I have everything I need
I am carrying all that I can
Nothing else will fit
as I head down the valley
The bag is getting heavier
my arm hurts
my shoulder aches
yet I can't put the bag down
I pass the villagers
They are staring but won't say a word
I adjust the bag to my other shoulder
it gets heavier, but I don't stop
I keep pushing forward
the more I trek ahead
the more the villager's stare
whispering, pointing
yet they don't actually say anything to me
I get to the foot of the mountain
I check my bag and its empty
everything is gone
however, there is no hole
my body is tired and weary
from carrying an empty bag
I look back and the villagers are gone
I am on this road alone
it was third platoon’s turn to leave
the safety of the wire
our platoon’s mission
search and destroy
the air was like a sauna with no relief
the jungle closed in on us
blocked out the sun
our packs weighed on us
as we humped twenty klicks
without a break
our jungle fatigues
hung heavy on us
failed to wick sweat away
from our bodies
we felt as though a
salty monsoon had soaked us
Johnson, on point, was
out in front probing
for the enemy
we all hoped the day
would end peacefully
we spread out
to lesson our chances
of mass casualties
we reached the village
mid afternoon
it was deserted
even the water buffalo was gone
we ripped up the floors
in each hootch looking for
the hidden enemy-but found none
when we finished searching
we pulled our Zippos from
our pockets and lit
the dry straw that served as
a roof on each one
and watched as the hootches roared up
in flames like a Roman candle on July 4
our lieutenant signaled for us to
take a break and we sat among
the debris some smoking
cigarettes others catching some zees
no one was
going home in a body bag
our day was a success
From the magician’s bag
a small seed spills into the mud
Of little consequence to onlooker bugs
just a soft plop – no splash or thud
Years later a full-grown tree stands there
the fragrance of her peaches filling the air
Ripe, plump and juicy, hanging heavy from each branch
Pick just one, ignite an avalanche…
Bottle of Vodka, one knitting needle
We only sell knitting needles in pairs.
Of Course, you do. All good things come in pairs.
Would you like a bag for life, save the planet.
A bag for life would be wonderful.
He lied, she thought.
But that was just typical of men.
She should show him the bag.
You said it was a bag for life.
But it’s not.
Look inside, you lied.
She sure didn’t feel good
Blood and blob
The Vodka did the job
Flush the lie
Now she could die
She didn’t die
Just cried
It didn’t help
Just the way she felt
Time moves on
Secret stays hidden
Tomorrow's another day
Just another day
But life is strange
He noticed she was heavily pregnant
Nice to see you’re still saving the planet
Yes, we all have to do our part
A bag for life
Treasured possession.
I pass the bag
thinking I need salt
the bag shakes, crinkles and laughs at me
“Open me! Open me!” she yells into my head.
I do not dare.
I cannot eat just one.
I can recall, going to work,
from the moment hired,
was more than a chore
until the day when I retired.
Now, I don't care a bag of beans,
it only serves to remind,
as, making the morning coffee,
has become the daily grind.
An old bag arrives, stripped bare,
A collection of memories that have left on their own.
The worn shoulder strap carries the lingering stories,
Entangled with the scattered branches of recollection.
Though she sleeps beside me,
I find myself longing to see her once more.
pum/mel ...... pound .….. pul-ver-ize
(left/right) (jab) (punch-down-out)
Just around life’s next corner
we have no clue what awaits us
~ know to expect the unexpected
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
A tea bag in the ocean,
small, fragile, trembling in vastness,
its string a whisper,
its paper skin thin against the tide.
It carries a world of fragrance within,
spices and leaves gathered from distant hills,
yet when cast into infinity
its essence bleeds gently, unseen,
lost to the salt and surge.
The ocean does not change—
its roar unmoved, its deep unshaken—
but the tea bag, emptied of itself,
becomes a ghost of what it was.
And still, there is a quiet beauty:
the courage of the small
meeting the enormity of the endless,
the offering of all it holds,
though the waves may never taste it.
To give, even if unnoticed,
to dissolve, even if forgotten,
to color a sea that cannot be colored,
and yet still try,
is to become a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable
to
God
Summer Winds
Amidst strong winds, John was treading the road
Carrying on his back a heavy load,
It was a pitiful sight
To brave the wind in such plight:
When load fell down, it showed a bag of toads!
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 picking up whatever lot
Their masters left with every squat.
In any case, when doggies do
Their business, making number two,
Their owners might hold back a gag
But will be left to hold the bag,
Unless, of course, that they refuse
And leave the mess for others’ shoes.
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 why.
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 will find a job
somehow I will start again
if I buy this bag
for me and my brand new life.
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 glass of ice
cooler with bottled wine and water
warmth and peace was my intentions
I exhaled my tension about winter blues
chose to open water and tasted fresh fruit
poured wine on sphere shaped ice cubes
put on shades, selected a book, and relaxed.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.