Best Paper Bag Poems
There it is blowing in the wind
having no control of its own
the wind which you cannot see
controls it as fully as it's blown
That little old brown paper bag
tells a picture of life so mundane
we live here getting blown all around
knocked about leaving one many a stain
It's really so vulnerable like us all
so light easily prone to many a tear
in days before plastic, brown bags were all
nothing else for it and it's not too dear
There we are just like them so
but we're tough able to persevere
so next time you use one of them
remind yourself that's me so very clear
All the people I've known
Are holding hands with the empty promises they made
So they are not alone
When day breaks
And everyone keeps getting in the way
Saying this and this
Doing nothing nothing
Feeling better with the apathy
Someone never held me
And glued me back together
Unless I kept their secrets
Unless I gave them cash
So many friends I've had
Couldn't tell you
A thing about me
Or what I need
We were sounding boards and fool's
We ran the train tracks and begged at the mall
We talked and we got high
We failed to be anything legit
People and their whole lives
Are letting truth slip away
Putting integrity on clearance racks
And faking character with all the right words
But I stand against the wall
I see you and I know what you are
You cannot hurt me with your soul hustle
With your transparent bag of tricks
My perception is true
And my intentions are unfaltering
Even when I shake
Even if I cry
My words are thoughtful
My actions are reliable
Even when I'm lonely
Even if I hurt
Paper Bag Head
Like musical notes my voice dissipates in the air
Was I even there?
Why can't I remember where?
The roots of my square...
Affirmations missed, the nobody list
Does anyone care?
Is anyone out there?
Life's not fair...
The want to be needed, yet defeated
Why am I me?
What is happening?
The Ugly Duckling...
bmdavey@05/04/16
Sad, sad little paper bag
No one brought you to school
Nobody listened to the crinkle
Of a sandwich being lifted out of you
Folded up and left in the junk drawer
All hope was lost, deflated and defeated
Until, one day, some little hands
Drew your eyes with black marker
On your bottom, and made you anew
Little green scales, some red and yellow
Hooray, the day has come! All hail!
The dragon that guards the tea party!
Hours before tolls rang of Christmas midnight
My godchild quite young, cuddled me real tight,
Above, he pointed at the biggest star
Then named it after me, brilliant from afar.
My heart sang with his boyish thoughtfulness
Amidst revelry, cheers started to progress
Tidings and food graced the house and pine tree;
Opening gifts on eve of jubilee.
Beside my loot stood a wobbly paper bag
With drawings my fingers had to untag
Surprised, I murmurmed my holiday wish;
Inside was a handmade star on creped varnish.
Teary-eyed, a note of love written down
Across a pad trimmed with bows all around;
His precious gift made breaths rise, to exhale
Oh, from a child who couldn’t rightly spell!
Contest: Deb Wilson's The Perfect Christmas Gift
Poet: nette onclaud
Another paper bag sits on the table.
Just haunting me with memories of how life used to be,
memories of how you used to be.
For before those paper bags with those four letters on them,
LCBO,
came into play we used to laugh,
we used to sing, we used to joke around.
Before those brown paper bags came into your life you loved me.
But now they're here, and they might be here to stay.
And as long as they are here, the true you is not.
So due to those brown paper bags,
I am now Paper Bag Princeless!
Form:
I am a paper bag.
I am only as good as what I can carry.
I am a paper bag, I am.
I’m not the smart one,
I’m not the successful one
I’m not the tall one who always won and
Then died.
I am a paper bag.
I’m only as good as what I can carry.
I am a paper bag,
I’m not plastic, not I.
I am paper: rough, brown and thin
I’m not waterproof, you know.
And I can’t hold any liquids or gases within.
I only have room for the stuff that matters.
You know, I’m a paper bag.
I’m only as good as what I can carry.
I am a paper bag.
Wrinkled and used and often abused
Thrown on the floor.
Buried deep inside your drawers.
I am a paper bag.
I cannot ask for anything more.
I’m only as good as what I can carry.
https://tinyurl.com/y5c4pnet
I’m not shy about my sins;
most I know,
and some you’ve caught.
Yet,I have a love that sings
straight through my eyes,
and for that, poets won't write my faults.
Filtering out images of homeless minds
drinking soda pop
in brown paper bags.
Dreaming of flying to
neon lights
plastered like
mirrors
on the wall.
We talk allot about tomorrow.
Future plans.
Illusions we pretend
are as real
as the knives
we have created.
Throwing balls against the dirt.
Tossing words like
jangled wounds
into the
fires of remorse.
Hide and seek, that is
the game
we like to
perform.
And being reborn in
new shadows of cigarette ashes
gathering like sand-castles
on the beach.
I reach my point of no return.
Finding electrical wires
scattered
across my newly cut mind.
We talk allot about tomorrow.
Future plans.
Illusions we pretend
are as real
as the knives
we have created.
Form:
The Paper Bag Princess written and illustrated by men,
A fantastic lesson that quickly empowers women.
If you have not read it, it packs a life-changing punch.
Illustrated by Martchenko, written by Robert Munsch.
This sparse, children’s book was given to me by my college prof.
“It reminds me of you,” she said, “And is interesting stuff.”
The unique illustrations are wonderful, the dragon is really scary.
It makes you think maybe you don’t have to be in such a hurry to marry.
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 just a
Regret meeting you
Nearly lost the one I want
You were just a
By Cathrin Stuart
Boogie Woman comes in between my cell layers at night
She punches me up and charges me up into my fierce fighting mode
I yell and scream my truth and she laughs, gulping my rage and my indignation.
Boogie Woman knows me better than I know myself
for I was never allowed to have real feelings.
The Big Bad Wolf from Chicago land is lurking
way back in the recesses of my brain
Anticipating the best sneaky way to jump our friend
Russian Connoisseur Paper Bag Man
To make him yelp some Russian phrases we will not understand anyway.
I love the anticipation of when it will happen next, for I am the last to know.
Trixie is the omnipotent oppressor and ruler
of our mystical whimsical poetry fields.
Boogie Woman slaps my face, and kicks me to the curb.
I land at her feet, sniffling.
She then lets Trixie have her way with me.
Trixie is a nipple twister so I am fearful.
Afraid but yet laughing because I am wearing so much armor
she cannot get me today
I run down Dictionary Alley and log onto my main connector.
I have an enormously large and blue Thesaurus and am not afraid to use it.
Big Bad Wolf coughs, warning me by mere inches.
He is ahead of me in leaps and bounds, howling at Luna’s light.
Moon magic illuminates our friend Paper Bag Man’s head on the pole of Oz.
What is happening?
Who is in the control power?
Trixie laughs, not afraid of wolves or scarecrows.
A pregnant bulge
with an angular stretch and twist,
something firmer than a sandwich.
A dirty diaper?
Bundles of illicit dollar?
I once found a dead parakeet
wrapped in a discarded paper bag,
when I dropped it in disgust
its head lolled out,
one dull eye fixed upon
the space I had just left.
The paper is mottled
by damp roaming winds,
stained as if hands had clutched it
too long.
It's not time yet to be a scavenger,
but in a few moments
I might nudge the bag with
a hesitent toe.
Or I might return later,
sneak under the low clouds,
that often gather
when something too big
to be left behind –
is left behind.
THE BROWN PAPER BAG
While walking down a path one day a paper bag lay there
I saw such things so many times, I wondered why I cared.
It was light brown like other bags, but what was different now
Was it was not an empty bag, and so I wondered how—
How could somebody leave a bag, what could there be inside?
Was it some money, spoiled food, or an animal that died?
With careful hands I opened it, to my dismay I found
Just rocks and weeds and lots of clay dug up there from the ground.
Oh, what a worthless bag it was! Why did I take the time?
Why was I curious on that day? just came then to my mind.
But suddenly, as if from God, a message there He gave:
My life was like that paper bag so worthless there to save.
It had a lot of rocks inside and weeds from sinful life,
Yes, nothing God could want with me and all my daily strife.
But God looked past the rocks and weeds, for He saw there the clay
The very thing He made man with on that creation day.
He knew what He could make of me if I’d just let Him in,
He’d take the rocks and weeds away when He cleansed all my sin.
Now many years have passed since then, I’m still that paper shell
That often disappoints my God who now I love so well.
I still have rocks and weeds in there, and yet there’s still the clay
That God can take and mold of me if I let Him have His way!
God’s Son walked down a path one day and knowing all too well
So many people were down here and on their road to hell.
He didn’t care if rocks or weeds had cluttered up their day,
He saw a treasure in them there in that small lump of clay.
I’m glad God took MY “paper bag” and did not leave it there
And saw inside what He could use and placed me in His care!
He takes away the rocks and weeds and molds that precious clay
To what will be a precious thing in heaven’s home some day!
--Based on thoughts by a message by Eddie Hamby, HBC, April, 2019
Will she ever guess his name?
Will she be able to spin straw into gold?
Will she ever find her prince?
Will she ever find out she is a princess?
Will she ever get to walk the path without a wolf?
Will she ever get those cookies to grandma?
Will she ever be able to come out of the tower?
Will fairy tales ever become more like Mulan?
A college professor gave me The Paper Bag Princess
A children’s book, at my college graduation.
Saying I reminded her of the princess in the story.
Maybe best compliment ever.