"dustbin" poems
How does it feel, walking the rainwashed streets without me ?
I hope your hand is comfortable in your pocket,
Or a hand you chose over mine.
On the dining table we never dined
"together", its warmth froze in my heart.
The soup always went cold
and I counted every single bean
Never seen, or tasted before .
I binned the beans and bid them farewell.
I went back to my cold bed
and felt my head explode
and felt my body twitch in need
Oh honey! Lest your soup go cold
Lest you count your beans.
I ate the trashed beans and beamed.
How could I trash the green of your eyes that spoke through the beans?
I think I'll leave the empty bed for sale
It's a free life in jail
without you in my veins.
With me in your dustbin
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
It was a dissonant melody that made the lonesome mole weep from his blind eyes
and there were mascara stains on the face of a pensive ********** lady in the streetlights
When the orchestral waves wound up at the shores of a sandblasted city
the denizens were too afraid to speak out against tyranny, and they died
Wistful wonderment in the souls of the children as they walk hand in hand
and experience the crumbling of wonton rocks in the skies of their homeland
A celestial boom, droning on the streets, and the women are beat
Are you outraged yet?
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
FINFIN THE DOLPHIN
Poor Fin Fin, once was Fred's favourite toy dolphin;
But was now sadly rejected; and lying in a dustbin.
Thrown out it was because a drunk servant fed it a little gin.
A small rag-picker boy, picked it up; from the dustbin.
washing it, wiping it; now made it look new and clean.
As he was walking past a river, in it fell poor FinFin.
Sad was the lad, this was really bad; for now drowned FinFin.
A man, consoling him said, "grow n come up one day will, this dolphin".
Come Danny, would daily, our lil boy, to look for his FinFin.
To his astonishment great, one day he saw a big dolphin.
With glee he cried, as he saw it, " look, here's my dear FinFin".
Days went by, with some food, he would daily feed FinFin;
Throw a ball at it, he would n return it back, would the dolphin.
Gathered people now to see this play; giving him money, in a bin.
Happily jump, dance and spin around would, FinFin .
During one such act, along with the ball, fell the lad as he did over-lean.
Promptly picked him up and brought him safely back, our cute FinFin.
Friends for ever they became; lil Danny and our cute FinFin, the dolphin.
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
Where is the patriotism?
Nowadays everyone is diving in the ocean of imagination
Regardless of what is happening to the nation
The majority of educated people who never stood in poll lines to give votes
Can now be seen in Bank and ATM lines collecting pink notes
Everyone tries to show patriotism in their famous poem and notations
But when it comes to reality everyone they are pretending that they had just went into depression
On the night of 8 November the poor felt that they had become wealthier than the rich
But now the politicians have started commenting that their situation is not less than the homeless *****
On the same night all the corrupt started rifling their old currency notes
Few were found in the pillow covers and few in the Tommy's dusty coats
The next morning the scrap of old notes were found some in the dustbin, some on the river Ganges and even on the boats...
Now I have just a simple question, is this the patriotism they had all the time showed?
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
We stalked hawthorn hedgerows,
Backyards our battlefields,
Wielding wooden swords,
Dustbin-lids, for our shields.
We scouted railway cuttings,
Long abandoned and disused,
Where friendship’s blended alloys,
Were cast, forged and fused.
We patrolled village streets,
Marched along muddied lanes,
Proudly defending ‘our land’,
From raiding, heathen, Danes’.
We boldly challenged Vikings’,
Beneath a Sixties-summer-sun,
Bonding loyalty, faith and trust,
That will never, come undone.
Those days will not return,
Memories-mismatched-truth,
Recalling the fallen heroes,
Fighting follies of our youth.
Protecting imagined Kingdoms,
Lost in time, for evermore,
Boy soldiers standing guard,
In Castles built from straw.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
Marmite! (Veggie Mite) Peanut Butter!
Marmite and peanut butter,
My God what a terrible thought,
Both truly vile,
Pungent,
Repugnant,
Foul in texture,
Reviled in taste!
Never have I ever bought,
Incredible how some can love 'em,
I can't bear the taste,
Smell makes me feel really ill,
Worse than any bitter pill!
Please don't make me a sarnie,
Not with these,
No not ever,
By all means spend your time with me,
Please to you I thee beseech,
That these two dreadful foods so vile,
Hit the dustbin in big style!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
We see it
As a victory
Of the human spirit,
Tales of glory
That makes us proud.
But it’s a pity
She’s denuded bare,
Ravaged her virginity,
And up there
There’s a crowd.
The height is made to pale,
They’re dwarfing the peak,
Adventurers on glory’s trail
Litter the path they scale.
We take it as a test
Of man’s superior might
That would not rest
Till it scales the greatest height.
But the mountain is no more clean,
Tons of wastes scar its air,
She’s turned into a dustbin
By the crowd going up there.
