"castoffs" poems
Some will make their home
Wherever they can
Get to with their feet.
Cardboard box houses
And pallets they find
By trash bins on the street.
The boxes work well
Unless it snows or rains
And then when they melt
It’s out to find a home again.
Go on home
Where the love is
Home to family
Go on home
Where you’re welcome
There is no home for me.
Cookie used to be a chef
He lives under that low bridge
He cooks in used coffee cans
That just how his life is.
Makes dinner when he has it
For us who have so little.
You’ll find him most days
Cooking delicious food
Halfway to the middle.
Go on home
Where your bed is
Home to wife and your kids
Go on home
And be grateful
And not living on the skids.
Some people gripe
When the waiter is slow
And some were once waiters
Themselves long ago.
Some people are full
After they have dined
Others only manage to eat
Whatever castoffs they find.
Go on home
Because you have one
Because you have a job.
Go home where no one
Call you a lazy slob.
Go home and thank God
You have a place to sleep.
Go home and be grateful
Go home and God keep.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
Give me the sorrow, pain, fear, and anger.
Give me the things that people hate and I’ll smooth out the ruffles.
They’ll make me stronger.
They’ll help me love you.
I see a paragon of virtue in the flaws.
Give me the weakness, and I’ll find its use.
I want the castoffs.
I know their value.
I sit,
Cross-legged by the fire.
The box meant to contain imperfections.
I linger over each, loathing, pity, regret, fear,
My fingers curl over each piece.
My mind caresses the memory.
I change them,
I rewrite the weak,
Strengthen the lesser.
Broken pieces can solidify beautifully.
I swallow the pain, and anger,
Completely neutral outside.
I give a cleanliness to the soul,
At the risk of my own.
If you were to ask…
I’d give honesty.
The fractured pieces demand to be heard.
They scream from their container.
They poke and **** but I swallow it down.
If you ask…
It’s beautifully colored glass,
Broken, healed and broken again.
I can break, but I’ll be whole again.
Colors, defects, knowing and using them
that’s what makes me,
Flawless.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
Listen
to these green plants
pleading
beseeching
you would think
they'd be used to it by now
but every year the same old thing
look the rain is finished folks
you're on your own now
nine months before the next shower
this is how leaves suffocate
see the gray dust clogging their pores
hear them choking
under a wind thrown blanket
this is how they drown
brittle and crackling the grasses
soon the weight
of a starving grasshopper
will be enough to snap
them
shrubs will dump
their curled up castoffs
earthwards
scribbled twigs alone
will remain
from now on
only the thieving airplants
will thrive
viral invaders
******* sap from reluctant hosts
who can ill afford
to accommodate them
now patient rocks
are emerging from cover
each a palette of vivid lichens
sundecks for snakes and lizards
now that the clamouring grass
is gone
the land lies baking
withdrawn
curling
into herself
even the air
sighs
slumps
soon fire will come
to cannibalise
the undergrowth
play chasey
through the dry grass
send ants scurrying
downstairs
flip a nod
to the big old cactuses
tickle the toes
of the mesquites-
who will stand stoic
observing the pillage
around their hot feet
and shrug
resigned
seen it all before
they are above it all really
fire
will play homage
to their indifference
lay down
a black velvet carpet
wind
will whistle up
tiny tornadoes of ash
to pirouette
and perish
everyone
will accept the inevitable
eventually
and just knuckle down
to wait it out
in a state of trance
floating
on a dream
of rain
Tricia Lambert
Mexico
Nov 2010
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 10:07 AM UTC
The Quiet of a Pickwickian World
By Sy Roth
In the silence of my Pickwickian world,
A transcendent quiet stands vigil.
Left to its own devices it rattles around, a
lonely brown-suited courier,
Hefting weighty cargo from one sooty corner to the next.
Seeks tranquility in a world where,
Fettered by golden reins
Hobbled by unceremonial chain mail
Lanced by coronets of thorns,
Astride, a long-in-the-tooth steed
Spurred on to wrestle shredded windmills,
A cavil of unrepentant correctors rest.
And they still come--
Tidal waves of disturbances,
Tsunamis that rip ashore and sweep all away
Into a loathsome pile,
Bilious flotsam of a generation bereft of empathy.
