Best Bagful Poems
I am in my house,
With a panicked mouse.
Coming back from the fridge
Going through the sand-ridge
Into its hole in a jiffy
Then squeaking out - Yippee !
Then come two rats
With a hard pat on the back
Running along with its mate
Making things obfuscate
Around the bagful of nickels
Crossing the jar full of pickles
The rat and its mate came back trotting
With a block of cheese that was rotting
After some time in a line
Came a parade f rats and mice
With and hats and lice.
Everyone was mournful
But a mouse eating a mouthful
Who was happy and glad
Was making everyone sad.
He ate with nosh
Wearing a hat that was posh
After hogging and stuffing
He got up puffing,
Ready for his quest
Sqeaking good bye to the rest,
He leaped across a runnel
And ran into a thicket
Never to be spotted again.
I walked out to see my garden's beauty
Looking for vibrant colors to see
But before I could look he was all over me
Stung fourteen times by an angry bee
I was looking at a butterfly fluttering by
But a Blue Jay snatched it out of the sky
I transplanted a couple of ferns nearer to me
That turned out to be poison ivy
I stopped at some sweet blossoms to smell
But the mosquitos and chiggers were biting like hell
I also set out some vegetable plants
Soon they were carried away by the ants
I had a bagful of promising seeds
But what came up were aggressive weeds
Then I noticed a bunch of holes
Seems now my garden hosts a colony of moles
I won't let this garden get the better of me
It's now a great beauty for all to see
My new garden is quite fantastic
For now it's all made of plastic
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
07/28/20
My beautiful spring fresh flowers,
Budding after a rain showers.
Pretty butterflies are flying,
Flower to flower are spying.
The fountain was filled with water,
Did I see a swimming otter.
All the tall green weeds I must pull,
Now I have another bagful.
I am so tried and very hot,
All flowers are out of each pot.
Time to rest with a cup of tea,
Watch out here comes a yellow bee.
Date Written: 3/1/2022
Soup Syllable Count~All 8'ssss
Honorable Mention
A poem lovely as a Contest Judged: 3/4/2022
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
The Weight of Education
School bag
Backs sag
Heavy heart
Suitcase
Warped face
Outdated
Old bag
Rats nag
The Friendly Postman
Mailbag
Tails wag
Aviation Crisis
Handbag
Wrong tag
Trends
Rag bag
So swag
Time Travel
Pack bag
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Jet lag
Once upon a time
Once upon a time,
there lived kindest of souls;
In the trunk of a tree,
In a palace built within.
Illuminated the tree stood tall,
its fluorescence dripping in darkness;
As the sky pulled a black sheet,
sun calmly descended down the hills.
Thoughts rode on swift horses,
and travelled through the night sky;
Souls afloat amongst twinkling stars,
bathed in serene moonlit night.
With bagful of glittering gifts,
Fairies with a magic wand;
Granted all wishes and turned dreams true,
To unveil mysteries, heavens beyond.
As the morning sun rose,
desires returned and rested;
Embed deep in the hearts,
Once upon a time.
Written Feb 9th, 2017
For contest by Eve
Hopeful
Whispers in the corridor heard louder and closer,
as security man asks relatives to leave,
In recovery room post operative patients wait,
docs are on their way for morning round,
many queries unanswered pop up in minds.
breathes freshness in air
a tender bird spreads its wings
squirrels hop around
Mother is apprehensive to know about prognosis
as her only child suffers cancer for last two years,
bubbly charm lost in deep ocean of pain,
if playful school days could be back again ?
teachers return with bagful complaints
Of the naughtiest one.
a bright new sunrise
buds in vibrant colours bloom
shines the morning dew
Hope like a colourful feather floats in air to tempt
as they humbly pick and hand over to the mother,
her eyes twinkle, tears reflect the dazzle,
grateful to God for those kind healing hands,
He sent from heavens nourishing many souls.
the perishing seeds
saviours water in time
green revolution
Written Nov 19th, 2015
For contest "Creative haibun"
By Charlotte Puddifoot
Awarded 5th place win
Entered for Russell Sivey's contest
"Choose a topic" on Nov 15, 2017
My chosen topic is C- hope
Banal secrets…
Just another night.
He leaves
a bagful of snacks,
cans of emptiness
scattered on the lumpy couch,
in front of the tube
now broadcasting
a series
on those who are yet to return,
the traceless ones
the lost ones.
The verandah on which
he comes out at night
comes out amid night,
is touched by a sudden gust.
The wind has passed rivers and mountains.
It whispers the name of a sister,
full blood sister of this middle aged man,
who has kept her in heart
and in lungs, there is those nicotine sponged.
The waft calls his lost sister
Traceless, fade away.
He face the brazen night. Dark.
A clueless dog is barking. Is there an entity?
May be just a shadow from the life
he has buried in the town they used to live;
a town which has consumed
a girl returning from school; a town which has always
known this man’s, this brother’s folly.
But
he has only pushed her teasingly; a mere play;
the canal, the greedy canal, which has sucked a girl
sure is the one to be blamed for.
Still
he harks the screams in his suppressed dreams.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
In my remote village a long time ago
From town came a man of twenty or so
Set up a smart machine called gristmill
Times have changed but it’s there still.
Every weekend I had to go there to share
A duty that for me became a routine affair
Take a bagful of fresh wheat grain to grind
In the mill that produced flour so refined.
The sound of the crusher was harsh incessant
The attitude of the man was equally indecent
For he made me wait a long while for my turn
The unseemly reason I could never discern.
Despite this touch of forced discomfort
My weekly tryst with the gristmill was of worth
For the floating aroma of freshly ground wheat
Dipped me in cool scent of corn field in summer heat.
When I’m crumbled now under the time’s wheel
I see me standing before the village gristmill
In the midst of cacophony and grinding strife
I can still smell the scent of the crushed life.
Posted : June 3, 2018
June 18, 2020
Contest : Crushed
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco
This is a story of an old couple who had no children of their own.
One day while the old woman was washing clothes at a nearby river, she saw a large rosy peach floating downstream.
She got ahold of it to give to the old man.
Yet, before he had a bite of it, the rosy peach burst open.
It had no large seed in it, but a baby boy.
The baby ate the peach and became very strong and healthy.
The old couple took care of him as he grew to be the strongest and healthiest baby in the whole countryside.
The old couple named him 'Momotaro', the Peach Boy, a secret kept only to themselves.
One day, Momotaro asked his mother, the old woman, to make him a bagful of 'kimi-dango', a Japanese millet dumpling, for him to take on a journey to Ogre's Island and take their treasure from them.
He left the couple with the kimi-dango bag tied to his waist.
He came upon a monkey who says to him, "Kia, Kia!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the monkey said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon a pheasant who says, "Ken, Ken!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the pheasant said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon a dog who says, "Bow, Wow, Wow!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the dog said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon Ogre Island where Momotaro reveals his plan.
The pheasant must flu over the castle gate and peck at the Ogre's, and the monkey must climb over the castle wall and pinch the Ogre's and the dog and I will break the bolt and the dog will bite the Ogre's and I will fight with the Ogre's.
A great battle then ensued.
"Kia, Kia!", "Ken, Ken!", "Bow Wow Wow!", was heard from sun to sun, ending with all the ogre's tied and the treasure was shared between the four.
Date: 06/16/2019
It’s just become almost an usual ache,
At night longing for rest, I stay awake;
Sleep accosts me hardly ever these days,
As I keep on tossing indifferent ways;
Slumber remains aloof and disdainful….
I coax it to share my pillow, its rightful,
This way or that, my sleep plays coy,
My ploys are useless without any joy.
The night turns me helpless with desire….
Shuteye eludes the clock ticks on, in mire;
Known and alien faces make their rounds-
Seamlessly the day makes up lost grounds.
I don't know why I cannot sleep, it’s a dread,
Slowly I stagger out of the hot rumpled bed.
Restless nights take me to my cabinet of stocks….
I’ll perhaps have some McCallan upon the rocks;
And hope its charm will work and do the trick~
I just need to get some bagful of sleep, thick.
As the skies show traces of colour of the dawn……
The stars dip their light slowly,the moon too gone;
Ah, to sleep to sleep, ‘as my eyelids dips over fast -
The mind on fire,on the bed I fall back, asleep at last!!
Where a bargain is not a play on words;
I grip the cart eager to seek discounted goods,
Beautifully arranged on tin shelves.
Smiles around every corner;
Down every aisle a satisfied person.
A deal on every item, leaving the store by the bagful.
A much needed change of pace;
Weaving up and down the unforgettable
Joy that is the dollar store.
If you come to my occasion
Maybe birthday or dedication
You'll be to me like a red rag to a bull
Asking for rice knowing the price of a bagful
Our common and daily food
Is becoming an august food
Either our leaders aren't aware
Or they just don't care
This continuous bulging in the price of rice
Coming from a government thought will be super-nice
Is nothing but a rape of hope
Pushing the masses to where they'll never be able to cope
With the lamentation of those who market rice in bagful(s)
And the masses that don't have their pocketful
We don't need a teacher to tell us that the situation has become rotten
Yet they want to make the rotten situation golden
Those who failed to achieve their pocketful of promises
See this rottenness as golden to make many more promises
Our situation is either feast or famine
Which we all need to examine
The rapes and the ravages are too many
that make us pickle
While the precautions are too little that make us tingle
In their timetable they've made it turn by turn
It's left for us to learn or continue to yearn
Down in hell, that stronghold of sin.
strange things stir, but let me begin.
I'll get to the point. Some details I'll skimp.
I tell the tale of a mischievous imp.
Of two imps in fact, to be more precise.
If trouble occurs, it may occur twice.
If on earth bawling kids cause a terrible mess,
why should imps in Pandemonium do anything less?
The Devil at last said in a voice low and gruff.
'I can stand it no longer. Enough is enough.'
The Devil's secret agent went on a search
so as to place the imps in a suitable church.
'Lincoln cathedral will make an excellent choice'
said the wily demon with a whispering voice.
And so it was that the imps were sent packing,
a bagful of tricks and pranks never lacking.
At Matins and Vespers funny noises soon sounded,
pews, the lectern and even the high altar got pounded.
Such nasty smells could no incense repel.
In the belfry at midnight who tolled the bell?
Bad things increased, becoming day to day eerier,
till monks and nuns were slapped on the posterior.
The archbishop exclaimed 'Enough is enough.
Holy water must end all this devilish stuff.'
The church warden's face turned stony and solemn,
when he saw one of the imps perched on a column,
where he remains in full view to this very day
if to Lincoln cathedral a visit you pay.
There he squats, leg on knee all alone,
without any motion, now turned into stone.
The second imp sent a draught dank and chill
around the cathedral and, some say, does still.
_______________
Zaahid sharaab peene de masjid mei baith kar,
Yaa vo jagah bataade jahaañ par khudaa na ho.
Priest, let me sit in a mosque with my pint,
Or show me a place without His footprint.
- Ghalib (1797-1869)
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If you think you’re discreet on drink,
O my foolish mind, think
And show me just a single thing
Not intoxicating.
Everything has bagful of life,
Packing punch sharp as knife.
So should ye wish to celebrate
The festival of existence,
Each place fit for party,
As festive is every instance.
__________________
Reflections |26.12.2024|life, God, drink
FRUITFUL WOES
A poor young fool
set out for school
Early one morning
With a bagful o' books
He lost his way soon
And went astray
To reach instead
An orchard at noon
The sun was hot
the fruits were sweet
He stretched himself
Under the shady trees
And within no time
Snored off to sleep
A loud thud sound
On his little crown
Made him jump
With a shriek and frown
Groaning in pain
Got on to his feet
With a heavy step
Trudged back to town
Seeing him weary
with eyes bleary
Mom asked what
he had learnt
Shaken,solemn
The fool sagely said,
'An apple a day
keeps the doc away
Unless it falls
on your head'
DateAug 28, 2016
Name of contest
Just make me laugh