Posts Tagged ‘Trash’

Icarus Splashed

Posted: February 28, 1995 in Poetry
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Icarus splashed when he hit the water.
I was there; I, too, fell
As he fell, when he fell,
Feathers flying all around me,
Sun hot, wax running,
Sweat beading my brow.
He said to me as he regarded the water:
My father wasn’t strong enough
To pump his arms
In those leather strapped wings.
Everything was perfect:
The buckles were tight;
The wax was the best.
And I would have betrayed my kind:
All of the poets, dreamers, and innovators,
The trashy lot who loved me
Because of who I am,
If I didn’t strain to see
The faces of the gods.
Icarus gave Bruegel his ankle
And me this feather.

I used to roll spare tires
down alleys in Point Loma
to see how many streets they’d cross
before stopping:
against a trash can or a moving car,
a cinderblock wall or a pile of dirt.
Stupid things is what I thought.
Why’d they stop there; it could have kept going
after that.
Steering.
I’m rolling and I steer myself short all of the time
and it’s coming; I can feel it singing and surging to life
in a tide, a god, an angel looking for a sharp sword
in his tongue,
fiery-eyed and furious,
smoking and snake-bitten.
But I can’t be touched by the fire I create –
burning myself won’t work anymore
– there is nothing left to burn but everything else
and it is to be smelted into my sword,
my pen, my tongue, my eyes,
my breath, my words,
my blood, my thoughts.

Salvaging Laura from the Trash

Posted: February 28, 1993 in Poetry
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you tried to throw your poetry away
but I have discussed it thoroughly
with your own Dolphin
and the conclusion we came to
is: no way.
we found it together
in a pile of papers
sticking out of the trash
that I casually looked through
to see if you’d done
just this type of thing.
love letters I never saw,
things you never spoke of,
I never knew half of what you thought.
I see that you fear just like me.
I see that you think of death as a seductress.
I see that you feel; you’re a poet unrivalled,
and
I
see
you
think
it’s
trash.

Shoe Salvage Speech

Posted: January 9, 1991 in Poetry
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Who says shoes can’t last forever?
When all purpose duct tape replaced the leather
The canvas decaying, the smooth rubber sole
What fun are big puddles when your shoes are whole?
Don’t give up on your footwear when they get thrashed
Salvage your sneakers from the maw of the trash.
Even when the laces can’t thread through the eyes
And even when the tread has reduced greatly in size
Remember your shoes are the greatest of friends
So do what you can to extend the end.

The Wastebasket’s Point of View

Posted: March 10, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: ,

A wastebasket is unloved
Unwanted
Unfeeling
Useless
‘Cept for holding items you don’t want anymore.
Like pencil stubs
And old candy
And unhumorous bumper stickers
And Superman Underoos
And bad poetry mistakes
Like this one.

Maybe it isn’t so bad
Because you get to meet many different things
And you get to love and cherish each unique object
Until someone empties you with a flick of their wrist
Only leaving you with a small remnant;
A trail of greasy saliva or
A hardened piece of gum but
Mostly nothing.

And when you get old
And your plastic’s weak
And your wicker is sagging
And your metal is corroded
And your shine is gone
And your color is faded
And you refuse to let go of that one last bit
Of stuff you have held in your confines
For a long, long time
Maybe all of eternity
They’ll throw you into an even bigger wastebasket
And you can truthfully say
I know what you mean.

Meals

Posted: March 9, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

What is it like
To be a piece of French toast
A half a club sandwich
Or a grade B roast
Sitting on the plate
With someone looking down
A bit of parsley for a brain
An orange peel for a crown
As scrambled eggs
Or a hamburger bun
Waiting to see
Of what end they’ll become
A fat lady or a kid
Or a man with ready cash
Or the ultimate rejection:
To be thrown in the trash.

Upon the dusty linoleum floor
Lies a discarded coffee stirrer.
Weak and useless with a hollow core
Its memories only a blur.

It lies in wait for something new
Stepped on is a way of life.
A bottle cap with stripes of blue
Joins it in its strife.

Upon the ground, unnoticed by us
They stay without complaining.
Surrounded by motes of dirt and dust
Dents are all they’re gaining.

Lost and lonely, sad and forlorn
A plastic tube is all
What respect it ever had is shorn
In a world where all else is tall.

A bottle cap, just useless trash
Carelessly thrown away
It still feels humility’s lash
It’s chrome is dulled to grey.

Cap and straw, sitting together
Upon an unforgiving ground.
Hoping to love each other forever
Without ever making a sound.

But wind and nature will have their way
No matter what you can try.
The hollow straw was blown away
And a kid let the bottle cap fly.

So now among the piles of refuse
Present in all the world
A bottle cap’s silent tears break loose
And a straw is broken and curled.