A forced silence clings to the dusty rafters
Where sages once stood
Hanging like KKK castoffs
In a closeted Jim Crow attic of rules and regulations gone mad.
A quiescent quiet demands quiet.
Nestles behind muffled screams
Of ages of piles of rotting flesh.
Dolorous vision of a peaceful world
Where peace packed for a long vacation
To Edens that exist only in fairy tales.
Bring with them untruths of understanding
Swaddled in ****** soiled bedclothes.
Leave me to my silence,
Lave me of the Ash Wednesday smudge
Where realities come home to roost in the dim corners
Where the highwaymen have no access.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
Shatter the walls of the mime’s hold
Let the riots speak of the crime
The lie, the story never told.
The decimated morals of our fathers,
Disregarded, maligned and deemed untrue.
These men in charge choose not to care
To meet the demands of our due.
The new power has risen.
Already seeming long in the tooth.
Reminiscing of the old ways,
Where nothing could replace our cherished youth.
Ravaged cities fall to the greed.
The people corrupted within.
Mesmerized, refraining from our old creed.
So spawn something new.
Become the voice of the voiceless.
Hold in your soul and breed the castoffs.
Find the kindness we’ve never found,
Our pillars of faith,
That kept our spirits so sound.
Retreat from their molds, let it out
Forsake those rituals and let them down with ease.
Make your own way, leave no doubt.
Don’t be the drone, cease the stall
Because like it or not
Permanence is the death of us all.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
The constant anguish that I feel
tears my heart to shreds,
unworthy words to articulate the pain lodged in my throat
It leaves me aching, speechless,
I can't breathe.
unable to share my pain,
as predominant fears arise
I wonder about the gossips, castoffs,
Judgment at being the victim I am
Yet not able to get justice for me,
my fear has left me speechless.
What a mess my life had slowly become,
tied down by fear; it's become my shadow!
the anger slowly breaking me,
the pain driving me insane,
I perceive I'm irreparable
An irony my life had become!
Shreds of what I'd dreamed of as a girl,
never imagined being in the law's dent
Yet I stand, hands clasped
as the verdict is given,
There's no relief!
I fear I won't get the justice I deserve.
For the justice that's been served,
for the molested victim, it's not enough
ten scores too little, yet a score was given,
So relishing the pain, I choose forgiveness
Perverting the anger, I choose to forget.
I admit it's my way out.
So shredding all atoms of fear and shame,
ignoring most rude whispers,
I finally feel the far fetched freedom,
Justice has been served,
Served in Forgiveness.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 5:19 AM UTC
The smell of sun-warmed skin mixing with salt air gives us sleepy eyes and soft smiles.
The dew gathering on cider bottles
Rolls,
Drips,
Settles on the porous slats of the table.
Waves crash lightly, distant and invisible
Claws scratch along the deck
After tennis ***** and plum stones
Stopping at the rails.
There is a quiet murmur of life in the neighbourhood.
The hum of barbeques.
Parties.
Bike-riding families laughing up the streets
And people like us,
Sitting outside, food and company
Soaking up the last of the afternoon sun.
Crumbs fall onto my skirt,
Black and stiff with dried salt,
Unwashed and unironed.
I brush off morsels of Galaxy Blue Cheese
Wellaby's Crackers -
Sun-dried tomato flavour.
Gluten-free.
Claws scramble towards my feet
Where three dogs vacuum my castoffs
As if they haven't been eating all day.
The Pogues declare that "the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day"
As my aunt laughs
Warm, harsh, and unashamed.
And it feels like Summer.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
they told me to go,
to visit the land by the sea,
and take my troubles with me - I asked "why?"
and they just shook their heads.
i went my own way,
and left my troubles behind me,
littering the places of my life with
junk i did not understand,
while they shunned me.
even so, i went on,
my trials left a wake behind me,
people, places, things i cast aside as i went,
friendless and lost in the world,
and i saw their pity-filled eyes,
but they would not speak to me.
at long last, my path led me to the sea,
its force and power unmistakable,
for it had not past nor future,
it simply was.
and it beckoned to me.
i retraced my steps, picking up my castoffs,
back to where i started,
and they winked at me,
knowing smiles playing on their lips.
i took my troubles to the sea,
and threw them in,
myself along with them,
and at last i understood,
for the sea claimed all my troubles,
and washed me clean.
i came out of the water, and they were all there,
laughing and smiling,
and i was one of them again,
made new by the relentless wild forgiveness of the sea.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
I tried to capture my authentic voice
My inner voice, my true-something-me-ness
But the little ****** is elusive
And free it remains, wild and free, to this night
So I deploy an inauthentic voice
An outer voice, only maybe it’s not;
Perhaps it’s an Hegelian dialectic
A voice cobbled together from castoffs
On a sale-table down at Goodwill, I found
A gently-used voice – so how do I sound?
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
sometimes she forgets, and
she wakes me up by touch - i hate those
late nights, because i am robbed
then of hypnopompic tranquility.
most days i wonder what it’s
like, having zero obligations -
i dozed off in the surf, painted neon blue
by some nearby coral beast’s castoffs.
it wasn’t dawn i was waiting for,
but just the tide rising high enough
to submerge me completely -
my lovely wicked moon its accomplice.
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 11:47 PM UTC
Shaman buried in mud, to neck
Sipping cyclones through take stand reed
**** **** storming wreckage
Pull in precision ***** whirlwinds
Great Cloud Breaker despoil sum of poison
Resolve atomized flotsam from sea-drift
And castoffs of skies
Bear necessitous storms, our future
Straw ******* inhale, totality of shambles
My shaman, my shaman, **** ****
Bury in silt of your sludge bath
Looting impurities spinning about ozone
See pleas of your people, know your people,
And bury upside down the rest
Under rubble, let their heads crush
In murk and magnitude, diseased times
From villainy of what they have done
Conspirators pushing infracted pollutants
See fit to **** them deep into molten iron core
Below tar, oil, silver and gold that tempted them
Free us Great Cloud Breaker from demand
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
When last we laughed
I was flush to your bluff
By necessity and nature
Joyful unto sky of gray
Comprehension is pain
Outran it far as possible
Truth is a rock, but they
Mapped it for me; ephemeral
Delicate as a piece of ancient
Poesy. No rosy-fingered dawn,
Nothing to write home about.
* d *
You can’t get far on a sick nag
Fresh water, strong mind
On a narrow road, endless
Desert ahead
Where is your Masala?
Your final stand?
Don’t be some dead girl
* a *
Let them win, there lies strength
If you can shut down need
You can win a life
* d *
Just how far I went I’m not
Sure. Still finding castoffs
Pieces of salvage I can use now
Flush with hope, I can eat again
I can truly laugh
You were the one who
once laughed best
Silly as loons we were, so
maybe we could be
still
Possibility runs rampant
Through me
Shivering wet and wild
"Birds can't unchain from skyway"
You said that, remember,
But what if weighted regret
Claims us in this journey
Suddenly, so privately
A moment of recognition
Pure, behind our eyes
Right where I keep you
Where it's always you, Pop
Fully recognized, armored up
Tenderly on display to
Such hungry world
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 8:42 PM UTC
like shells eroded
hewn by Love's Sea
dug deep into beds of
shifting sands
-these impatient lovers-
sleeping now in sleepless passion
spending recklessly what they cannot give
to what is lost
to whom most loved
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
What good is all my love
If you wish not recieve it
Use it, use it till torn, cast it
Aside as coat to a hanger
Woolen soft and sagging in lone
When its body be far far
Far is beauty, in flavourless
Riches, halls of boney ceilings
And pillars of God, you
So glorious in your indifference
So irresistible: merciful your gaze
As it grazes me by – myself, meek
Cottage, of anticipation and dust
Myself mumble, mug of night-
Old melancholy. Throughout
the stars
***** at me, waiting for agony
To spill out its reticence
I paint, paint, cheap commodities
Fuel for your warmth in those
White countries. Rag-clothes,
Castoffs, rugs if you may
A fable for a table or two
A momentary exhibition
If you may. Yet I I warp
Over myself, restless in
Scarcity of grief... how you
Play at deprivation, clever
And careless, coy as a bird
Out out out to the blue with
Your pretty laughter and mist
And never again a flutter
To drag me from dream
Violent in your quiet, your
Absent saturation, running
A little red boy, alive as violins
Round and round and round
Me - nothing of you
To boil or brew, no leftover
Sight on which to chew
Dec 7, 2023
Dec 7, 2023 at 4:27 AM UTC