byChrisWhite – 2024
This elegy was written in response to a challenge to write anything in any genre about the word “Garbage” from the #FOIC Prompt Poetry Challenge, which had to be 500 words or less. The first thing that popped into my mind were radicals. I was inspired by a great deal of radical ideologies that seem to permeate our society from multiple angles. Religious, Political, you name it. So I juxtaposed the word Garbage for Radicals, and created the following Elegy. I decided on the Elegy genre in hopes that radicalism will die, and therefore the elegy become emblematic of its demise. I hope you enjoy.
They built their world from garbage, not as a metaphor, but as a sacrament. It was in the blackened ribcage of discarded televisions and the sickened, sun-scabbed bones of milk jugs where they saw the cathedral of their purpose. Radicals, all of them, baptized in piss and petroleum, dreaming of fire. They spoke with the tongues of the dead and believed themselves clean. They weren’t.
There is a rot that speaks. Not in syllables. In stench. In the low music of decay that rises from the earth when it is made to swallow what man discards, rinds of fruit and dogmas, the husks of worn-out ideologies wrapped in newsprint and gutshot hyperbole. The revolutionaries come wrapped in masks made from flags or scripture or feathers of guilt, shouting purity while they rot inward. Left, right, green, red, it’s all the same ochre smoke when the burn barrel is lit.
I walked once through a landfill where birds circled as priests over a mass grave. Children scavenged for copper wire with hands cut to ribbon and teeth the color of rust. An old man blessed the heap with a plastic cross he found stuck through a diaper. And behind him, graffiti in three languages cursed the government, the corporations, the infidels, the unbelievers, the polluters, the elite, the pigs. All the words smudged into each other like oil on water. All the names for the same god.
Every revolution piles up somewhere. Behind slogans are the crates. Behind crates are the bodies. Behind bodies, the rats. They do not pray, but they remember.
It is not the garbage we throw away that damns us. It is the garbage we cling to.
They come in sandals and suits, in fatigues and white robes, bearing manifestos or molotovs or tweets. They spit when they speak of the other. They mutter about the old order while cradling the bones of the new. The refuse piles higher. Words are never burned clean.
And so they gather at the landfill’s edge like mourners. But there are no names on the bags, no epitaphs for the wrecked dreams of purity. Only their wind, gaseous expulsions of sick sulphur, lifting bits of plastic like the flags of nations already forgotten.
May they all rot together. May their ashes decompose into silence covered by a bed of maggots.
Ramblings & Revelations 
Responses
Wow, this reads like a poetic manifesto :-)
LikeLiked by 2 people
The first thing that popped into my head when I saw the word Garbage, was radicalism. Oh well. Maybe a bit dark.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sometimes the darkness is what we need to acknowledge before we see how much light we need to shine
LikeLiked by 1 person
i used to wonder if this clerisy could be altogether struck from the world, but then I realized it just takes on a different name in each new age of man.
well written. Mike
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you Mike. Yeah, I think we’re stuck with it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very powerful. Wonderfully written. So true of the world in so many ways. I particularly found the ending disturbing because there seems no escape from the hatred people feel for each other and, possibly, themselves. H
PS: Have you considered shortening the prose to make a poem out of it?
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Hilary. The piece was conceived as the result of a writing prompt using the word “garbage”. I juxtaposed the word “garbage” with “radicals,” the first idea that popped in my head, and decided on the elegy format rather intentionally. The reason the closing is so dark is due to the nature of extremism, and its unwillingness to let go and die.
LikeLike
Ah, interesting. Yes, an elegy makes sense now.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I wrote a song that helps me understand why. I’ll forward a link to “Caution Wet Floors”.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you. Looking forward to it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great Post ❤️🔥
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you very much.
LikeLike
It is not the garbage we throw away that damns us. It is the garbage we cling to. Whew! This hit home!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thankful for your support Violet. Always.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, Chris. This is powerful, visceral, moving, poetic. What a statement. It resonates, laying bare the deep corruption that festers around us. There’s a madness in this vision of “hell on earth.” That human beings created this, and cling to it, is terrifying. Amazing writing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much. I really appreciate your kind support.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That photograph says it all.
LikeLiked by 3 people
That took some serious research. The words seemed to fall in place, once I juxtaposed the right trigger. Haha
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can believe that!
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks for visiting my site. I would be thrilled if you’d write a guest blog post for my site. If you think it might be fun or helpful to have my followers (who total about 10k across my various social media) meet you, here’s the link for general guidelines:
LikeLiked by 1 person
I would be delighted to write something. I have a project deadline at the moment, will reach out with something interesting soon. Thanks for reaching out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful! Whenever you’re ready or if you have questions please email me at contactdaal@gmail.com
Good luck with your project!
LikeLiked by 1 person