Life In A Refuse Bin

Photo: WHB

A refuse bin … A refuse bin
All life is in a refuse bin.

* * *

Amidst the rubbish and the tat
There lies a hat, a mat, a rat;
Daily Mail-wrapped fish and chips
Taco, shrimp and truffle dips;
Damaged shoes and flip-flops too;
Pair of pants that once were blue.


Ice cream cones and such detritus;
Discarded puffer for bronchitis.
Shells and seaweed in there, also
A print of ‘Blue Nude’ by Picasso.
Doll’s head, torso, and an arm;
No legs in sight – sound the alarm!
Apple peelings, apple cores,
Offcuts from old vinyl floors.
Broken pencil, bunch of keys,
Half a sandwich filled with cheese.
Old bus tickets, betting slips,
Laddered tights and broken zips.
Cigarette butts by the score.
Junk and scrap for ever more.
Empty tins that once held coke.
It really is beyond a joke.
Lubricant, petroleum jelly,
Whole salami from the deli.
Junkie’s needles, discarded syringe,
Vestige of an all-night binge.

These remnants of a night of sin
. . . All denizens of a refuse bin.

Clothes and food for any family
Enough to live on very happily.
Soon all of this will ‘go to waste’
Unfit for someone else’s taste.
And waste disposal at the beach
Really does cry out for bleach.

# # #

But wait a moment, I can see
A scene as if it’s on TV.
A family playing in the sand
Oblivious in their own dreamland.
Quite unaware that they’re within
And central to a refuse bin.

This ‘bit of fun’ with simple rhyming couplets, was prompted by my photograph (top), taken on the promenade at Sandsend, a small holiday resort, near Whitby, on the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.

Le Mot Juste

abstract black and white blur book

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

LE MOT JUSTE

As I sit with pen in hand
Considering what my muse demands,

Oft an idea comes to mind;
So many thoughts are inter-twined.

First a ruling I must make,
What form shall my poem take?

Rondeau, ode, or Villanelle,
Sonnet, haiku, kyrielle?

I’m excited, I am ready,
I’m inspired, feeling heady.

Ah, when the mot juste does occur,
How joyously my line will purr.

But then my thoughts will always turn
To all those words which I shall spurn.

Those rhymes which never quite will fit,
And where those phrases should be split

Have I spelt that word correctly?
I must check it out directly.

Then the punctuation too;
Comma or colon?  Wish I knew.

Capitals to start each line?
Will they add to my design?

Perhaps it’ll prove less nondescript
If I centre all the script.

Can I improve the way it flows?
Better check that I suppose.

Then, of course, must choose a title,
That indeed will be most vital.

Decisions made, about to publish.
Please don’t tell me it’s all RUBBISH.

 

redline-thin

 

 

 

No Way To Treat A Lady

 

deadinatub

LOVE  DISCARDED

The way to treat a lady when you’re tired
Is not to dump her in a bin and run.
Why not admit that she you once admired
Has lost your love and now your chapter’s done.

To tip her in a bin head first was cruel,
Forgetting all the love she gave to you.
For once she was your all transcendent jewel;
A wretched end was not the thing to do.

She was owed far better from her erstwhile lover,
A fitting end would be a parting prayer,
To let goodbyes be said, the party’s over,
And move on to the next furtive affair.

We hope your new amour will treat you better
Than you deserve, you two-faced cheating brute.
Perhaps she’ll send that candid scarlet letter,
The one which spills the beans on your repute.

Just remember this my callous Casanova.
That when you end your defunct escapades.
When all that great ferment at last is over,
Then, what you sow you’ll truly reap in spades.

deadinatubz

I took these two photographs in 2009 at a garden centre in Surrey, England … WHB

 


 

LIFE IN A REFUSE BIN

 

eastbek07

This ‘bit of fun’ with simple rhyming couplets, was prompted by my photograph (above), taken on the promenade at Sandsend, a small holiday resort, near Whitby, on the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.


LIFE IN A REFUSE BIN

 

A refuse bin … A refuse bin

All life is in a refuse bin.

#  #  #

Amidst the rubbish and the tat
There lie a hat, a mat, a rat;
Daily Mail-wrapped fish and chips
Taco, shrimp and truffle dips;
Damaged shoes and flip-flops too;
Pair of pants that once were blue.
Ice cream cones and such detritus;
Discarded puffer for bronchitis.
Shells and seaweed in there, also
A print of ‘Blue Nude’ by Picasso.
Doll’s head, torso, and an arm;
Half a sixpence – lucky charm!
Apple peelings, apple cores,
Offcuts from old vinyl floors.
Broken pencil, bunch of keys,
Half a sandwich filled with cheese.
Old bus tickets, betting slips,
Laddered tights and broken zips.
Cigarette butts by the score.
Plastic bags just washed ashore.
Bric-a-brac, old junk and scrap;
Two hairnets, a baseball cap.
Flotsam, Jetsam, garbage, waste.
Can of worms, a jar of paste.
Empty tins that once held coke.
It really is beyond a joke.
Lubricant, petroleum jelly,
Whole salami from the deli.
Junkie’s needles, discarded syringe,
Vestige of an all-night binge.
All remnants of a life of sin
. . . All denizens of a refuse bin.

#

Clothes and food for any family
Enough to live on very happily.
But waste disposal at the beach
Cries out loud for a dose of bleach.
But soon all this will ‘go to waste’
Unfit for someone else’s taste.

#  #  #

But wait a moment, I can see
A scene as if it’s on TV.
A family playing in the sand
Oblivious in their own dreamland.
Quite unaware that they’re within
And central to a refuse bin.

#

beachwaste