Best Rag Poems
Sometime after midnight, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet
The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air
The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint
Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent
Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg
With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned rubbish
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash
A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure
With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles
I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
I am a rag doll
Pliable, and gullible.
I believe you
So tell me your truth and your lies.
I will not discriminate
Move me into places you want me to go.
I am flexible, and there will be no argument
I will listen to your tales, and believe wholeheartedly.
There will be no laughter.
I will attempt a smile.
It may not happen
You see someone else broke me.
They pulled off a leg,
and they punctured my eyes.
I cannot see now, but I can feel.
I will lie with you quietly,
and if you could but
rub my back
I would believe
you loved me
and that
would
be
enough
Written July 16, 2019 Contest: Move Me Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Start with half a pillow case.
Cut two patterns, darn the ends.
Take the flattened doll like shape,
Stuff the softest rags within.
Knit a round and fluffy ball.
Double sew this sturdy nose.
Then an attic box recalled
Of forgotten baby clothes.
Cuddle softly, puffy face.
Whisper firmly, "Not a peep".
Tuck it in its hiding place
As the doorway slowly creaks.
Button eyes that never blink,
Painted lips that never speak.
Would they could, we might rethink
Just how safely children sleep.
Gene Bourne
02-05-14
**~~**
Baby, your time is running out…
No - I won't play in your house anymore
My life as your ragdoll - is coming to an end
Your kind of vapid love left me so forlorn
My heart was torn and frayed
By being tossed around by you
I was but a puppet - in your cruel selfish hands
Played with- then tossed aside
Like some old, gnarly shoe
I was once new and shiny
But you used me - then threw me to the ground
I had bright red curls, with lips painted cherry red
And a happy beautiful smile
But the way you treated me
Was like some game of 'lost and found'
My insides had turned to cotton
Spilling from me - like tidal pools of tears
My smile was painted on
My threads bare and worn
No longer could I feel -I lost so much of me
So many lost and wasted years
Once I didn’t have a backbone
It was made of useless twine
Easily dragged around by you
But now I see you for what you are...
A cold heart that has no shine
Next time you think of coming my way
Forget it...Just turn right back around
Cuz' you’re not coming in
My heart won’t be your rag doll any more
You've lost me...but this last joke's on you
Baby...I'm the one who wins
I'll survive - I don't need a love like yours
Yes, many tears I used to cry
But -I don't want you back anymore
Just keep walkin' on down that road
Now I hold my head up high
My heart has been tranposed
So- don't come knocking at my door...
To you baby - my door's forever closed
"Ciao"
**~~**~~**
This is what the local examiner preaches
Lynchings, or killing someone by hanging, historically were mostly used by whites against black men in the South beginning in the late 19th century, according to the NAACP.
Below my reply in comment
How they twist words to suit narrative, lynch mobs were a common practice in Ireland and many countries all over the world, so selectively do you promote division black or white this article is racist bias in content promoting hate
Liberal has a new agenda when it comes to the truth being told
for what value it holds someone has to correct fools
lynching is as old as warfare itself virtually
Words Gone Rag
what a pity
how absurd
college grads have lost their words
latent grammar
dead vocab
grab at every
prep they have
don't know what the trouble is...
at computers they can whiz
don't know what will happen next----
whatever it is
will be found
in text
"Headline news! The rag trade is torn to pieces!
Dolls are strewn across the streets with skirts lifted high.
Headline news! Markets are buzzing with voracious bees;
Stinging for honey, for money to burn. Sly.
May I escort you sir to higher gains? Just feed the slot
Machine coffers with offers of fine dining and lustful desires.
Become bloated and coated, botched and scotched
And drink embers mellow as you repast by the fire!
Suits you sir! That suit should fake them and shake them,
For you look a right toff and in those two tone brogues
None can guess and think anything less of you and your suit
That is pin striped and blue. Welcome to 'Cafe Rogues'.
Are you a gambler sir? Do you place your bets well?
Do you prefer evens or odds or don't you give a sod?
There are no consciences here sir! We'll take your money
And spend it on honey and fine clothes by God!
Paper!paper! Read all about it, headline news!
Dolls are found in alleyways torn to shreds!
Escorts are fattened calves ready for the slaughter!
Suited toff is found dying in Savile Row gutter!
Gambling money spinner wins. Camera closes the shutter.
Each of us is given a mission by God that's deemed essential
one is protecting the rights of the most vulnerable in society
when society socially tramples on these virtues removing values
we have the authority from the bowels of the Word to act
Marching and praying for the abomination against Justice to end and stop
where law and order is breaking down corrupted by vice
standing up for something we do not fall for the deceit
life is short its easier to stand for something good rather than bad
We are all given gifts mere mortals if we use them wisely we will get more
peace and harmony needs to be restored rather than conflict
the quality of one's soul can be seen in the vice they support
a moment of mindfulness can focus on something greater called the truth
Figure this one out when brought to the light of transparency
demonising demonstrators gets the desired effect pushing ugly narrative
They want to shut down all opposition that will overthrow this system of ruling
because they have gone so far left they can't return to what is normal
At what stage do we say enough of this nonsense
we are heading on the wrong path
to be honest I do not recognise this world anymore
it's gone so ugly and loveless turning against Holiness
This is what happens those hypnotised by this mass global deceit
Many will wish they lived their life free from these hardships
because the slaves are those that submit to worldly powers
and most of them are afraid to own up taking the wrong side
So the argument is between nothing trying to make something stick
He's back
My nemesis,
Billy Mays,
Never does he fail
To amaze
Now pushing "Zorbees"
miracle rag,
And as I watch,
I start to gag
He's taken Vince's
Sham Wow,
And made it his
Holy Cow!
He copied his ad
Near word for word
This blazing scuz-bucket,
This worthless turd
I want to order an "Awesome Auger"
And pretend to be
Billy Mays' proctologist
And clean out this
Ass's ass
I think such a plan
Is first class
I'll get a medal of honor
That's for sure
Cause any more Billy Mays
No one can endure
I remember when I was a little girl
And the Rag and Bone man came round
On his cart pulled by a horse
All manner of things could be found
A washing machine with a broken ringer
And a bicycle without a wheel
He used to give my grandma two pence
For a bag of meat bones leftover from a meal
The bones were used for knife handles
And the grease extracted used to make soap
We’d give them to him in a potato sack
Tied around the top with a piece of rope
I remember one day the ragman
Knelt down on the ground
Searching between the paving stones
Where horseshoe nails could be found
Over his tired shoulders
He would carry a small bag
It would contain bones and various metals
Plus numerous pieces of coloured rag
One of the ragmen who came to our street
His name was Henry Moon
If we gave him something for his cart
We were rewarded with a goldfish or a balloon
It was a hard life being a ragman
People now wouldn’t see the sense
In working from early morning till night
For the measly sum of six pence
You still see rag and bone men about
No longer with a horse-drawn cart
Driving around in short wheel-base lorries
They have scrap collecting down to a fine art
They still pick up broken washing machines
And bicycles without a wheel
But some people still prefer to fly-tip
Dumping unwanted items in a field
We live in a throwaway society
No longer reliant on Mr Rag and Bone
It’s easy to get rid of scrap items
We just need to pick up the phone
you really seem to think you're hot
silly little glamour queen
givin'up the money shot
steppin' out of limosines
how you make your daddy proud
acting like a debutante
hangin'with the who's who crowd
always gettin'everything you want
now splash it for the world to see
show 'em how you've got it made
and for the tabloid industry
hurry now before you fade-
fade into obscurity
silly little millionairess
livin'in your world of bliss
all hail the spoyold princess heiress
for in the last analysis...
I guess we'll always have paris!
This factory has the bales delivered. Bales of unwanted, disused, thrown about, torn up, ripped and antiquated clothes. Once loved but not now. Bales measured by tonnes. Bales needing the forklift. Bales delivered once a month.
This factory hauls these bales, one at a time, to the factory floor. On the floor they are ripped open and gutted, their blood of clothes oozing across the floor before the cutters. The cutters who take never ending handfuls of this gut to their trolley, to their cutting machine.
This factory slices arms off, rips legs open, carves neck lines off, zippers and buttons slashed away, never to see the pants again. The entire garment scored back to its crude original form. A form of square material. Square material with nothing of interest, unwearable.
And tossed into the empty waiting bag, Waiting to become 15kg of unwearable square slices of material.
This factory fills an empty bag to 15kg, hundreds of 15kg bags. These bags await the drive to a new owner. An owner who’ll love this square rag in a moment. Become intimate with this square in a moment. Sharing this square with oil, grease, dirt, mud, rust, stains and fuels.
Once unloved and unused becomes unwearable to useful and one last spike of intimacy again before the inevitable oblivion takes the rag for the final joy ride.
The rag factory.
mentally battered limp and torn,
stuffing ripped out - self esteem gone,
verbally punched my spirit is low,
I.ll stitch myself together and find a new home.
i break down once more, lost
falling off of the highest precipice of
my own bitter consciousness
tumbling down, crumpling to the floor in a pile
my worn and sagging shoulders crushed with the weighty knowledge
of this injustice that is my ceaseless torment
this abysmal internal darkness which claws into my mind
driving me mad with sorrow and fear and contempt
now i pound and plead, shudder and scream
my blue button eyes spilling saltwater
and i find myself wrapping limp, lifeless arms around my sack body;
shields to ward off this desperate, terrible loneliness
that is growing inside this empty husk of me
for my stitching has torn, and my sides have ripped
and i've spilled all that i am onto the carpet;
all of the sawdust and cotton fluff
the silly stupid meaningless nothing that makes up my entire existence
now all that remains is this hollow aching inside of my fabric body
a hungering for an escape, anything anything anything please
this slow throb that drowns out all else
reminding me forever more that i am and have always been
truly alone.
I am afaid of the rag ma
He is mean and ugly with coal dust eyes
His mare is riddled with fleas and flies
I will not show him my fear
I am to strong for him
while others run I stand and stare
rag man, rag man go away
never to return
your not welcome, youre not wanted
You are the substance of nightmares