"scavenging" poems
August, the Red Line,
connected tanks
of bolted plastic vertebrae.
Every seat gone except
five rows up, where a sea lion
sprawls across two,
stuffed backpack, yellow jacket
spread out like caution tape.
His grunt a wet bark
at the glow of his screen.
Middle-school deer slip into the aisle,
chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past,
their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut.
Not a predator- just a gelded ox,
chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed,
chest rig clattering with blanks.
Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder,
her shell steady against the sway of the car.
She shepherds them from the surge of riders:
loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks,
moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air,
a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches.
And one gray bear
muttering alone,
arguing with her reflection.
Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park,
somewhere the sea begins to breathe again,
then, feathers forcing through my skin-
an alley gull knifing into this clamour,
scavenging inside its exhaust.
The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters:
museum wings open to no one,
‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script,
flu shots promised by smiling ghosts.
A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words
See something, say something.
The warning lights glow
like eyes hunting in the dark.
From its flanks the train
unfurls iron claws.
They rake
the tunnel walls,
the city’s bones,
the dark itself.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
Inequality is something that should be preserved.
Else who will wash my clothes
and who will wash the sink full of utensils?
What if we all got the same number
of eyes and hands?
We have created inequality with wealth and education.
I cherish this inequality as I am above of some millions,
else I would have been standing in queues and footpaths, begging, sleeping and scavenging.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Vibrations of steel block engines have been lulling me to sleep lately
Eyelids swaying up and down like the back and forth of seaweed on the ocean floor
I count yellow dashed lines like others count sheep
Feeling my consciousness slip away, I’m drowsy, I’m dreaming
I dream of a golden city
A golden bay along golden grass rooted in golden soil
Golden streets with golden stop lights
Golden cars parked in golden parking buildings
Gold Telephone towers powered by gold electrical cables
I begin noticing something strange about this city, as it shone so brightly with a golden sun setting as the city’s own back drop.
There were no inhabitants.
No pigeons.
No stray cats.
No dogs scavenging for spare scraps on starving stomachs
Business Men in suits are found littering streets all around the globe. These streets lay barren
Little girls playing hopscotch and jump-rope gone as if the city misplaced them all.
My stomach dropping as I drop to my knees
Panic attacks bring back memories of family and friends
The beautiful faces of girls I once loved, and ones I may never be able to
Questioning if reality was the dream
I am alone in a wonderful Jungle
It’s not easy to be alone in a City of Gold
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
I don't know what to think
when i'm staring in your eyes
more akin to speak
in blind lullabies.
than logistify
my heightened
surmise
in flight
to somewhere nice
if only for tonight
come with me this night
ignite
the cindered fires
of our desires
and incite
the throws of light
in **** obscurity
moaning through the sincerity
of our oddities
gleaming in the rarity
of our academy of lust
all or bust
entrust the accounting
of blaspheme
to the enemies
of poverty
and shove me
all the way down your throat
fill you
instill you
with the hope
of a million
grinning in **********
of the tangled mental merchants
of pretty lights and custom curtains
drawn at first light
dispersing
amongst cursing pedestrians
prior to ***********
of forceful ************
with an another human
lightened strikes the truant
in 9 months of fluent
agony
just imagining little Timmy
has me scavenging for a shimmy
to escape
its social ****
to a blind ape
still patting his head
don't be mislead
by ***** carriers
pack your own barriers
and prepare for the scarier
side of a mans mind
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
We meet again in
the last hour of dawn
deathbed creaking;
ravens croaking;
I said:
not yet, not yet!
my candle flickers -
not yet, not yet!
free your words-
You said:
it’s the eleventh hour;
your pen will bleed-
tear and anger;
your melody will be-
forgotten in the rain;
your scent will linger-
six feet under;
your wisdom will be-
trapped in the quicksand-
of your dear Sisyphus;
your beauty will be-
fed to scavenging worms;
you could have been
a phenomenal maiden.
it’s the eleventh hour
deathbed creaking;
ravens croaking;
too late, too late.
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 12:22 AM UTC
There’s a dark grotto
Under the sea
With shelves and shelves
Of bottles
Clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets
A carefully watched castle
The middle of a concentric series of impassable walls
Surrounded by a forest of kelp
With razor-sharp teeth
And then the narwhals
The narwhal guards
Armed to the teeth with halibut-slicing knives
Their three-meter horns
Gleaming in the moonlight
Guarding
All of my secrets
Skeletons, trespassers of yore,
Strewn about the seafloor
Bones picked clean
By the scavenging *****
No one can enter
No one can leave
The grotto with the shelves
Shelves and shelves of clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets
But as for the *****
For the first time in centuries
The sunlight warms the waters
Melts the kelp
Kisses the narwhals
Buries the bones and torments the scavengers
Clearing away the darkness
A nonstop route through the castle
Protecting
All of my secrets
The tendrils of photons creep along
Wary
Ready for a fight
The grotto growls menacingly
Unguarded
For the first time in centuries
But upon the first touch -
Light meets stone -
The sea shudders
Ecstasy
And in repayment for salvation
Out come the bottles
Floating to the surface
Bathing in the light
All of my secrets
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
Children awake to sizzling butter and fresh eggs
Birds chirp and settle on their windowsills
Greeting them with the sound of nature.
How lovely it must be!
Childhood is all about the games and the play, they said.
Buttons are pressed,
Video games begin,
because violence is but a pixelated projection for them.
Two extremities of this earth are facing each other now.
Darkness lies on the opposite side.
What a shame!
Home now bleeds images of destruction.
Childhood is non-existent there.
Children awake to the nauseating scent of gunpowder,
Anxiety has filled their minds,
The future remains vague
Lives hanging on a thread
The drones set off missiles to cut it.
They are worth the entire world to their mothers
Young souls who are the lens from which their parents see happiness
but sadly,
survivors scrape the rubble off their ****** feet
scavenging for the roots they once tried to protect
wetting the ground with utter despair.
Home now bleeds destruction
and constant chaos.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
Hey!
You, yes you,
The one looking for love.
Searching, scavenging,
every opening and cavity,
shifting perspectives from high to low.
From sea to sea, coast to coast,
textbooks, blogs, looking for an explanation,
Why have you not found her?
Where could she be?
For you won't find her,
simply because there is no "finding" necessary.
She's been there the whole time.
You think of her as your friend,
but she knows of you as more.
Open your eyes man!
Just look around, stop your despair,
What if she's already there?
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Silver Beach: Always the Sole First
familiar white fishing boat, up with early light,
seeking sustenance and pleasure in = measure,
anchored ‘bout quarter mile east of my under-the-coverlet,
(of course! as the crow, raven or scavenging osprey flies),
it’s precise location amazingly exact, but alas, soon daily
familiarity breeds no secrecy, and now joined by a
farther out, smaller version, a compatriot in spotitude,
of the best spots for harvesting the early running
brackish bay water favorites, striped or black sea bass
what persistent fortitude these fisher-peoples display,
early to rise, first to depart, when others crowd its “spot,”
(amazed by its knowing precision the exactitude of “spot”)
this ship, always the sole-first, invokes a first poem of the day,
always a soul-first, an unburdening of deepest gratitude that
one more day granted me to imbibe this vista, awake to its
soothing silent heavenly serenity, absent machine or
electronic interference with my delicate sleepy wakefulness,
when newly minted words come into my mind, my
secret spot
Sat AM June 3
Jun 3, 2023
Jun 3, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC
I tried so **** hard to forget you, so hard. But you telling me how long you've been here waiting just shows me why I held on so long.
It just shows why I scavenged ever piece of the shipwreck that floated up to the top. Those were the enjoyable memories, but the anchor is still at the bottom of the ocean.
And that is why we can't fight this any longer. face it, neither of us can pull the anchor out of the water anymore.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
God, if you only knew the things these eyes have seen. I feel as if I’m the only one to have felt this heaviness in my soul. It breaks me down. I’m scavenging for survival. For hope, for humanity. I wait patiently in the dark hoping to watch as the light breaks through this darkness I live in. Will the sun rise? Will the moon give in to its brutal blows? Or will I be left again, left wondering where I’m meant to travel to next. I watched my family torn from the places once called sacred. The treasures they held once before meant nothing, their lives were the only treasure they had left. The only treasure I had left. Some tore their way out of that hell. The mental affliction that caused them to drown in their own murderous screams. They moved on with their quest for a purpose, ripping away the flaws and scars left by the pain experienced. Becoming something new, remade. Still beautiful, they didn’t break. They persevered. I watched as others tied the fear and pain to their ankles, always dragging it with them. Others would notice the chains they pulled, but never say a word. Never reach out a hand to search for the key to these aches. Just watching them survive, I watch them survive. I survive. But the worst of all to watch was The Interpreter. The ones who fell for the lies that got them with me in this black hole. The ones who never coped, never wanted a purpose, they wanted revenge. Revenge on the ones who tore their soul apart, piece by piece. The ones who took every bit of sanity they had and laughed as it fell unreachable by any man. I watched as something once so beautiful, miraculous, pure and true turn into something that made me want to cringe. So hungry. Always remembering the starvation they suffered from and using it as a crutch and weapon to fill the hole that cannot be filled by things as such. I try to help but they snarl in defense, forgetting that once I was their friend. Only thinking of the world as an enemy, and everyone in it an enemy as well. I try to stop them, plead for them to stay, just to here a few words. Just to know that they aren’t alone, I’m here in the darkness too.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
This town is crumbling.
