Best Bagged Poems
Teardrops, bagged eyes, a way of sin
The mirror reveals a lost eternal soul
A conniving move against tonight's phantom glow
Voices circle the insomniac moon
Like magic and beauty, "She's Gone With the Wind."
The idea of love,
broken like yesterday's wishbone.
She is leaving today, her arms, my shelter
Her wings are now immense.
Beauty --- she's gone forever!
Never will she suffer-
Never will she return-
All I have are lost memories,
tracing what is left.
One final deep breath
tequila vice to wash away the pain.....
At Last, Now I See!
Under the drunken stars
I had an epiphany
Stricken like a match
A sunken treasure
At Last, I Knew
You did not belong in there,
you were there for the taking
Frail and sick, no longer sane.
Memories lost, no longer - her
My Mother!
What has become of her?
You're a demon, who played us all
Made us cry, while she slowly withered away
The way you laid waste to her body
Nipping both legs, feeding her through tubes
She rapidly forgot our names' our faces'
I hate you, Alzheimer
I hate the way you took her the first time!
I hate you, Death
I hate the way you claimed her final days!
Sleepless nights and pillowed feathers,
Caress a precious moment around my tender skin
Pretending my mother tucked them in
Anything to help me get past my sleepless nights
This is my black Christmas
I have nothing left to lose
I’m a bare footed white walker with no shoes
It’s okay burly guy don’t cry
I’ve found my southern comfort
here in this brown bagged bottle of booze
If you offer me a buck or two
I’m not inclined to refuse
These street are made for walking
So I tip toe talk carefully
Knowing people don’t like what they see
This ain’t who I want to be
My tummy is a warm kinda queasy
but in my bones I’m cold as hell
and my butt is turning into a freezie
I wish I had your good life man
this ain’t nowhere near easy
Especially now that the snow’s comin
and the sky’s icy breezy.
There up ahead
that’s my get away place
that bar you call sleazy
But I get a beer for a buck
with a big bag of cheeses.
Oh and the dancers are pretty
and I smile when they tease me
It helps me forget for a bit
Because time’s my worst enemy
and I’ve got nowhere else to be
When they close her down
I’m back on the street
Walking along
with my flip flop beat
Cold feet nothing to eat
Imagining a bed
With a cover and sheet
You won’t look me in the eye
I’m a nobody that
no somebody wants to meet
So enjoy your white Christmas
Don’t give me or this place
another thought
be thankful for what you got
Be satisfied man
whether it’s a little or a lot
Hand made or store bought
You sleep in a warm bed
not a shelter cot
Meanwhile I’ll pray
That if life leads you this way
you never have to stay
If you got kids
teach them right, okay
Take time to be with them and play
Put them on the right pathway
Cause I too lived like you once
but that’s a story for another day.
By Richard Lamoureux
Written November 28th 2019
Once a week we do the wash;
It’s part of our routine.
With just the two of us at home,
There’s not that much to clean.
Apartment living means, for one,
Machines are there to share.
The basement has the laundry room;
We do the washes there.
My husband loads the washers
After I have bagged the clothes,
Then switches them to dryers,
Which is how cycle goes.
We both head down, when time has passed,
To fold and stack the load.
He piles his items, I do mine
And by a silent code…
We split the sheets and towels
And whatever else we share
Until the dryer’s empty
And the folding table’s bare.
We schlep the basket back upstairs
And put the wash away
Until next week, when once again
It will be laundry day.
Old Campfire Memories Still Endure
Come sit with me around the crackling fire
every night camp needs its burning glow
Of Nature's forest exploring I never tire
often with my faithful dog Midnight in tow
Fair weather is the prayer always prayed
when granted comforts this old brain
Fire soothes when bad weather is delayed
we campers dearly hate the pouring rain
Rain and wind kill all peace of mind
soft, easy night with fire to thrill
Talk, laughter and joy we always find
fire comforts when the night is still
Overhead sparkles a smooth clear sky
glittering stars dance with our flames
We accept the beauty asking not the why
talk of old friends, honoring their names
Tales of the whale sized fish we caught
hunts where we bagged so much wild game
Such memories can never ever be bought
if they could would never be the same
Come sit with me around the crackling fire
every night camp needs its burning glow
Of Nature's forest exploring I never tire
often with my old faithful dog in tow
Robert J. Lindley , 04-21-2015
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
heaved, convulsed
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
transformed
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
and automobiles
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
lifeless form
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
awaiting still
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
~~~~~~~~~
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
by ~Soulfire~
O' Forgive me Lord; for I have so sinned
I put my rubbish; in my neighbours' bin
It wasn’t like there wasn’t, enough room
But did she have to hit me with a broom
With the neighbours gathered for a laugh
In fact; in the end there was quite a cast
After that whack I was amazed I survived
It was not long; before the police arrived
As police took statements, in their scores
Delving through the rubbish; is this yours
Holding high a plastic bag, knotted neatly
Yes, I am afraid it is, I replied; so sweetly
With evidence bagged, I then taken away
Charged; up in court that making my day
I was named and shamed with a £100 fine
Where community service, I was assigned
Alas, I'm picking rubbish, up off the street
And never again my sins will I ever repeat
So after that, I was clever, knew the score
With no one looking, shat outside her door
I heard her screams and smiled in content
Lessons learned, revenge was heaven sent
O Yeah, revenge was heaven sent . . .
I hereby resolve to declutter.
I’ll slice through my closets like butter.
What looks dated and torn
Or what I haven’t worn
Will be bagged up and tossed to the gutter.
I say the same thing every year.
When I promise, I’m really sincere;
But for true execution
Of this resolution
A fairy would have to appear.
And then, with a wave of her wand,
Old garments would up and respond.
They would float out the door
And I’d lock it before
With my newer things she could abscond.
A fairy’s unlikely to show,
So my closets will still overflow;
But I’ve learned how to cope
Though there’s always some hope
That I’ll give a few things the heave-ho!
Christmas soon, very busy Elves,
the busy, busy, busy Elves,
all packing presents from the shelves,
all packing, each one tagged.
All checked, addressed then safely bagged,
then safely, safely, safely bagged,
the sleigh now loaded, warmly lagged,
the sleigh, its lagging gay.
Christmas eve, Santa on his way.
Yes! On his, on his, on his way,
Red-nosed Rudolf pulling his sleigh
Red-nosed happy elves done.
Christmas soon, very busy Elves,
Red-nosed, happy Elves, done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Rhyming Wave is a poetry form created by Katharine L. Sparrow, an American writer and poet. She herself will tell you the form is complicated. Check her out http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/rhyming-wave/
https://www.poetrysoup.com/syllables/lagged (flawed)
life is full of treasures
sitting looking out at the courtyard
she is not comely
but has the most precious smile
it radiates in the brightest sunny day
her little wave of the hand
acknowledging my existence
as she passes on the walk
in tandem is her cat
i love watching them react to each other
he unfolds upon the lawn
rubbing his stomach
it is easy to see the joy they share
the old couple emerges across the way
he will secure the door upon leaving
hurries to the parking lot
where he attends her door
securing the belt
soon they leave and will return later
age has left her a bit slower
he manages the door and releases the harness
while she is on the way
he pulls the folding shopping cart
from the trunk
empties the bagged groceries into the cart
makes his way to the door
where she is waiting to enter
next door is the woman who is here
to complete her education
it has taken a few years for the R.N. degree
began years ago as a hospital volunteer
from there to nurse's aid to L.P.N.
she earns her living caring for the elderly
at some senior center, pays the bills
there is more but we never go there
in our short sharing conversations
a broken heart and children states away
she is dedicated to her dream
two letters following her name
to my right and two apartments away
is a woman who fought life in the streets
she spends afternoons with her dog
they are a melding of hearts
a life now existing in a sober ambiance
graduate cum laude of a woman's shelter
there are more jewels i have in this courtyard
separating the roaming cats
from my passion of feeding birds
and they listen, sitting here peace reigns
night they have the bowl i prepare
in case any needs a nightly snack
as mom always said
the real jewels in life
never know a chain or finger
they are captured by the eye
and held forever in memory
where they will serve you well
when life has its' stumbles
they will give you peace
in the worst gale that calls you away
they are life's jewels teaching you
how eagles rise above the storm
Oregon 10/23
The Rocking Chair That Keeps…
Up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps creating an eerie, dreary air:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
Pictures of Dad as a sprightly lad,
Gran with no wrinkle, just a youthful twinkle
and bits of me bagged and forgotten.
However, it is the empty, rocking chair
that reaches out with a squeeze of….. unease.
Yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that offers, a bite of fright and a dreaded dare:
as pipes snake into secret, cobwebbed lairs
and wooden beams stream like overhead train lines
while the excitement of discovery hides in the past.
But it is the empty, rocking chair
that grips and grabs at my attention
as I sense ‘something’ harbouring its wooden frame.
Oh yes, up in the attic, there’s something or someone
that keeps, nudging and grudging with a gloomed glare:
the room suddenly trembles, my heart holds tight
but it’s only the wind galloping by at night.
Immediately a watery giggle,
gurgles the length of a pipe
increasing my midgets of fidgets.
I turn and an aged mirror offers a face of fear
but I breathe again – for it has only borrowed mine.
Up in the attic, there’s definitely something or someone
that keeps, me uneasy, even queasy, each time I am there:
for the darkness is greedy
as it smothers a world of mystery,
a century of family history,
all boxed and cased
in a crust of rust and dust!
But now…. something far more shocking,
a lone rocking chair that keeps.…rocking!
Ian Souter 2025
the holy
grail has
been
found
yet
sated
by blood
i'm not
instead a brown
paper bagged
bottle of red
dry wine
No one knew his background, he did not speak of family
Not even the one left, whom he felt was a burden
His younger sister with whom he’d been out of touch
Financially, he was doing alright, handsome and perfectly fit
Friends wondered why he wasn’t dating
When asked, he’d merely laugh it off
If they only knew the burden he bore, haunted by his crippling addiction
A demon that had seized his body now hungered for his soul
Making its lustful demands at will by day or night
At first he seemed to keep his secret well, appearing as, just one of the guys
While apart, he rode the subway daily
With eyes of a hunter he surveyed
A different girl he took each time, In his home or some dark street corner
When he had no access to girls, alone, he’d easily play “solitaire”
Or browse the magazines and internet
Secrets like acorns take a while to grow, his were no different; just biding
time
Til the day of discovery arrived unannounced
Hidden files on the office hard drive
Confronted, he walked away in shame, and some ray of light seared his mind
At home he bagged and trashed his toys
Especially his favorite, the laptop
Temptation came fiercer and with maddening force, took him on a binge
That night he sank to the lowest belly of the beast
Ignoring his sister’s desperate call for help
When he'd had his fill of a sordid, assortment of lust, a flicker of conscience
emerged from within
Off he ran in the cold, pouring rain to find his sister alone
Alone, in the bath with her wrists cut; her precious life slowly ebbing away
It was mercy which kept her alive, barely, and by her hospital bed he sat for
three days!
Later, outside her room in the parking lot as he left, beyond broken he fell
upon his knees
And through his tears and the rain, he cried out loud , “God have mercy!”
That’s how a man, bankrupt; without love or self worth gained a second
chance...
At a most pivotal time in his life; in need of redemption
The shackles of addiction laid broken in torrent rain...free once more to be
himself.
~*~
02/25/13
Inspired by the HBO movie, "Shame"
Daddy went hunting.
Mamma went too.
Daddy got a deer,
but Mamma got two.
Mamma told her story
while Daddy stood by
looking like at any time
he was gonna cry.
We all thought "He's jealous
he only got one."
But, Daddy had a reason
he didn't shoot his gun.
The buck was at his blind.
He seen him at close range.
The path was clear and all at once
Daddy felt something strange.
He knew that she was waiting
over in her stand.
He had bagged so many deer.
Her fate was in his hands.
He tossed a stick to scare the deer.
He sat and watched it run.
He prayed she wouldn't miss her shot
(OR HER HUNTING DAYS WERE DONE!)
He sat patiently waiting
for the gunshot near her stand.
When he heard her yell "I GOT ONE!"
he finally unclenched his hands.
The deer was his gift to her
although she never knew,
why Daddy only got one deer
and she got two.
*** Black Snow Storm ***
I’m blacker and madder and more than Hell I be bringin’ ya,
I’m a ****ed up assailant,
Mental-case mercenary hell bent,
Simultaneous and concurrent, I’m yo danger and yo savior.
But I’m real, and tangible, and do things unimaginable.
On the inside and ominous, searing truth burns my existence,
In the cold empty blanks of loathing inspired shadows,
Darkness manifests completely, as only I the one who knows.
Buried in denial, a Black Snow Storm of persistence.
Mad viral runaway,
Reaper-tagged, body bagged,
Peacefully performed, daily is as dooms a day.
Sicker than a mange’d up, street livin’ dog,
Fraudulent, Arrogant, Intelligent, and robbed.
Hustled by humanity, dignity straight-up jacked,
It’s parted-out and shipped out and neva comin’ back.
Crazy muthu****in razor bladed Snowflake,
Cold steeled touched be tight, and straighter-edged unique.
I’m in yo face, and in yo space,
An breathing stank leathelality,
Cuz crazy is as crazy does and I’m yo new reality.
I’m blacker than a ninja,
Trackin’ like a laza,
Murder-edged, star throwin’,
Life takin’ playa.
Fueled by the mental,
Conflicted, festering failure,
The whip-saw cracked, manic sized, consequential behavior,
The ease of mind is nowhere found, the truth be nothin’ gentle.
Snowflake driven, horrifying maelstrom,
Anarchist, Nihilist, devastating and then some.
Black Snowstorm blinded ya, and buried everything you know,
Snowflaka’ made it happen,
An unrelenting blizzard, of Black as coal Snow.
*** By djDiZZasteRR (AKA Brian Bauer) ***
As I struggle with thoughts about life,
I pack up Christmas items:
(1) Removed Christmas China decorated with holly
(2) Stacked up those gold charger plates now no party
(3) Bagged up the centerpiece, removed green candles
(4) Things beginning to look in shambles
(5) Check those Christmas placemats
(6) Clean spots can tell we are not aristocrats
(7) Fold pine green Damask Tablecloth
(8) The naked table stands like a Behemoth_
Well, in my old age I am beginning to match the table..