Should we feel proud,
And not hear the warning bell,
As the mountain is trodden like hell
By the mindlessly adventuring crowd?
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Life pumps through mind spaces
Blood animating flesh and
Mankinds steps and
lost footsteps all over the World
and the ****** Moon
bears scars of spacemans boots
left with the garbage
mixing with all pouring fragile
consuming heartbeats.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
Wish I was Meccanoman with
replaceable bolt on bits;
a pop off detachable arseole;
n grease ******* on my ****
yeah; wish I was Meccanoman
with a gearbox for a brain
n a cabriolet flip top hair do
-- as protection from the rain,
my feet could be two dustbin lids
held on by wire n rope;
maybe double up as landing skids;
- but no good on a slope.
the blood - of course;
synthetic oil;
with that I'd never get sick,
pumped 'round by the bestest
- induction coil,
powering my foot long
- hydraulic ****
Yeah; wish I was Meccanoman.
Oct 16, 2010
Oct 16, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
Versions of Faith in the City:
Food parcels Baptist Trinity Church
Post euphoric Olympics nation building
dashed by morally decrepit
Premiership football -
Obscenity chokes dumb defence.
A late Summer's surge,
harshly the un-starred
kick those generic dustbin lids
crumpled again.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
I am counting twelve pairs of ribs lining the perimeters
of my torso
Boney Me
Asthenia fingers
Wasted knees and knuckles
Pricking the hard chords on my chest-guitar
Misery eyes -- Dashing around in dustbin sockets
My head like a raisin with skull-shaped framing
****** inward
Looking at the dead animals guilting me
Looking at the withering plants begging for water
Evil food.
Attracted to the mirror
I know only this
Only what I see -- And I see a sow.
Lost in this possibly regrettable movement
Towards
Skeletons
Boney Me
Looking at the evil food
I tell it that I hate it and that it will never be me
I tell it I want to be like the flossy ones on magazines
Thin to skinny to boney
Boney me smoking an e-cig
I defeat the evil foods tonight
Surviving on primal back-up spirits
Surviving for the hope of closeness
Maybe
I can waste away all this skin
And finally see my own heart.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
tea leaves sit soggy, sad
forgotten at the bottom
of the cup
leaching, bitter tannins
now, forgetting the life they led
no one willing to read their fortune
no spilling of the secrets
they never truly had
just detrius now
from dust to dustbin
the cycle of a tea leaf
long or brief,
happy or sad
a parable, in hot water
once green and lush in colour
in essence, verdent's liquid fame
once used and now just *******
every life has limit, every limit claimed
as we sup, we suffer the race of time
running through our fingers
clamouring at our mind
one day we too,
will be *******
waiting for the dust,
one day we too
shall leach our liquids
in the unforgiving dust
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
No doubt.
The piece of gum
Naughtily stuck under a school desk
Instead of thrown in the dustbin
They say smoking's a disgusting habit
But gum is messy
Gets everywhere if you
Aren't careful
Nicotine gum?
The bane of smokers
They say it tastes
Foul
But gum
Either way
Comes in all varieties
Sugarfree I favour
Bad for the teeth
Otherwise -
Raspberry, strawberry, mint, spearmint
The never-ending flavours of life
On this planet
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 4:47 AM UTC
Chances popped
With me on your table
To prepare as you pleased
Be with as you pleased
And eat as you pleased
But you decided the dustbin was my home
Mouths surrounding were indifferent
Knowing not my worth but staying safe in case...
The housekeeper looked and picked me
He decided I was too good a food to be eaten
So he polished and gave me wings
Now he reaps my worth
What you used to give him was peanut
I give him a hundred times what you have
And plenty smiles, now you seek to guard his gate
And find a way to steal me
Too bad my loyalty never wanes
So you have to deal with it
You might want to look
Look keenly like your life depends on it
Before you dispose of anything, anything you are offered
Lest you lose what could make you you
As one you deem worthy takes your chance
Legally and shines in your stead
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Harsh cold winds race down ***** back alleys
Bin lids are lifted and all taking flight
Ragged town foxes, heads inside dustbins
Cries of sheer anguish and they take off in fright.
Cold stillborn baby found in a dustbin
Wrapped up in bin bags and filthy soaked towel
A bitter result of unlawful liaison
Another young girl has been treated so foul.
Search is now on to find the sad mother
Everyone knows that she will be ill
Soon she is found with wrists that are bright red
Only fourteen, lying perfectly still.
Another statistic of society’s indifference
As always lip service just isn’t enough
And still the harsh wind blows down ***** back alleys
Where young children find on the street, life is tough.
©Joe Wilson – Another sad statistic…2015
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
Do we really need them?
Do they really do some good?
Or are they just a clutter
Saying things we know - we should.
