Best Baggie Poems
Below is a copy of your poem:
PLEASE
I grew up around the corner from this church
Watching a good neighbor turn bad
Where people got hurt, and children grew up mad
Where there was a continuous fight for the good of their community
But there was a different story for little old me
I grew up with hustlers all around me
Trying to teach me the ways of these mean old street
But I felt in my soul that this wasn’t for me
Well as time went by I became a product of my our environment
And the things I use to do people would keep it silent
So after years of triumph and agnate
I’ve decided to turn a new leaf
And allow God to show me myself
Me, the way that he sees me
So today instead of walking pass this church
I walked in this church
Hoping that the church would take me by my hand
And walk me pass my hurts
But as I enter I’m greeted by nasty stairs and smirks
And you call yourselves Christians
Is your pastor preaching to the pews?
Or are you really listening
I’m sure he teaches you that perception is only what you think you see
So I have to ask
What do you see when you look at me
Do you see the young thug that I use to be?
Or do you see a wounded soul trying to be set free
So what if I wear baggie jeans, white t’s and tims
And listen to wu tang
That doesn’t mean I don’t know the power in his name
So as I stand to testify please understand that I could care less
About a smirk or a frown
Because only God have the power to knock me down
So what do you do now?
Do you recognize the pain in my cry?
Or do you continue to beat me down
Recognize that I’m just like you
And I’ve seen, and done things
That you’ll problem never go though
So don’t just sit there being tight lip and saucy in your pew
Recognize that I'm crying out to you
PLEASE
Categories:
baggie, anger, blessing, eve,
Form:
Acrostic
Once upon a time,
there lived three friends: Doubtodore,
Baggie, and Scaredson.
Doubtodore:
He didn’t believe anything Baggie
or Scaredson told him;
he not only doubted his friends,
he also doubted the date he was born,
or the name he was first given, “Peter”,
by his parents. They had to change it,
and nickname him “Doubtodore”.
He also doubted that he lived with his real parents!
Baggie:
His hands could not resist the temptation
of carrying everything he met on his way;
he carried sticks, stones, pebbles, candy…….
anything his hands could grasp.
One day he carried a frog,
thinking that it was a sponge – he almost jumped
to the ceiling when the “sponge” sounded
“Rrrrribit! Rrrribit! Rrrrrribit!” in his pocket.
He quickly removed his trousers,
as though they had a hot coal in them.
The habit of carrying anything he saw won
him the nickname “Baggie”.
Scaredson:
He was afraid of dark places, small places,
the night and people who were taller than him;
he was also afraid of trees’ shadows in the day!
One night as he slept, a ball rolled into his bedroom;
it was his favorite cat, Tom, playing with the ball.
As Tom raced after the ball, he accidentally hit
a rocking chair with his tail – this made the chair to rock
gently. Hearing the rocking sound, Scaredson opened
his eyes and slowly turned his head towards the rocking chair.
“Ghost! Ghost! Ghost!” he cried out. As fasts as lighting, the
ten year-old boy hid under his bed until when the sun rose.
To mock his trivial fears, his father changed his name from “Sammy”
to “Scaredson”.
“I don’t want to have a scared son!” his father always muttered,
even when his head was hidden by a newspaper.
Cats, dogs and strangers knew the three friends very well…..
Date Published: 10/8/2015
Categories:
baggie, childhood, children, funny, humor,
Form:
Narrative
Nine months of darkness,
Snow on the ground,
No leaves on the trees,
No warmth around.
As the winter comes to a close,
Lakes and rivers still seem froze,
Soon the waters will break free,
Moving life far as eyes can see,
And now its time to have some fun,
Playing under the Alaskan sun.
Rivers are running , bears now conscious,
Birds a flutter, fish obnoxious,
Breathing in the summer air,
Floating down the river bare,
Baggie of green, cooler filled supreme,
Almost as if, it were all a dream.
When I look back, old and grey,
I'll remember the nights and days,
When we found euphoria under the Alaskan sun.
Categories:
baggie, life, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
It's late for an eggroll
but it's Sally's best time.
It's dry but it's tasty
and Sally; her dime.
