Quotes about waste, page 13
Polluted rivers around the world!
When the melting at the mountainous hearts,
Pass through the streams of tributaries a lot,
Merge at that elevation for the rivers to form,
Though have the comfortable bed and the banks,
Still it likes to run from the origin to the mouth,
Where the fine sediments are left in deltas,
The million year's journey is halted with pollutants,
Nitrogen in the Mississippi, acids in the King's,
Benzene in the Songhua, waste of civilizations,
In the rivers of Citarum, Yamuna, Buriganga,
Ganges, Marilao and yellow. Who has taught,
To throw the waste into the water system,
As long as the rubbish heavy and can't float,
It can comfortably settle and rest,
At the beds for thousand years,
Secrets of evolution hidden under the water,
But no secrets can be hidden forever,
When pollutants affect the health of livings,
Waste Management is another field of study,
That does not teach to dump the sewer into the steam,
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Mute Hunger
An ache perforates veins deep
Blood cold as moods of night
tears fall on food I eat
tears fall on food withered
Filled platters, piled up trash bins
Plastic flash cards' redeemed poise
Classy high end festive foyers
Dim lit reckless long end revelry
Minds relaxed on refined comforts
jaded dried leaves spread apart
life shriveled, cry for food
hear my heart from unknown souls
bracing measures count on scales
reversed ravage Friday flings
cried my mind on third world famine
poor souls' handcuffed hunger
Mute, deaf, dumb hunger
Strange unknown silent anguish....
Genuine thud on unarmed door steps
Benign heart you listen please....
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poem by Rema Prasanaa
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I Live For Only Fourteen Days
They say I live for only fourteen days
Not many know I can live longer
By another sixteen days
If people around turn kind
In this short life span
We grow, develop, and mature
Multiply in plenty
Eat well and to die at last
You may see us every where
In tropical countries
But not during night time
Our people are clear about our life style
We do not work more than twelve hours a day
As we do not keep awake more than that
We keep awake only to keep doing something
We are busy most of the time
Devouring all that you term waste
We do not nurse any great taste
As our hunger puts us ever in haste
We prefer liquid or semi solid food
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Hourglass
there is a going to waste that befalls us:
it is not in weight gained
it is not in vices taking toll—
it is not in the drag of having to work mostly
of there being more effort than reward,
of there being more strikes than hits—
it is not in debts, mortgages and bills nesting in heads
in family feuds over paper fetishes,
in the fronting of your marriage,
in the sharing your bed with a stranger
night after night after night—
in having no children,
being infertile or having had a miscarriage,
or having your children grow up,
the proceeding losing of touch—
it is not in the gaunt look of beauty once upon a time
and the lame attempt at keeping up face
of keeping up with a dress or with a watch—
it is not in wanting prestige but not getting it,
or acquiring it, but growing numb to it,
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poem by Chris Jelens
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The Federal City
OH! the folly, the waste, and the pity! Oh, the time that is flung behind!
They are seeking a site for a city, whose eyes shall be always blind,
Whose love for their ease grows greater, and whose care for their country less—
They are seeking a site for a city—a City of Selfishness.
In ignorance, deafness, blindness, in the cities by the sea,
With waste of time and of money, and with local jealousy;
With Anti-Federal envy, and personal paltriness,
They are seeking a site for a city—while Australia moans in distress.
By the coast with the people crowding, where Australia’s danger lies,
By the hills and the clear, cool rivers, and under the softer skies,
Where the fat shall not melt, and the ranter grow cool in the fresh’ning breeze,
And the dwellers drivel in comfort and the boodlers swindle at ease.
They are seeking a site for a city in the beauty spots of the land,
While I see so plainly, my children, where the Federal towers should stand!
Where the heart of Australia beats strongest and highest in desert air.
Make a site for a Federal City, and build you your capital there!
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poem by Henry Lawson
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No Freedom to Breathe-Entrapped Inside An Ego
If money was the answer,
To having that spice of life enriched.
Why do many who have 'everything'.
Decide there's nothing to live for...
Commit suicide?
As if God abides.
And the emptiness that is felt...
From within so many,
They successfully hide.
And the poor are despised!
For having hunger and homelessness,
On their side.
And teased by TV advertisements...
With infested garbage, decadence and lies.
The rich make claims to have all of it!
Success, yachts and homes with many rooms...
With no one in them to visit or sit.
While taking trips out of the minds.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Demise Of Dolphins
Dolphins are delightful creatures, who I absolutely adore;
I feel sad, when they are washed up dead, along the seashore.
Seeing a dolphin swimming in the wild, must be very exciting,
But the day may come, when a dolphin becomes a rare sighting.
The death of a dolphin, should never ever be in vain;
From each one's demise, a lesson should be gained.
If we can try to discover why each dolphin has died,
Our future actions, that reason, should then guide.
The ocean is fast becoming a thick soup of toxic waste;
A daily problem, which many dolphins, now have to face.
If we continue disposing of our waste in to the ocean,
It will end up as a most poisonous and deadly potion.
Dolphins have such happy faces, and are just so adorable;
That we are needlessly killing them, is just so deplorable.
Through sparkling, clear waters, the dolphins love to zoom;
But where waste has been dumped, there is a murky gloom.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Year's Burden -- 1870
Fire and wild light of hope and doubt and fear,
Wind of swift change, and clouds and hours that veer
As the storm shifts of the tempestuous year;
Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.
Hope sits yet hiding her war-wearied eyes,
Doubt sets her forehead earthward and denies,
But fear brought hand to hand with danger dies,
Dies and is burnt up in the fire of fight.
Hearts bruised with loss and eaten through with shame
Turn at the time's touch to devouring flame;
Grief stands as one that knows not her own name,
Nor if the star she sees bring day or night.
No song breaks with it on the violent air,
But shrieks of shame, defeat, and brute despair;
Yet something at the star's heart far up there
Burns as a beacon in our shipwrecked sight.
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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Norsemen ( From Narrative and Legendary Poems )
.
GIFT from the cold and silent Past!
A relic to the present cast,
Left on the ever-changing strand
Of shifting and unstable sand,
Which wastes beneath the steady chime
And beating of the waves of Time!
Who from its bed of primal rock
First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block?
Whose hand, of curious skill untaught,
Thy rude and savage outline wrought?
The waters of my native stream
Are glancing in the sun's warm beam;
From sail-urged keel and flashing oar
The circles widen to its shore;
And cultured field and peopled town
Slope to its willowed margin down.
Yet, while this morning breeze is bringing
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Song Of America
And now, when poets are singing
Their songs of olden days,
And now, when the land is ringing
With sweet Centennial lays,
My muse goes wandering backward,
To the groundwork of all these,
To the time when our Pilgrim Fathers
Came over the winter seas.
The sons of a mighty kingdom,
Of a cultured folk were they;
Born amidst pomp and splendor,
Bred in it day by day.
Children of bloom and beauty,
Reared under skies serene,
Where the daisy and hawthorne blossomed,
And the ivy was always green.
And yet, for the sake of freedom,
For a free religious faith,
They turned from home and people,
And stood face to face with death.
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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