What is a junkyard? It is a yard full of trash obviously, and it smells bad usually too. It is full of treasures and wonders the world has long since forgotten about and left behind.
I have typically thought of a junkyard as a badass scene populated by dogs with a natural ferocity and hungry bellies and filled with piles of potential treasures that reaffirm that old adage about one man’s discardings. Lately though, I’ve felt like the junkyard, full of the disposal and patrolled by a deep-seated agitation and I’ve come to realize that very few people come here for the treasures, most just come to leave behind their junk.
But I let them in anyway.
there is a large heap of green grocery bags
it looks as if someone has piled them all together
so methodically
maybe they did
it’s strange to ponder
i wouldn’t take the time, probably
but then again, i am spending more than a moment just gazing upon this
work of art
it astounds me
makes me thing
makes me wonder
brazil, the people in the film were piling garbage into filmsy plastic trashcans. missing teeth, but gorgeous caramel skin. luminescent, but surrounded by trash. it must smell so bad. they run around without shoes on, how are their feet not town to shreds? and the little black boys scampering around through the rubbish. the man who truly thinks he can change the world.
Lol junkyard. I used to live in a junkyard. That isn’t true. Don’t believe it. I like seashells. That has nothing to do with junkyards. Unless you found a seashell in a junkyard. Ha, that would be weird. I found my pet worm, Lloyd, in a junkyard. I don’t have a worm. I’m not Lloyd. No! It’s a lie!!! SHELLY!
The junkyard was a sanctuary for the strays. They loved it there. They searched the holes and looked for treasures, or at least something they could have for supper. The people drove past and thought, What a waste. An eyesore. Why don’t they clean that mess up? But there was life there, hiding behind the metal cans and the old tires. Hiding behind everything that has been tossed and thrown away, there is something beautiful, just looking for something to love it back. I wonder if they ever find it. Probably not in the junkyard.
the junkyard was filled with suff that nobody wanted anymore. That is, no one who threw the stuff away. The stuff was not really trash – just somebody’s junk. Somebody else might look in and see treasures they need to finish their castle ofdreams. There’s ladder for reaching the top bunk and over there is a bowl that is perfect for holding yarn for scarves. Ohlook – A box of buttons! I need those. and over there is n almost-perfectly new chair. Rachel could paint it and sell it on Craigslist! I have some pink paint, you know!
a junkyard can hold many things
lost treasures
unwanted memories
sometimes we condemn it
when for someone else it could be their life
who are we to judge?
to be honest, they’re amazing
appreciate them
they may be gone some day
:/
This place was no better than a junkyard. It was littered with banana peels that threatened to make you slip and fall on your face, there were dirty clothes everywhere, and dust gathered on surfaces. You brushed your hand across the knob of the door to turn it open and you’ll find dust on your fingers. That was how he had lived up till now. It didn’t matter, he was an orphan, with no one to care for him. Who cared how he lived? Of course, if he ever wanted a girlfriend, he might start to care.
The junkyard, scattered about it are a collection of things that once were valuable but are no longer. I belong there, scattered among, pieces, scampering to find all the glass shards that make my heart. Desperately, I dig, my hands bleeding from the sharp pieces, my heart slowly pumping itself alive again. But I am missing one piece, and I left it behind in the junkyard. Never to be found again.
Thin, knobby hands caressed each piece of the mountain with the same delicate precision as they stitched, healed and bled life into bodies, organs and arteries. His misfortunates were many but his commitment was steady. He dug and dug for anything metal, sharp and straight to start his work on the man who waited just under the canopy of the interstate for an operation which would take or preserve what life he had left.
In the plot down by the old factory we built our paradise. It served as an old junkyard, but to us it was an elysian rest area. We played and lived out our childish fantasies, invoking our more adult thought processes.
So you have this junkyard. Its sitting next to you, just like your shadow. The thruth is, this is all the things you’ve kept. All the memories, all the stories. You hope that by preserving them you will feel better, but no. They are just sitting there, as a junkyard, being that precisely. Yunk.
In the junkyard, i found a flower,
It was beautiful, filled with love and power,
Sometimes i forget to water it, and it withers,
this flower is my heart, and now its bitter,
So you have a junkyard. It is right there, sitting next to you. Like a shadow. It is all those memories, al those things you wish to preserve because you think they will make you feel better. no. They are just a junkyard. Your own personal one.
My mind is a junkyard. Full of forgotten memories, has beens and could have beens, none of which are relevant The final resting place for my sanity, this junkyard.
Thade fumbled through the treacherous piles of junk. Falling every time he got close to the top, the poor sob kept trying. “What are we looking for again?” He yelled over his shoulder at the woman sitting by the base. “You’ll know it when you see it.” She called sweetly.
I feel like my brain is a bit of a junkyard, unfortunately. I have so much going on it, and most of it truly is junk or unwholesome, unnecessary things. However, among trash is always some treasure. I have thoughts and feelings that are validated and good and nice at the same time. I just need to increase the treasure and lose some of the trash. Maybe I will one day be able to do this. =)
Charles ran through the junkyard, screaming and naked, swinging around a shovel handle. On his head, he wore a metal bucket, which had fallen down, covering his eyes, blocking his vision. The barks from the rottweiler/pit bull mix chasing him accompanied snarls, menacing growls, and a spray of slobber. A loud clang marked the end of the chase and the beginning of the dog’s decoration of his extremities.
I followed the line of orange-clad med from the quiet halls through the doors of the cafeteria, and was immediately enveloped in a frenzy of noise. Conversations carried on in baritone growls, with harsh and joyless laughter occasionally shattering the even-toned mantra that filled the room. Two men with shaved heads and hairy faces were fighting over some leftover loaf of meat, like two junkyard dobermans tugging on a ragged tire.
junkyard that reminds me of the word junk which reminds me of the word butt. that’s disgusting that a word such as this which actually is a locational spot has to remind me of something perverted. that’s what music does to us these days i suppose like fergie’s song that says my junk my junk my junk my junk my junk. thisr eminds me of a guy’s junk which you hear about all the time. why hwy does it have to be all pervereted what the heck what the heck… and yard? t
the dog was brown, though was once grey. It lived in the junkyard where preyed upon the garbage of uncaring city folk. Nameless, homless, it buried into heaps of trash for warmth in the coldest of winter evenings and made friends with rodents.
“Wait, where are you taking me???” he shouted. “Shut up!” I said. “But…but…but…NOOOO!!!” The junkyard was in sight and my ’87 Cabriolet was fighting me. The gears weren’t shifting, the brakes weren’t working, we plowed into a heap of scrap metal, and it was I that was buried in the junkyard.
I have always wanted to explore a junkyard. I picture it like an episode of “Hoarders” on acceptable and mostly outside. I like to think that the cars there were someone
s first car. a first date. they hold so many stories i wish i could know each one.
I have a lot in my junkyard. I keep too much around. But I think I have been better about it. Mostly its because of him. He has moved me to a beautiful valley that I never want to leave. I don’t have to be in the junkyard anymore. I don’t have to sift though the garbage and shit. All I need is him.
A junkyard dog can sometimes be the best dog you will ever have. He may not look good, or smell sweet, but I bet he will keep you safe and be your best mate.
I was walking through the junkyard one day and all of a sudden a giant monkeysaurse egg fell from the heavens and landed at my feet. i picked it up and it hatched and out came the monkysaurse
i might as well be a piece of trash in a junkyard, if you never saw me, never understood the complexity of my feelings towards you. It’s frustrating, you know? I feel so inadequate next to you. I hate you, but I love you. If only you knew how you make me smile, how you run through my mind in the most mundane of times. How I dream about you. Don’t worry, these dreams will fade away soon. It’s hard to love someone, when they don’t even look at you. It’s hard to love someone who sees you as nothing more than a piece of trash, laying carelessly in the stagnant air of a desolate junkyard.
A junkyard, some person’s junk may be anothers treasure. But what to find? What to see? the towering metals with all the possibility for art, the toys lost in time without love, the broken down car that might have been easy to fix, or possibly just trash doomed to lingre on the earth forever. But what to find, what to see? Could be very beautiful, if you ask me.
One day i had to go to the junkyard….a very spooky place that could frighten off the most daring of daredevils…so i bought a car and drove home… the end
They are a direct result of people not recycling and doing their part in helping the environment. If people stopped throwing everything away and actually recycled, then all this trash wouldn’t be piling up in junkyards. It’s sad, seeing something as ugly as a junkyard somewhere, when there could be a park in its place.