It's perched in it's baggie:
white with a fold.
A sleeve for a napkin,
grease covered and bold.
The weight of a dove.
It airs to the table.
A fragrance of oil.
A crust for it's gable.
A sauce made of plums.
My eggroll for dipping.
The puddle soaked baggie.
A sauce wiped and dripping.
A bite for the senses.
My heart stopped to savour.
A dance of my tongue
and thanks for the flavor.
A gift from dear Sally.
This eggroll she pittied.
Without asking money,
my thanks that I'm pritheed.
Categories:
baggie, appreciation, blessing, care, culture,
Form:
Quatrain
Georgie
His was a pudgy boyish countenance,
With rounded river eyes and an Alfalfa smile.
He wheezed like a sick tern with repeated asthma attacks,
Playing hard at the various outdoor games and chases,
Of our fleeting childhood years in the inhaling sun.
He perspired profusely in 1964 as he sat with beads of sweat which
Gathered like a water pox above his lips, all in a wheezing row.
Bespectacled Georgie was the curlicued, black-haired boy
who lived two houses up from ours; the one with the green hedge.
He wore converse sneakers, a white tee and blue denim, with
Thick black-framed glasses astride his chubby white face.
His was a temper not sought by anyone, including Elsie his mother.
Georgie was her little boy, but when angered, baseball bats went flying.
Curse words were screamed loudly with one’s birth name questioned intensely.
Stones and large rocks were heaved at innocent windows and nearby statuary.
Baseballs were hurled at the heads of other little boys, with misses near and far.
Toy darts were skipped across baking sidewalks to the bare feet of his playmates,
Producing more loud voices shrieking in pain when the darts impaled their feet.
Oranges and lemons were rabidly picked for the purpose of pummeling one’s nose;
But gentle mother Elsie loved her little Georgie, and his little blue inhaler.
Years and decades sailed by like lost boats in a starless harbor.
Little Georgie grew into a pudgy man with nothing changed except, the drugs.
Marijuana odors hovered like invisible swarms of masticating locusts,
Lurking above the silent brick houses of our street, with old Georgie lighting up.
With a pipe and a baggie in his pocket, my old friend gave up on his life.
He decided not to work, but to take aimless walks down deserted avenues;
Day after empty day he took his drifting strolls into a personal oblivion.
We subsequently lost contact in the ensuing decades, and I forgot about him.
Until recently… I found out…
Georgie’s funeral took place 25 years ago at Rose Hills Cemetery.
Rest in piece old friend, old tormentor, with your little blue inhaler.
Categories:
baggie, friendship,
Form:
Free verse
flowers pressed in book
rose petals saved in baggie
breathless memories
June 2, 2020
Categories:
baggie, flower, love, memory,
Form:
Haiku
My neighbor called out from his stoop
as I walked my dog: What’s the scoop?”
“Nothing new in this town,”
I said as I reached down
with my baggie: “Just some dog poop.”
Categories:
baggie, dog,
Form:
Limerick
When I ask him, 'Do you really love me'?
He thinks and says, 'Sure I always say 40-love when I play tennis with
you'.
Whenever I come home happy after my shopping spree,
He reminds me, 'Honey, Money does not grow on tree'.
Whenever I need some help in household chores,
He reminds me that his work domain is outdoors.
Whenever he works outside the house,
He moans and groans that I forgot my wedding vows.
Whenever I complain of being TV. sports widow during leisure times,
He wants me to be creative and pick up some hobby sometimes.
When the hour of romance comes on the anniversaries,
I expect gifts, flowers, hugs and kisses,
Instead I get a flower from the garden reminding me of my marriage
anniversary.
Whenever I am dressed up to go the parties and want him to look sharp,
He comes up with his favorite old shirt and baggie pants.
When I am mad on him for not listening to anything I say,
I think he is a son of a gun, what else I can say
Categories:
baggie, humorous,
Form:
Free verse
I stole your shirt weeks ago
I don’t know why
I saw it lying on your bed, just so
I put it in a baggie and sealed it up tight
I know how that sounds
I put it in my dresser drawer, out of sight
I stole your shirt weeks ago
It still smells of you
This much I know
I bury my face up to my ears
Your shirt stifles the sobbing
And it swallows my tears
I now know why
I stole your shirt
It helped me say goodbye
Categories:
baggie, break up, loss, sad,
Form:
Free verse
One box was stamped two thousand fifteen;
Another two thousand and five.
If I ate the pasta inside them,
Do you think I would still be alive?
Some crackers found zipped in a baggie
Were stale as a mummy’s last breath.
If I crumbled a few in my chowder,
Would that be the cause of my death?
The ketchup in back of the pantry
Was browner than children’s mud pies.
If I squirted it onto a burger,
Might that cause an early demise?
Since we have relinquished our shopping,
We’re searching our cupboards, no joke,
Discovering items forgotten
Which, if eaten, might cause us to croak!
Categories:
baggie, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Near the fountain stands the male
In iridescent glory,
But his mate begins this tale,
A true Manhattan story.
These same ducks have made their home
Outside a high-rise building.
I see them swim or sleep or roam;
The truth requires no gilding.
This morning, early, as he waits,
The female, with intention
Of what she now anticipates,
Insists on prompt attention.
She marches right up to the door,
By which a doorman’s standing
And opens up her beak to score
The meal she is demanding.
In full regalia, he complies
And grabs a baggie waiting,
Then shoos some pigeons to the skies,
Their hope for food deflating.
He sprinkles breakfast for the pair,
Who gustily start eating
And I walk on so I can share
This urban morning meeting.
Categories:
baggie, appreciation, new york, today,
Form:
Rhyme
I search my purse for money or credit cards.
Discovering four brochures from September
Receipts from the veterinarian clinic with dog tags
Twelve poem ideas jotted on a red napkin
A used toothpick with gum at the end of it
Four pens that do not write
One pen that writes which I can usually never find in this purse
A blue dog collar
Battered melted peanut butter cup
Sticky roll that has escaped a baggie
House key I do not remember having
Grandchild’s pink and yellow headband
Shot glass, but why? I do not drink.
Two outdated postage stamps
The popped pieces of an orange balloon
Should I clean this fiasco?
No.
I just found my credit cards.
Categories:
baggie, women,
Form:
List
A muffin’s very portable;
I toss one in my bag
And pop a piece into my mouth
If spirits start to sag.
I slice it up and baggie it;
It takes up little space
And I can nibble secretly
At any time or place.
If hunger pangs crop up
Or if my stomach starts to growl,
I needn’t search provisions out
Or gnash my teeth and howl.
I reach into my pocketbook
And rip a little piece;
As quick as that, the noises
In my belly start to cease.
So when you leave your house,
Into your bag you should be stuffin’
A perfect pick-me-up
That’s also portable – a muffin!
Categories:
baggie, food,
Form:
Rhyme
Grey clouds dispersing above the Lough,
Grey geese skeining to winter fields for from arctic chill,
Rainbow colours reflected in water still and deep,
Chill and cold in the depths along with bream and Roach,
Amongst the weed and silt lie Pike waiting patiently,
For some small unassuming stickleback or baggie
To fill its ever hungry belly.
Arching rainbow across the hills leading to a pot,
But the gold is in the town and its deep cold lough.
Do Kelpies run off the hills finding refuge and rest,
Down the burns they skelter unseen ,unknown,
Only by frothy white water bubble and hear their ,
Unearthly whinnie amongst the crannies of ancient hill.
On dark nights when water is high will you hear the Kelpies cry.
Categories:
baggie, appreciation, autumn, beautiful, earth,
Form:
Free verse
Distant Cousins
David J Walker
You may not remember
the dinosaurs
Roaming our backyard
Jurassic park
Hiding in lilacs
Crushing the petunias and
Easting the tops off our trees
Mother, not pleased,
was mad while
Dad was glad to not have to
Mow the grass ever again
Brother was older and had to
Scoop the dinosaur poop
Into a very big baggie
Sister was crying because
there were no flying unicorns
in the herd
Do you believe what you’ve heard
that dinosaurs
And birds are distant cousins?
Categories:
baggie, allegory, dream, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme