Long Bag Poems
Long Bag Poems. Below are the most popular long Bag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bag poems by poem length and keyword.
Courting days are long over now
men, well, what does define a man?
Certainly, it is not merely physical?
yet one would expect manliness to
involve some sort of strength?
Does a man let a woman cry?
Does a man make a woman cry?
Honey DO this! Honey move-do that!
The theater is mostly empty now,
no sedans emptying bushel loads of kids,
no popcorn flying through Saturday afternoon’s air.
The kids are reigned in plopped in front of laptops,
too elastically rubber-kneed to walk more than
from the bed to the chair.
I mean the lounge chair, where
they slouch in perpetuity.
A decade or two of days to reframe
two generations of total couch potatoes.
They sit glued to their IPhone, IPods, Kindle’s
not writing, not composing but gaming.
It’s enough to make a mother cry, daily.
Fathers rush down packed highways,
single sardines in smaller and smaller cans,
toward their own desktop comps.
Carpal tunnel runs rampant over the populous.
Emptying box, after box of environmentally correct
reused paper tissues and green nappies into landfills,
online they bet on the daily double.
Been beat up and brought down
Been stepped on and spit on
Been lost but now I’m found
O
Lord
I am not going to be the devils punching bag anymore
Been called out MY name
Nothing but the Christian name ma and grandma gave me
Can you call me
And did I tell you I am a child of the LIVING KING
Been beat up and brought down
Been stepped on and spit on
Been lost but now I’m found
O
Lord
I am not going to be the devils punching bag anymore
I'm not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
I'm not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test
I was down for the ninth count, but I got back up
I not going to be your stomping ground, Satan
I’m not going to let you continually beat me down Devil
I’m not going to allow you to plant seeds of discouragement
I rise up, I RISE above your seas torrents…
My choice is to be the defeater
I choose not to be defeated
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test
And did I tell you I am a child of the LIVING KING
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test, yes
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test, yeah
Alleluia, I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test
O
Lord
I am not going to be the devils punching bag anymore
I'm not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
I'm not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
not gonna be the devil punching bag anymore
I digress, yet I am heavenly blessed
And I have past my test
I am not going to be the devils punching bag anymore
3/6/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
I brought everything in a bag.
Feeling my arms sag.
In that place, they gave us blankets.
In that place, they gave us regrets.
But all those memories are for another time.
I packed it all up, leaving the walls I would climb.
I used that bag year after year.
I used it to pack gym gear.
I used it on my vacation.
That bag followed me to each destination.
But some days, I wonder if this bag,
Which is beginning to sag.
Is haunted by that place, as much as me.
When the bag was new, and I was 23.
The bag got old and worn.
I became torn.
I almost threw it into the trash.
But then I sensed that it could be rash.
Instead, I decided it simply needed cleaning.
For years, I never found meaning,
In this bag.
We are both beginning to sag.
But inside a hidden pocket, is a note.
“How To Save The World,” I wrote.
Maybe, I could become a hero someday…
My bag starts to sway.
My bag starts to say-
“They might once again lock us away.
But if we work in secret, we’ll save the world by Sunday.”
A sweet memory of our school days
We walked to school everyday
With a light school bag
Under a blue sky
With rain or sunshine abound
Only a few books in the school bag
But many flowers pluck
Or junk food bought along the way
We only had to finished our homework
Before we're free to play
We memorised lessons for our tests
Which were simple and straight forward questions
Never got tuition
We're left to learn and recite ourselves
Till we remembered
A simple style of school life
But with confidence,independence and wisdom
A nature lover
A love for freedom
A love for a simple life
The Red Bag
Big and jolly, lots of folly,
what do you have in the bag?
It is full of toys and gifts.
It is full of mirth and laughter.
It is full of all the things,
that make us wish for…
and after.
Christmas time,
songs of joy,
cheering every girl and boy.
Time to listen to each other,
time to remember,
why we are here…
A new jacket,
a pair of socks,
a hat that matches nothing I own.
Things of little or no importance,
Left undone, in favor of time spent,
wisely with others.
Thankful hearts,
open souls,
looking unto you…
Lord.
Praise be Your Name on High,
ever that we know,
the very reason for the season,
that we remember,
we belonged…
all along.
If you own a dog, at some point you
Will be carrying a bag of poo,
At least if you’re considerate
And follow laws regarding s#%*.
There are some, though, who flout the rules
And think that bagging crap’s for fools.
A joke said, aliens did land
And, struggling to understand,
Determined that the smarter race
Were not the humans, for their place
Was picking up whatever lot
Their masters left with every squat.
In any case, when doggies do
Their business, making number two,
Their owners might hold back a gag
But will be left to hold the bag,
Unless, of course, that they refuse
And leave the mess for others’ shoes.
She was forever after known as garbage bag girl.
A pretty little lass, cousin of the earl.
It all started years ago the night of Halloween.
Mom was borrowing a costume from Auntie B Queen.
Queen had gone to Florida, no way to bet in touch.
None of her famous costumes was in her costume hutch.
I’ll make you something, her uncreative mother said.
Mary Lee was disappointed, felt an instant kind of dread.
Weird looking costume was black, shiny, and rather slick.
Other kids made fun of it. One gave her a mean unfriendly kick.
Garbage bag girl has forever after how she is known.
Fifty years later she wishes Auntie B would have had a cell phone.
as a little child whenever my mother and I went to the store
she would give me that lecture which I had to endure
"don't ask for nothing, don't touch nothing, be quiet and always stay near"
but as a child in a store this I did not wish to hear
eventually I would come to ask,"can I please put something in the bag?"
the marketing and business strategies of the advertising companies
are specifically designed to target the young demographic entity
sell to the youth, appeal to the young, make it fashionable for the teens
make them put something in the bag so the cash register can go cha-ching
but life is more than the lastest pair of jeans you want to style
it's about putting something in the bag that is worthwhile
a college degree, a scholarship, your faith in the Lord Christ
it's time to put something in the bag that will bring meaning to your life
to put in the bag the Gospel of Peace
and not those new Air Jordan's on your feet
to be outfitted in the Breastplate of Righteousness
and not the lastest Baby Phat designer dress
to pick up the Spirit of the Sword
and not that car you can barely afford
it's time to put something precious and special in the bag
and no longer to gravitate towards expensive designer rags
so put something in the bag, the bag that is your life
it's time to get the greatest gift and that is the Gospel of Jesus the Christ
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
The clothes she wore were twenty years old
Tattered and torn not much protection from the cold
The rusty cart she pushed with wheels well worn
The hair on her head needed to be shorn
Slowly into the emergency room she did enter
Just in time for her heart was tender
As she sat down in the chair
Her lungs no longer filling with air
Passed out onto the floor
Someone coming in through the door
Yelled code blue alert
Then the staff turned with a jerk
Everyone moved in hight speed motion
Some people wondered what's the commotion
Just like lighting to the operating room
Jane Doe was whizzed which was none too soon
After days of tender loving care
Still unidentified she slipped away from there
Meeting her husband beside the road
Speeding away in their car they drove
She was no bag lady
But America's elderly poor
Who needed heart surgery
But couldn't afford the cure
(This is copied righted on LuLu's Poetry.com as are most of my work, some of which is
supposed to be published in their anology series. Sara)