It was found on the street,and then put in the trunk.And it topped off a full load of nothing but junk.Though it no longer ran,but was so very clean,`twas the junkiest junk that ever was seen.When I got it home,they said "see if it starts." Then I had noticed,its missing some parts.So I then looked around for some parts I could use,then I had thought,how much time could I lose? So I looked at the clock and I found lots of stuff.Then I had wondered,is all this enough? I got it to work.It worked well but was old.I decided to keep it unless it got sold.Many things have I found,all that had been thrown out,and that`s what this story was really about.
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Posted: Oct 2013
About this poem:
I wrote "The junk collector`s bedtime story"simply to put into words what is one favorite American pastime.As a part time flea market vendor,I just hate to see anything good going to waste.If I find stuff that nobody else wants,I will find out why they got rid of it.If I can fix it,OK.I might use it,keep it,sell it,or trade it.If nothing else,use it for parts to repair other stuff.Some stuff that`s no good I might still save to use as an example to match up replacement parts.If I find something and then discover that its` completely worthless,I can always just put it back where I found it.What really gets me is that people throw stuff out 5 minutes before they need it,only for me to fix it and sell it right back to them.The resale value is ultimately,only as much as what people are willing to pay.But if you have a lot of good used items,if you sell it for a cheap price,you won`t be able to sell it fast enough.
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I really am a real guy.I really do exist.I messaged you with no response,yet I continue to persist.By not responding to the guys who have read your profile views,you make this out to be a game where you and us will lose. A game in which I cannot win but still will always try.What is so hard about messaging back to simply just say hi? These free dating websites are only just a game, for many different people to play, who all are quite the same.They have many issues that might all be solved,but the ones who can do it just won`t get involved. We all have been stiffed. We`ve been cribbled and burned, some people have even been sued. For most of them they still have`nt learned it was caused by their own attitude. I decided why not? I`ll just take a chance. After all, this whole website is free. But what everyone knows is the way that it goes there`s simply no guarantee. When responses are made, words go in a box which is only a square of containment. What the words then reveal is just not really real,only just cheap entertainment. Women`s profiles indeed, might list just what they need in hopes that some guy will just take`em. And once they`re acquainted, should the acquaintment get tainted, remember that`s just how they make`em.
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Posted: Oct 2013
About this poem:
This is a little something I made up that pretty well explains what a lot of people might have experienced(I for one) that might choose not to mention to anyone. Just had to do it.
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When I first got home,I felt really bad,disgusted and tired and almost got mad.So I then got some sleep just as if I had none,and I dreamt about all of the things I had done.I went out to find stuff just to bring it back home and to make up this story in the form of a poem.I first saw one item disassembled and curbed,a couchy old couch that remained undisturbed.I saw it,drove past it and just left it there.Then I looked on ahead and I noticed a chair.It was dirty and old but completely intact,and was covered with mold as a matter of fact.Then I found a sump pump,picked it up with one hand.Though its cord had been cut,it went right in the van. A sewing machine was the next thing in line.I took it and tried it,turned out to be fine.Then some rusty old shelves were found on the grass.I took them apart and I loaded them fast.When I got back home,put the stuff in a pile. After all,I just knew it would sit there awhile.It would sit through the snow and the wind and the rain,`til the next time I`d find stuff,much more would I gain.Then the day for the scrapyard would finally arrive.It made me feel great and really alive! There`s nothing like picking up junk off the street.When it`s turned in for money,now dat`s really neat!
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Posted: Oct 2013
About this poem:
"Dreams of the junk collector" is a sequel to "The junk collector`s bedtime story." It describes in more detail about a favorite American pastime.During the heavy rains of 2011,the areas surrounding Chicago experienced severe flooded streets and basements.The next day,people were throwing stuff out and transformed the town where I live into a picker`s paradise.That was in July,during my vacation! When I returned to work,my colleagues asked me where I went on vacation. I replied with "Nowhere,really." All I had to do was just drive around town and fill up the van with whatever good stuff I could find.I could not fill it up fast enough. Now,that`s my idea of a good time!
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This is a list of IBjunkin's Poems. Click here for IBjunkin's Poem List
IBjunkin Poetry (3)