With dust turning into ashes.
A judgmental life built
to the apparent lackluster rhyme.
*Trembling lips, forced proximity.
Eyes on fire, the vile toxicity.*
Trouble.
A simple motto to live by...
Mockery of shared stupidity.
Continually circling
to the timeless tune
of a love struck fool.
A fool, within the rubble.
A fool of love, scavenging for a heart.
A love-sick-fool, standing with empty arms.
Love, it can't be held together with gum found on the bottom of a shoe.
Nor can it survive with lies told by you.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
The aroma of coconut milk
permeating the frost
of the windshield.
Vague scent of cigarettes and Febreze
in your hair.
Your teeth between my thighs.
Your tongue
circling mine
like two hyenas
scavenging .
You taste like
the tea you drank
half an hour ago.
Neutral
This car has been hit before.
I am frightened by your
automatic seatbelts.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC
Some days you surface into,
and there's no distracting yourself from
that irrefutable inevitability that
- ultimately -
entropy will win.
No quantity of
authentic artisan coffee or online memes
or juicing can
pull you out of the
black hole gravity
of that one truth.
The evidence is everywhere:
the spiteful confusion of electrical cables
your sleep-stupid fingers
fumble and fail to untangle;
the mold on the bread you
swore would keep a few more days;
the putrid, burst-open remains of
a pink armchair, left to rot in a
stranger's front garden;
the scavenging army of crows that loiters,
waiting for you to die and, in the
meantime, walks ****** little footprints
around your eyes;
the oxidation of
so many dreams.
It's inescapable.
Might as well root for the winner.
Embrace the decay.
Take photographs of
rust, smashed glass, peeling paint, dead flowers.
Learn to love faded colours and the feel
of broken things.
Catalogue your most
interesting scars and mutilations.
And, while you can,
write poetry.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
You are still outside
of the roadside convenience stand
offering apathy
for a price
the tag for clearing bad memories
can be considered expensive
smearing everything in view
the confusion is
narcotic
getting hooked is like fishing down
at the pier
the pier you have thought of
throwing yourself over
time and time again
the clockwork is a revolving temptation
that reminds you
your days are numbered
and you’re not very good at math
so dig the change out of your pockets
scavenging for a fix
throw away the receipt
and pick up your feet because
“I’m giving up” isn’t worth it’s 4 syllables
so sell it
and purchase
“I’m not done yet.”
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
What's one day in the grand scheme?
mistakes branding bland dreams
realities - future and past halves of me
split personalities
splitting these arteries
the artist in me
scavenging what I can
to understand, why smile
wasting time
tasting wine
erasing mind
until basically blind -
OTC's won't assist this OCD
thinking of insanity, no it won't be me
I refuse, to let this fuse
run out of room - I say, Let it burn.
https://soundcloud.com/the_mjv/ogcjm
.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
At the back
of the coal wharf
you and Fay
picked up coal pieces
that fell through
the iron railings
and put them
in an old bag from home
Fay looked
at her blackened fingers
and said
if my daddy sees
these fingers
and finds out
what I’ve been doing
he’ll spank me
for sure
you gazed at her
beside you
and said
you can wash your hands
at my place
she looked around
at the bombsite behind you
the evening sun
slowly going down
behind the railway bridge
and nearby buildings
what if someone sees you
she asked
picking up these pieces?
no one worries about this
all the kids do it
you replied
my daddy says
it is evil to steal
she said
you put a black piece
of coal in the bag
and lifted it
to feel the weight
that’s enough
you said
too much
and I won’t be able
to carry it
Fay stood up
and looked around
at the darkening sky
you held the bag
in one hand
and scanned
the area around you
let’s go
you said
and so you both
walked away
from the coal wharf
into Meadow Row
by the public house
where piano music played
and down towards
the flats
where you lived
and after climbing
the concrete stairs
to your landing
you opened the door
and put the bag
by the indoor
coal bunker
and showed Fay
where to wash her hands
turning on
the cold water tap
you both washed
your hands
with the red
Life Buoy soap
her hands near yours
her wet flesh
touching yours
the black water
running away
and another adventure
and another day.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC
i've been running for months now
searching for what has been missing,
trying to find my way
to a home that does not exist.
i've been crying for months now
searching for another soul,
one as lonely as i
that can understand my pain
i've been scavenging for months now
searching for a way to survive,
selling the old me
in hopes that the new one will thrive
i've been loving you for months now
not that you'll probably ever know,
for your eyes draw me in
and your lips awaken my soul.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.
This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.
You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.
Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.
You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.
But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.
No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.
But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.
That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
The smell of mint and clorox steaming across the face,
Under the epidermis,
Flying in the room like swarming mad no-see-ums,
Shooting up the nose and around the nasal hairs in blasts.
A distant garble, advantage one.
Pulling from limb and lattice of the mind, scavenging, advantage two.
The prediction and observation, advantage three.
Assertively convinced, advantage four.
Being rooted, advantage five.
The smell of mint and clorox,
So patternless,
So striving and belligerent.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Under the sun, you shine like the incarnation of youth
At nightfall you glow, like you just made love to the moon
You are elegance, you are patience, you are reflection, you are still
Your beauty shines from your inside out,
Reaching outward upward into the skies,
Your branches know no realm too high,
Your roots know no soils too deep
There are no limits to your courage
Under the sun
Your fruitful seeds spill out over your skin
You are open hands and generosity
You are selflessness
Under the moon
You are wisdom, enlightenment and truth
You are humility and grace
But your sacredness is undervalued at best, neglected and challenged
They raid you, from your insides out
Deep inside your mines and your waters so deep
Scavenging for a dollar
exploiting all they reap
******* the air right out of your lungs
You are exhaustion, you are bare
You are forgotten
Yet still your tides rise and fall with the moon
You are forgiveness, you are hopeful, you are inspiration
In your image I will teach my children to grow
Through your eyes, I will show them the world
With your hands I will build their home
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
I follow your eyes,
As a traveler follows his compass;
Cruising through the tides
Searching for the enormous.
He began the journey,
Thanks to his wanderlust,
Mine, chanced on being scorny…
I count on being the last!
Twists and turns adorned the track,
I scolded them
As my thoughts went scavenging a snack
Right on the hem.
She boasted her 120kmphs,
I could only smile.
Didn’t she see me at all?
Where I was all this while!
They sprang from both sides,
Adoring her fair
How could she even see through,
The symmetry worth a care!
You caught the wind,
As a kite fluttering, does
Eyes closed, lashes twined,
You smile contagious!
Careless you were,
As I asked for the plan,
Grooving in slow motion,
Ignoring even a sun-tan…
Now I wonder if
The windows are open,
My thoughts are shy, they can’t shout
Wanting to collide with yours out!
You went out,
Telling me to imagine,
Since, my pen’s been my spoon…
Even as I went on to dine.
Someday I will drive,
Or just stare at you, driving,
Unless you have your lovelocks
For your face-hiding!
And sing to each other,
Some songs as rhymes,
Check out on the trees afar
If even a single bird thrives.
Eat terrible food,
Feeling them to be tastier,
Laugh quite like insanes,
Hoping to feel hungrier.
Unending roads with us meeting,
Breaking into a jig
Again and again, as
Mirth and joy go on knitting.
Light or dark,
I really don’t care,
Go out with whosoever,
But won’t you stay true to me, dear?
I attempt to quiet my mind,
Caring not to look behind,
I promise, imaginations won’t be a hype
For, you are the roadtrip of my life…
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC
There Was Always A Fall Feast,
Way Before The Pilgrams Even Came,
Squanto Was A Prisoner,
Taken Over To Europe,
And Worked As A Slave To Spanish Monks,
He Was Captured From His Village,
And Returned There 5 Years Later,
Where His Tribe Had Died From The Disease,
The Europeans Had Brought Over,
The Pilgrims--Savage And Starving,
Were Rading Near By Villages,
Scavenging In The Tribe's Food Storages
Since Squanto Knew How To Speak English,
He Befriended The Pilgrims And Taught Them,
To Fish And Hunt Off The Land,
When The Fall Feast Arrived,
They Did Not Eat Turkey (Yes You Read That Right),
Squanto And Some Other Natives Brought,
Venison, Crab, Lobster, Fish,
And Feasted....
So You Can See--That What We Learned In School,
Is Not True,
It's Just One More Common Misconception,
Just Another Secret,
This Country Has Tried To Mask
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC