"junks" poems
A lot has been said about environ-mental pollution
Okay, can we drop the environ for a second
How about the mental pollution in this generation
The internet loads us with data but not necessarily useful information
I wonder, do we have a sieve in our brains
that filters the data as it drains
Or we absorb them all, to clutter up our minds
Gigabytes of junks downloaded into our mental and emotional system
I was on the internet to seek information
But my mental system received Ads injection
Causing a buy this, buy that stimulation
You are not okay if you don't have this or have that
You don't look good, if you're not shaped like this or like that
What we ingest from the internet is 40% information and 60% malware
Don't quote me
Just an opinion that I want to share
This pollution is **** real and it scares!
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.
The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.
The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
The slant-eyed
giant hunter
people of Tsul Kalu
came in peace
To become
the central universe
Cherokee white elders
hereditary priests
teaching peace
Winged rattlesnake
constellation
of time untime
Singing the death song
Sacred spirits
animal, plant, herb and tree
The wheel
what is, will be
(*The ancient Chinese were
the greatest astronomers.
Later in the 1400's their
massive treasure fleets
mapped the World
The Yuki, Navajo, Apache,
Yuchis, Ming ** Melungeons,
Shawnee (Oceanye ** Sioux,
Cree Ojibuwa and Moskoke
have Chinese ancestors
some claimed to be Chinese
European explorers told of
elders speaking Chinese
ancient Chinese artefacts
and wrecked junks seen
History as taught might
be but a fairytale*)
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:07 AM UTC
My mind is a bin
A very large bin
Filled with a huge amount of junks
And it doesn't even need to wear a trunk
It is exposed to the gobbledygook
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Tornado comes in big
Like a snake swallowing a mouse.
It tries to clean
The town
By swirling things into it.
Faraway, somewhere in the sky,
waiting to clean,
And then leaves with the junks
to clean again.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Paperworks and junks pilled into mountains
on top of my ruined desk
“I wonder what had went wrong
for me to stack up such a mess?”
Indolent, Oh! so petulant!...
But still I digress
Saying I didn’t have time
To sort out the cluttering hefty mess
Jesting around with the things that avert my gaze,
Such a child I was,
I paid no mind to it all day
But...
Night came too soon,
and instantly I say...
“When will I ever sort out this mess?”
Perhaps never, but still I say
“Someday, okay?”
May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
I met a guy named Jack,
Who asked if anyone wanted gack.
When I said right here my name is Zach,
He sold me a big ol sack.
I smoked and smoked that crystal twack.
I smoked and smoked and got all whack.
When the bub was out I grabbed more to pack.
And when that ran out I went back to Jack.
But the smoke this time wasn't white but black.
I said **** you this junks a hack.
Asked where he gets off selling bunk *** smack.
I kicked his *** and took my money back.
Stole the keys to his wife's Cadillac.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
The yellow sun
Seems to have shied
Away from my father.
I take one hard look,
Cut
His figure like cardboard,
Paste
Him in the throes
Of the Great Wall,
The seaports of Guangzhou...
It fits him like a glove.
My grandfather
Still thinks it's 1937.
He came here
On a boat
That collapsed
Kissing
Our blueing shoreline.
And I'm not sure if he has
Any memory
Of home but
If so, he seems determined
To live as a straggler.
Forever caught in between
His beloved red-ink
Chinese newspapers
And the fact
That he swears
Quite fluently in Tagalog.
My dad
Always forbade me from cursing.
Rarely did himself.
When he did though,
He'd do it fluently
In Chinese,
His beloved
Local newspaper,
Black and white,
Folded
On his lap.
...sometimes I wonder
If the boat
Truly made it
At all.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
The magic doesn't exist between the sheets or is herd in the sounds of a drunken night whatever it was it has surely died.
Long since been taken away with the tide and I like so many others simply pick the bones of the greats clean.
In hopes to capture the essence I simply repackage the old lines as something new burning the candle at both ends existing a reject of today and a connection of what never was .
I am the *** in the street.
The fool in the cell drunk out his mind yearning only to howl at the moon to hear the sounds of my own madness .
I'm the burnout ,I'm the drunk who is all to happy to be left alone I need no shelter the storm is a friendly reminder .
The chaos lets me know I'm alive .
The burn kicks me in the *** and pushes me to another high I never needed the scene for I find company a burden and my own demons guide me for better than any you may know .
The candles flame cast shadows but never blinds the few who understand the battle for what it is.
The junks all the same just new names and the same train wreck.
The arrogance of youth cant touch the heat of the bitter old fool.
The ice in the glass and one last call to remind me it's fade until the next.
I may me be a throw back to another time .
But a slurred voices words still my own hold there weight .
Trends and tricks styles suited to please are best left to the clowns who seek acceptance from the page .
Sometimes you just have to stagger a bit to know your alive.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
Trips to Shanghai taking photographs
of junks that were full of bones
Forgotten pixels stashed in the cover
of shade in the corner of the room
drawings in pastel paint brushed on the walls
You fell from the sky and crashed into my eye
I flew from the ground and landed in your thighs
Crucifix Sunday's and brunches in mobs
We drank the nectar of Pine trees
and redeemed our throbbed wrongs
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
You are a media
A pride of the world
A means to an end
An accurate accessory
The social in the media
It welcomes it's user
An epitome of ideas
Where education takes place
Education is part of socialization
The social media educates it's user
It grants many the ability to know
It serves without delay
The social media is humble
It has accommodated a lot of junks
To produce a Juarez
for jubilance
The social media joins parties together I would have not had poems to gather
Hello poetry has become a father
The social media is indeed the mother
The social media is patient
It has been denied by penitent
But their accusations are pending
Untill they get understanding
Let's develop love for the social media
There is nothing not found in the social media
Reformers need social media
For clarification come to social media
For education come to social media
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 5:00 PM UTC
Dear someone,
Don't take this the wrong way
You need only pray
Pray, this suicidal thoughts go away
But all my dark clouds are out to play
That depression soon joins the fray
Dear someone,
Listen, am screaming at the top of my lungs..
But they make it sound like thrash filled with junks..
So to you its like ping - pong
So, you take me less seriously than usual
If only I could show that I can stand tall like king Kong..
Will you then hear the beats on my chest?
Dear someone,
If I..
Know it's not your fault
The light In me was too dim to fight the darkness..
All you saw was a smile
A smile that told different stories
It could've been different
If only the moonlight tale
Was an epic fairytale.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC