure us that
paper is biodegradable and that it just needs
time for the earth to make it natural.
But every bright piece of glitter that gleams on the street,
persistent and as present as ever, is simply
a reminder of that parade with its cheers and
the faint beats of the drums and the moment you had
to stand idly by and
watch it
go.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Sign dictates on bike path, " 7 miles an hour"
I say, " Oh **** now I can't go 25 miles an hour,
perhaps 20 or even 15, and I hope there is no "Bike Cop"
hiding behind some rock, bush or tree with a little "bike siren".
Sign dictates in an "open air train station", " No Smoking"
I say, " Oh **** I hope he or she doesn't come up to me
directly and blow smoke in my face, I would really be ****** off."
I also hope that these mounds upon mounds of butts don't
stop me from walking even though "biodegradable"
Bus driver dictates, in front of bus, "Read the sign before leaving, please do not step past yellow line"!!
I cringe at the thought that my big toe goes over that ****
yellow line. If so, do you think that the driver will abruptly
stop the bus and throw the tip of your toes out the bus?
If so, I guess that the rest of your body would have to go as well!!!
Oh well, we live in a society, of some unnecessary mazes, and it gets worse and worse!! For that I give the "BIG MIDDLE FINGER!!!!!!" (PS just messin' wit ja )
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
The last of the leaves blew off today.
But don't worry, they are biodegradable.
And they realized it was their time to go.
And they really did give us quite a show
Their sacrifice was appreciated by a few
And now they are given a mass burial
Their corpses lying on the sidewalk...
And I've realized that
The beauty of fall is prettier
When shared by two.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold
selling old caldrons to witless witches
wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood
earrings from Hot Topic
I languish in the Emo village that is the United States –
Self-serving ******** preserving their precious habitats
while habitually encumbering the global ecology
drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades
escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde
staying clear of the mayhem
and playing fear propagating madman
I stoke wildfires with gasoline
prodding the populace into premature *********** –
poorly formed ideas the norm
the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline
boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood
onto the floor…. Sure,
pure Fuerer fodder, but newer shoes
were never shod
and the godhead faces west into the sunset –
druidic fluids escape wiccan slits
as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born
Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings
indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns
as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles
and left eye sockets
of organically fed Dairy cows…
espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses
trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses
again, the sin goes unnoticed
as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists
another thousand years of power –
The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight
on the 5th night of delighting the religious right…
mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed
on bramble burrs
purr at the sight.
bodies strewn all askew;
the moaning few with skin turning blue
true to the stories of old
as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark
and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid…
instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
The first time you flew you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much thinner up here, that below
they have to breathe the crushing weight of the stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make any sound yet every day
you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife and a guidebook
of expectations. You don’t remember filling an application
for this, for now-flightless wings or for being this daughter
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
but the first time you landed you didn’t write a thing,
you just drank tea out of a paper cup, no mug in the sink,
no need for anyone to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key in this new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel at home anymore.
The *** boiled even though you watched, and you drank
out of a paper cup and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Slowly decaying in the sun
Passersby laugh and point
Like an overly ripened fruit
Sending my sweet rotting odor
Into the still air
I try to stop
this chemical process
but decomposition is inevitable
I am becoming soft
and the skin is beginning to curl
it burns
the sunshine
pushing like the knife that cuts
me into pieces
turning me into mush
the kind that ends up in the garbage
or on the sidewalk
a biodegradable heap of fiber and juice
soon to be squashed underfoot
or eaten by some feral animal
I am nothing but an orange
Round and repugnant
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
It's ironic - you're not environmentally conscious——
And don't forget, baby, you're the one who said you want this
You wanna date her, but then you claim you've had it,
So you return like I'm made of paper or plastic
Crumble me up and throw me away
Or repurpose my presence, you wouldn't want me to stray
and try to salvage what's left of my shattered broken pieces
Keep me compacted tight, make me believe I'm beneath this
Shred me, burn me, then keep my remains
Just to piece me back together how you want me in your brain
One day you'll lose me, I'll become biodegradable,
and you'll try to reuse me only to realize I'm not disposable
I'm not the insulated coffee cup you settle for when you're in a rush
In fact, keep this up and I'll be ice cold to the touch
Cut down tree after tree then wonder why you can't catch your breath
Dug yourself into a landfill trying to avoid your death
Consume me, then remove me, keeping pieces each time
But you can take it all, the soul you know's no longer mine
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
I wait for the ground to reclaim me
organic tissue, clothing of cotton
biodegradable, degraded
metallic dirt with soot and wood
blood spills from my mouth
uncontrollable
I am injured and waiting
I gurgle through a deep reverie
where the ground swallows me whole
cold soil poured over flesh
artisanal grave keepers
bury me along the elms and oaks
and I become strong enough
to conquer my darkest self
to dig out of the night
and somehow, somewhere
find you with my last breath
in my final hour
to say the words I mean--
it is you
it has always been you
the answer
to the unasked question
the vision late at night
before my sweetest slumber
the craving when I don't know
what I want
has always been you
but I stare at the sky
feel cold, sticky blood
leave my body
and wait for the ground
to claim me
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC
Walking down the sandy beach,
I ran towards the calm sea, so close within my reach,
But as i waded through the serene water,
I was met with the most horrendous of horrors
Floating, non-biodegradable debris
Was tossed into the land and ocean, on a mad spree
With no regard for mother earth and its flora and fauna,
Humans couldn't care less,just litter and relax in their fancy hot saunas
A lightning bolt of righteousness struck me in my mind,
And my path now i had to find,
I picked up the waste, without any haste,
And threw it in the litter bin, whereit rightfully belonged,
But the story isnt over yet, just hold on
Alerting the nearby locals about the conundrem at hand,
I paced away swiftly, as my footwear pounded on the soft sand,
I had done my rightful duty as citizen, have you?
Lets keep the land green and lushy, and the waters blue.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC