Bag Poems - Poems about Bag

If you own a dog, at some point you Will be carrying a bag of poo, At least if you’re considerate And follow laws regarding s#%*. There are some, though, who flout the rules And think that bagging crap’s for fools. A joke said, aliens did land And, struggling to understand, Determined that the smarter race Were not the humans, for their place Was...

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Footsteps fade where sidewalks end, stories told in weathered skin. Cardboard kingdoms, borrowed ground, a life unseen, without a sound. The city hums, its lights embrace, yet shadows slip between its grace. Hands once held, now pockets bare, eyes that search, but find no stare. The wind knows names the world forgets, whispers woven in regrets. A resting place beneath the sky— another night, still asking...

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that would be perfect maybe a touch excessive as it's enormous for just a basic meal deal scissors and hair dye of course there is the lipstick but it will be fine for several pairs of shoes plus changes of clothes when I get tomorrow's train towards Manchester speedily changing platforms to another town where landlords still accept cash and don't ask questions my bruises will fade in time I...

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Eyes close head tilt back... As I arrived out of thin air the sand was warm to touch the tide rush in from the shore water cool as it covered my feet rays from the sun heat my skin I searched for a lounger under a tent table had a tray of things to enjoy shades, fruits, books, and...

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I brought everything in a bag. Feeling my arms sag. In that place, they gave us blankets. In that place, they gave us regrets. But all those memories are for another time. I packed it all up, leaving the walls I would climb. I used that bag year after year. I used it to pack gym...

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A bag of bones tucked in the trees, Nestled against the fence, Camouflaged by branches and leaves, Heavy with the weight of death. It tells a story of mystery, No longer here in this world, but in the stillness of the bones— Once a living, breathing form. An animal of sorts, Fallen prey, Once roaming the orchard, Living off the land, Day in, day out, Surviving at...

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I am my mother’s verbal punching bag. When she has a bad day, I pay the price. I can’t stop her daily verbal attack, Because nothing I do will e’er suffice. The things she says are unforgivable; Her insults are like acid on my hands. Her kind comments have always been minimal, But what else would you expect from my mom? I pick...

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Alvin Bragg Is Such A Ragged Bag Of Political Corruption. God Bless His Little (Corrupt) Heart....

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Why is it that a garbage bag when full and being “put out” will always lean in exactly the opposite direction to the one you’re aiming for no matter how you position that bag before putting it down intending it to lean away from you it always, always leans towards you you can rotate that pesky bag into a thousand different positions applying microscopic adjustments and...

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Do not try there is no use You will only badly lose Running will not do a thing When I find you it will bring Only more pain you caused this When you took a closed up fist Hitting my friend in the face There is not a single place You can hide so watch your back There are bruises from the smacks Many times...

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The hourglass is almost empty The candle was almost spent The compass only points one way The clock is about to strike twelve My stopwatch doesn't work anymore The mirror tells me lies I no longer know who the stranger is My bed isn't so comfortable anymore The picture on the wall has faded With little definition like it used to before Even my teeth...

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Just a Haiku’s You made me dumb drunk I gave a for your mind It was just a Dim of mind you are Thinking that a is love It was just a Paper bag o'er head Is how I wished you to be It was just a When I did you It was her face I did see It was...

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Grab Bag Poems and Epigrams POEMS Less Heroic Couplets: Dark Cloud, Silver Lining, Dupes from “Love in the Time of the Coronavirus” by Michael R. Burch Every corona has a silver lining: I’m too far away to hear your whining, and despite my stormy demeanor, my hands have never been cleaner! The Difference by Michael R. Burch The chimneysweeps will weep for Blake, who wrote his poems for their dear...

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A plastic bag drifting through the wind Under the circumstances then nobody cares an empty plastic bag drifting through the quiet cold breeze wondering where you will take me the places we will go a plastic bag drifting through the snow shivering cold it's a piece of trash nobody cares about a dumb plastic...

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My room was a mess I left an empty plastic bag on the floor, by the bed And when I walked around It stuck to my feet And I shook it off My room, still a mess Plastic bag stuck to my feet once again I shook it off, creating bother But it remained on the same stop Dirty room, bloody tissues...

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