I’m just trying to prove myself as the best. Maybe then you’ll notice me. Because I feel like all I am is part of a heap of trash, a junkyard you pay no mind to–just one of the many scraps thrown aside. I’m just one of them.
Maybe if I can clean myself up, get my act together–maybe then I can shine. Even if I just have to paint gold over myself for you to notice me. But then I’d also be afraid; because then I don’t know what I’d do if my plating of gold began to chip away, and you saw the poor rust of me underneath it.
We took a field trip to a long deserted beach, where the tide had once lapped at the sand we stood on, but had since receded back a few hundred feet.
Littered in the sand were old gadgets and gizmos that people in the beach houses had once owned.
My eye caught onto a telephone from the 70’s. It was long antiquated and the paint peeled in banana yellow strips, but I knew the receiver had once listened in on whispered conversations, and the spin dial had once turned round and round to reach the voice of beloved friends. It held memories, so many old memories. Why would anyone want to throw that out?
Scattered on the deserted beach were more objects of the like, antique and rusting in time.
But to me, it wasn’t a junkyard, it was a trove of treasures.
my brain is a junkyard mismash of mis-shaped loathing.i guess that was why i loved you.you reinforced the image that i was unworthy.everyone i ever loved treated me that way.i thought i loved you because i believed you were different.that you saw me in a brighter light.but after years of thinking about it,i realize how dim i really am.you saw me for an unmistakable failure and bled ever inch of me out of it
by i bet you think this song is about you on 11.14.2010
Where we were supposed to go for sculpture class, but never did. There’s still time, of course, but for some reason it slips my mind each time I wish to mention it to the teacher. I would actually enjoy picking through a junkyard for inspiration and materials, so if we don’t end up going I want my money back.
What is a junkyard? It is a yard full of trash obviously, and it smells bad usually too. It is full of treasures and wonders the world has long since forgotten about and left behind.
I have typically thought of a junkyard as a badass scene populated by dogs with a natural ferocity and hungry bellies and filled with piles of potential treasures that reaffirm that old adage about one man’s discardings. Lately though, I’ve felt like the junkyard, full of the disposal and patrolled by a deep-seated agitation and I’ve come to realize that very few people come here for the treasures, most just come to leave behind their junk.
But I let them in anyway.
there is a large heap of green grocery bags
it looks as if someone has piled them all together
so methodically
maybe they did
it’s strange to ponder
i wouldn’t take the time, probably
but then again, i am spending more than a moment just gazing upon this
work of art
it astounds me
makes me thing
makes me wonder
Many people who are hoarders, need to throw their stuff in the junkyard.
brazil, the people in the film were piling garbage into filmsy plastic trashcans. missing teeth, but gorgeous caramel skin. luminescent, but surrounded by trash. it must smell so bad. they run around without shoes on, how are their feet not town to shreds? and the little black boys scampering around through the rubbish. the man who truly thinks he can change the world.
Lol junkyard. I used to live in a junkyard. That isn’t true. Don’t believe it. I like seashells. That has nothing to do with junkyards. Unless you found a seashell in a junkyard. Ha, that would be weird. I found my pet worm, Lloyd, in a junkyard. I don’t have a worm. I’m not Lloyd. No! It’s a lie!!! SHELLY!
The junkyard was a sanctuary for the strays. They loved it there. They searched the holes and looked for treasures, or at least something they could have for supper. The people drove past and thought, What a waste. An eyesore. Why don’t they clean that mess up? But there was life there, hiding behind the metal cans and the old tires. Hiding behind everything that has been tossed and thrown away, there is something beautiful, just looking for something to love it back. I wonder if they ever find it. Probably not in the junkyard.
the junkyard was filled with suff that nobody wanted anymore. That is, no one who threw the stuff away. The stuff was not really trash – just somebody’s junk. Somebody else might look in and see treasures they need to finish their castle ofdreams. There’s ladder for reaching the top bunk and over there is a bowl that is perfect for holding yarn for scarves. Ohlook – A box of buttons! I need those. and over there is n almost-perfectly new chair. Rachel could paint it and sell it on Craigslist! I have some pink paint, you know!
a junkyard can hold many things
lost treasures
unwanted memories
sometimes we condemn it
when for someone else it could be their life
who are we to judge?
to be honest, they’re amazing
appreciate them
they may be gone some day
:/
This place was no better than a junkyard. It was littered with banana peels that threatened to make you slip and fall on your face, there were dirty clothes everywhere, and dust gathered on surfaces. You brushed your hand across the knob of the door to turn it open and you’ll find dust on your fingers. That was how he had lived up till now. It didn’t matter, he was an orphan, with no one to care for him. Who cared how he lived? Of course, if he ever wanted a girlfriend, he might start to care.
The junkyard, scattered about it are a collection of things that once were valuable but are no longer. I belong there, scattered among, pieces, scampering to find all the glass shards that make my heart. Desperately, I dig, my hands bleeding from the sharp pieces, my heart slowly pumping itself alive again. But I am missing one piece, and I left it behind in the junkyard. Never to be found again.
a junkyard of treasures
a rusty old car, more thin air
than metal anymore,
was home to a family of small
yellow flowers
old engines and wheels
were covered in vines
nature took over
where technology had
failed
Thin, knobby hands caressed each piece of the mountain with the same delicate precision as they stitched, healed and bled life into bodies, organs and arteries. His misfortunates were many but his commitment was steady. He dug and dug for anything metal, sharp and straight to start his work on the man who waited just under the canopy of the interstate for an operation which would take or preserve what life he had left.
In the plot down by the old factory we built our paradise. It served as an old junkyard, but to us it was an elysian rest area. We played and lived out our childish fantasies, invoking our more adult thought processes.
So you have this junkyard. Its sitting next to you, just like your shadow. The thruth is, this is all the things you’ve kept. All the memories, all the stories. You hope that by preserving them you will feel better, but no. They are just sitting there, as a junkyard, being that precisely. Yunk.
In the junkyard, i found a flower,
It was beautiful, filled with love and power,
Sometimes i forget to water it, and it withers,
this flower is my heart, and now its bitter,
So you have a junkyard. It is right there, sitting next to you. Like a shadow. It is all those memories, al those things you wish to preserve because you think they will make you feel better. no. They are just a junkyard. Your own personal one.
Filthy. Whore. Trash bag. Dirty. Metal scraps. Decay. Rot. Disturbing.
Treasures. Savings.
JUNKYARD JUNKFACE. gross.
My mind is a junkyard. Full of forgotten memories, has beens and could have beens, none of which are relevant The final resting place for my sanity, this junkyard.
Thade fumbled through the treacherous piles of junk. Falling every time he got close to the top, the poor sob kept trying. “What are we looking for again?” He yelled over his shoulder at the woman sitting by the base. “You’ll know it when you see it.” She called sweetly.
I feel like my brain is a bit of a junkyard, unfortunately. I have so much going on it, and most of it truly is junk or unwholesome, unnecessary things. However, among trash is always some treasure. I have thoughts and feelings that are validated and good and nice at the same time. I just need to increase the treasure and lose some of the trash. Maybe I will one day be able to do this. =)
Charles ran through the junkyard, screaming and naked, swinging around a shovel handle. On his head, he wore a metal bucket, which had fallen down, covering his eyes, blocking his vision. The barks from the rottweiler/pit bull mix chasing him accompanied snarls, menacing growls, and a spray of slobber. A loud clang marked the end of the chase and the beginning of the dog’s decoration of his extremities.
I followed the line of orange-clad med from the quiet halls through the doors of the cafeteria, and was immediately enveloped in a frenzy of noise. Conversations carried on in baritone growls, with harsh and joyless laughter occasionally shattering the even-toned mantra that filled the room. Two men with shaved heads and hairy faces were fighting over some leftover loaf of meat, like two junkyard dobermans tugging on a ragged tire.
junkyard that reminds me of the word junk which reminds me of the word butt. that’s disgusting that a word such as this which actually is a locational spot has to remind me of something perverted. that’s what music does to us these days i suppose like fergie’s song that says my junk my junk my junk my junk my junk. thisr eminds me of a guy’s junk which you hear about all the time. why hwy does it have to be all pervereted what the heck what the heck… and yard? t
the dog was brown, though was once grey. It lived in the junkyard where preyed upon the garbage of uncaring city folk. Nameless, homless, it buried into heaps of trash for warmth in the coldest of winter evenings and made friends with rodents.
Mental junkyard filled of
Past fixations,
Verbal frustrations,
Present fixations,
Rapid palpitations,
Invasive radiations,
And broken translations.
“Wait, where are you taking me???” he shouted. “Shut up!” I said. “But…but…but…NOOOO!!!” The junkyard was in sight and my ’87 Cabriolet was fighting me. The gears weren’t shifting, the brakes weren’t working, we plowed into a heap of scrap metal, and it was I that was buried in the junkyard.
I have always wanted to explore a junkyard. I picture it like an episode of “Hoarders” on acceptable and mostly outside. I like to think that the cars there were someone
s first car. a first date. they hold so many stories i wish i could know each one.
I have a lot in my junkyard. I keep too much around. But I think I have been better about it. Mostly its because of him. He has moved me to a beautiful valley that I never want to leave. I don’t have to be in the junkyard anymore. I don’t have to sift though the garbage and shit. All I need is him.
A junkyard dog can sometimes be the best dog you will ever have. He may not look good, or smell sweet, but I bet he will keep you safe and be your best mate.
I was walking through the junkyard one day and all of a sudden a giant monkeysaurse egg fell from the heavens and landed at my feet. i picked it up and it hatched and out came the monkysaurse
i might as well be a piece of trash in a junkyard, if you never saw me, never understood the complexity of my feelings towards you. It’s frustrating, you know? I feel so inadequate next to you. I hate you, but I love you. If only you knew how you make me smile, how you run through my mind in the most mundane of times. How I dream about you. Don’t worry, these dreams will fade away soon. It’s hard to love someone, when they don’t even look at you. It’s hard to love someone who sees you as nothing more than a piece of trash, laying carelessly in the stagnant air of a desolate junkyard.
A junkyard, some person’s junk may be anothers treasure. But what to find? What to see? the towering metals with all the possibility for art, the toys lost in time without love, the broken down car that might have been easy to fix, or possibly just trash doomed to lingre on the earth forever. But what to find, what to see? Could be very beautiful, if you ask me.
One day i had to go to the junkyard….a very spooky place that could frighten off the most daring of daredevils…so i bought a car and drove home… the end
CAAAAAAAARS
SPOOOOOOKYYYYY
They are a direct result of people not recycling and doing their part in helping the environment. If people stopped throwing everything away and actually recycled, then all this trash wouldn’t be piling up in junkyards. It’s sad, seeing something as ugly as a junkyard somewhere, when there could be a park in its place.
I’m just trying to prove myself as the best. Maybe then you’ll notice me. Because I feel like all I am is part of a heap of trash, a junkyard you pay no mind to–just one of the many scraps thrown aside. I’m just one of them.
Maybe if I can clean myself up, get my act together–maybe then I can shine. Even if I just have to paint gold over myself for you to notice me. But then I’d also be afraid; because then I don’t know what I’d do if my plating of gold began to chip away, and you saw the poor rust of me underneath it.
We took a field trip to a long deserted beach, where the tide had once lapped at the sand we stood on, but had since receded back a few hundred feet.
Littered in the sand were old gadgets and gizmos that people in the beach houses had once owned.
My eye caught onto a telephone from the 70’s. It was long antiquated and the paint peeled in banana yellow strips, but I knew the receiver had once listened in on whispered conversations, and the spin dial had once turned round and round to reach the voice of beloved friends. It held memories, so many old memories. Why would anyone want to throw that out?
Scattered on the deserted beach were more objects of the like, antique and rusting in time.
But to me, it wasn’t a junkyard, it was a trove of treasures.
my brain is a junkyard mismash of mis-shaped loathing.i guess that was why i loved you.you reinforced the image that i was unworthy.everyone i ever loved treated me that way.i thought i loved you because i believed you were different.that you saw me in a brighter light.but after years of thinking about it,i realize how dim i really am.you saw me for an unmistakable failure and bled ever inch of me out of it
Where we were supposed to go for sculpture class, but never did. There’s still time, of course, but for some reason it slips my mind each time I wish to mention it to the teacher. I would actually enjoy picking through a junkyard for inspiration and materials, so if we don’t end up going I want my money back.
he went to the junkyard to see what new items he could find for his new project. painting and creating intricate sculptures was his passion