A sign upon a dustbin,
"No banned materials allowed in here"
Will it really help to say it
Because I think everybody knows
If something's banned then obviously
That isn't where it goes
A sign along the highway
"Please obey all of the signs"
Really? And someone thought that
Putting those words on a sign would somehow
make it so?
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 4:42 PM UTC
will some letters ever find their way to you?
impeccably yours from dawn to dusk
I bring forth the unlikely
with dreams cut cleverly from the cloth of space
and sprinkled with stardust stolen from god's lonely sky
it's a pity you can't stand my edgy fire
and I cherish this somewhat many sided love
like a mammal bright, a whale at karmic sea
harpooned and tried for strength and tested endless
how easily you flick the ashes of your blustering efforts
into the dustbin of my mind
begging this wild heartbeat to roost in your care
and for this restless pining to migrate to rest
eagerly pick my locks for the contradiction I am
to find your heart inside the confusion of this mainstay
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
The sweet scarlet lady
Condemned by the collective
Piously cursed by all
As they revel in their
contemptuous scorn
As a cocktail of lust and hate
Is dealt to her by many
With a heart crushing arrogance
In this dark hidden world
The spite of the respectable
Is poured over her with a disregard
That burns like a molten lead
While on Saturday roses are pruned
And front doors are painted
She collects the angst
And disappointments of lost youth
Of the sleepy bitter soul
As she becomes a giant dustbin
For this world
What great resilience
What amazing strength
As her ****** center dissolves
All the unhappiness of this world
As she is a hidden angel
Defiled by the world she absorbs all
For she is painted with the projections
Of the worlds forbidden fruit
But she is the rose tinted lady
Dreaming of greater times
A coffee in st Peterburgs square
Oh what a brave dare
filling her sisters needs
With all these gracious deeds
Living in this thankless world
She is the rescuer of many men
Used and abused by
The emotionally inept
She remains centered
In a hidden dignity
Only known by her
As she gives and gives
Many faces made and portrayed
As she gives herself up
She becomes a plasticine
For the childish souls to play
As she lives in a surrender
That no monk would ever know
Her surrender so complete
she disappears into her center
A holiness the devils mock
And all the angels and Jesus flock
Her submission to nature carrying
A purity that says yes to life
In the back drop of this world
The Lord can only find a relief
If we find the surface of a ********** *****
It is only because we project
The dirt of our own soul
As we defile their outside with our inside
As they are truly hidden angels
Sent to clean this world
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Does benches and desks from our classroom yearn for markings made by us?✍️
does our barely black board craves the names of talkative children?👩🏫
does dustbin desperately desire to get hit by crumbled paper *****
will the air miss the scent of love- letter paper-planes??📄✈
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 10:33 AM UTC
protesting *****
down w/ this &
that; neo-Nazis
marching waving
weird geek flags
worshiping white
people from space;
Pride Marches
celebrating golden
underwear &
too much lipstick;
macho *****
******* yelling it
out; Slutwalking
through downtown
challenging **** &
mysogyny dressed
as ugly Barbies;
gender color trans
light a joint & sit
on the grass smoking
lovely, got my kpop,
got my g/bf; Toni,
Tony, Antoinette,
Anthony; neo-Nazis
rushing headlong
back into the dustbin
of history; prostitutes
pretend to be fembots;
acting like brainless
machines unless smart
as Jeopardy contestants;
****** cosplay fetish,
no cash, no crime; no
crime, no cops; no war
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
suppose you aren't assured of the next meal
upon your head rules the sky
maggots are feeding on your free will
better seems the option to die.
suppose you've none to give company
not a soul to call your own
days seem to crawl with no hurry
nights only make you more alone.
suppose open road is where you stay
sometimes a tree to beat the sun
people are bent on moving away
you've no home for day-end run.
suppose you've nothing called privacy
can't afford the luxury of shame
you relieve yourself for all to see
don't recall if you ever had a name.
suppose you've to scavenge from dustbin
your dignity is trampled like road's dirt
could they all make you feel a poem within
write a line crystalline in your heart?
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
HEATHER
Had a nervous breakdown when all the flowers died.
A river started flowing from the pits of her eyes.
Broken hearted, she sits.
While life just drifts, from paranormal to abnormal.
Heather is funny girl, with purple hair and size nine feet,
Sometimes she's a rocking girl,
Not always very sweet.
She picks up seashells on the beach, she's trying to find herself inside.
She watches white horses as they ride onto the beaches.
The white horses lost they're shoes.
All over the tabloids, all over the news
She sits on the beach with the sun in her hair.
Nobody loves her.
She just doesn't care.
She's empty as a dustbin late on a Friday morn,
It is her time for renewed being, the dark before her dawn.
And now she says she's coming back, to front up to the badness, keep hold of what's good,
As everybody knew she could.
May the good times roll Heather.
(c)LIVVI
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC