Rubbish

The world is full of rubbish
I see it all around
Strewn along the pavements
And scattered ‘cross the ground

It hangs on outstretched branches
Like washing on a line
Dumped into the river
Oh, aint it such a crime

You'll find it in the gutter
Amassed around the trees
Tangled in the hedges
And carried by the breeze

Blown around like tumbleweed
You'll find it everywhere
It wraps around my feet
Then flies into my hair

So if you are responsible
For putting it about
Shame on you because its clear
You're just a litter-lout!

And hence, my friend, I ask you
What should we do with it -
Put it in the dustbin
But make sure it will fit

There's also verbal rubbish
That rolls right off the tongue
The stuff that's made of words
That rattle all day long

You'll hear it on the telly
Which isn't very good
I'm sure you will agree
It's just a heap of crud

Some politicians spout it
And those who have no brains
Writers even write it
When nothing else remains

So, all my fellow poets,
If what you have to say
Amounts to simply rubbish
Then put your pen away

Methinks the time is coming
To take my final bow
Terminate this nonsense
And end it, stop it now

I know what you are thinking
(Some words I can't repeat)
This rhyme's a load of rubbish
Which PH should delete

by Valerie Dohren

Comments (4)

Beautiful, beautiful. Distant memory from English class P.S.169. Teacher, Marie Buek. Wonderful teacher. Lovely human being.
I have tried to like Longfellow, but his efforts to write an American 'Hermann Und Dorothea' (as here) and to take American poetry down Klopstockian pathways, don't do it for me. The languages are different and so are the sensibilities of the writers. In the end, he's derivative and lacks edge, though his ambition is boundless. His thought and description is commonplace and 'grand' in the worst sense and ultimately vapid- typical of Victorian America.
A very wonferful story told in prose-poetry form....
Another GREAT poem, Mr Longfellows' descriptions of nature are hypnotising.