Long Old bag Poems
Long Old bag Poems. Below are the most popular long Old bag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Old bag poems by poem length and keyword.
Grrrr WOMEN they drive me mad!
We were due to go on holiday
My wife said she was on her way
I’d got the car engine running
I waited
and waited
and waited
But my wife Marcie was on the phone to her mom
Marcie had INSISTED her mother lived in our granny flat
Why couldn’t she pop next door to say goodbye…
Going on holiday is the only way I can escape from the old bag
Still at least she’s looking after Mitzi our Chihuahua
We arrive at the airport just in time ….
Marcie walks ahead in a cloud of Chanel No 5 perfume
To me it smells like cat’s pee
but if it was good enough for Marilyn Monroe she HAS to wear it
Unfortunately I had chosen the only trolley with the wonky wheel
That darn trolley has a mind of it’s own … it must be a female!
The electric doors open and close like see through curtains
I struggle with a mountain of three suitcases, but only one is mine
And half of MY case is taken up with five pairs of Marcie’s shoes
Tell me guys
Why does a woman have to pack the kitchen sink ‘just in case’
One small suitcase is FULL of her make up
Gee I hope she remembered to pack the trowel with which to apply it!
At the check in desk we discover one of the cases is overweight
Yes … you guessed it – its mine with all her bloody shoes in it
I have to stump up thirty-five dollars in excess baggage fees!
What a great way to start a relaxing break...
When we board the plane things are no better
Marcie moans about the cramped seats
She has to ask for a seat-belt extension
telling the stewardess the seats are smaller than those the last time we flew
Maybe if she lost a few pounds that would make a difference …
But of course I hold my tongue
Marcie moans about the noise as we take off
She moans about the aircraft food but still eats every mouthful
She complains how tiny the toilet stalls are
her huge butt doesn’t help but I hold my tongue
As we are landing she says how much she misses her mom and the dog
THAT WAS THE FINAL STRAW
Next year Marcie and her mum can go away
I’m staying at home with the dog!
06-12-17
FORESKINFEDORA FOR POETS WHO IDENTIFY AS MEN
Sponsored By John Lawless
Bag Whores to my left. Bag Whores to my right.
Bag Whores beating at my door, morning, noon and night. They know you got IT,
and they’re looking for another free high.
They all have the same old ‘Bag Whore’ Standard-Stock lie.
Talking about how they plan to cop TOMORROW,
But: Right now, they really need you to help them get by...
And: ‘TOMORROW’ they will be sure to remember to
call you before they ‘Drop On By’
Don’t even let a Bag Whore in the door,
or you’ll be dealt in a very big way. Once they get in they just
don’t go away. Once they’re in they’re not going away.
This is the standard M.O. of a Bag Whore on any day.
They’ll be grinding their teeth, and chompping at the bit.
They’ll just can’t wait for you to give them a huge,
bellowing, ‘Hoover Vacuum Type’ hit.
The Bag Whore will hound you, pestering you until you
break out your smoke. Then they fry your bowl
and scorch your pipe beyond any hope.
They always want more, even when you tell them it is gone.
Next thing ya know, they’re melting down your stems,
Your glass is etched and that is just too many shades of
BAG WHORE DONE GONE AND WENT WRONG!
You can always tell when a Bag Whore has a stash of their own,
Because they are suddenly nowhere to be found.
But once theirs is gone, they’ll be back, lurking about,
just lingering around and blatantly hanging out.
So the next time the neighborhood Bag Whore knocks
on your door, just tell them that you have
No More, No More, No More!
And for God Sake, what ever you do: Don’t open the door.
Loreen Parke
May 8th 2004
I’m asleep, therefore nothing exists.
Just my mind and a hangover from last night being pissed
Existence is only evident from the point I open my eyes
And the pain I feel from the knife in the back and the remembrance of my lies.
Nevertheless, from the point I am aware on my surroundings
Time starts and existence is hand in hand and evident from my wife’s snore soundings
The room is hear from what my mind allows me to apprehend
But existence so far is limited to the room and does not transcend
I walk to the door and pause for a while
A thought crosses my mind and makes me smile
May be existence is what I want it to be
So I thought of a mansion full of beautiful women this is what I wanted to see
Open the bedroom door and, DAM! same old house and what is more
I can still hear the old bag snoring behind the door
Uh! My mind is familiar with this picture and I cannot change
Or it would cause a rift in the time continuum so existence we cannot rearrange
I get ready for work and off I drive
After a stiff coffee I feel alive
Yes! Yes! Now non existence comes in to play
House and the wife don’t exist but a familiar travel path to work in a new day.
So I get to work and everything I left behind does not exist
But something makes me clench my fist
The nonexistent wife is calling me on the phone
This is the rift in time reminding me that there is a wife and a home
fine lines sketched into my mirror
how did they get there? weathering
the decades, furrowed brow, creased
eyes with bags am i an old bag -
nonsense.
the mirror crack'd with an angry
whiplash i had to take a look
at my life, evaluate, extenuate
my outlook. hope for this old hag -
that kind of self talk for the birds.
bright city lights, broadway trimmed
my mirror looking extravagant, even
with its pits, spots, wrinkles of time
better lived than alone
am i a crackpot? If i am
i’m sipping from a loving cup
grateful for the full ride
i abide in the faithful arms
of Jesus Christ
his mirror was treacherous, scarred
his countenance was cracked
so much so that he was unidentifiable
except for the blood that loved
that exuded pure love
if i’m proud, my self is humbled
i’ll take those tracks - there is
traction in suffering and giving back
to my fellow man
lightly i cover up those wrinkles
only to blend this well-lived face
i face my reflection, satisfied
without indiscretion’s distraction
3/10/2023
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
There's a bag I like to keep,
A lil' ol'e bag
O' mine.
Its green
Canvas build,
Its BSA
Tag, its
Frayed edge
So fine.
This lil' o'le bag
O' mine.
What is kept inside its fine green frame?
A couple o' pencils, a stack o notebooks,
A lockpick set and padlock (for fidgeting)
Brown good-luck stone and a pen-knife.
It is all in this little old bag of mine.
'Twas a sunny Sunday in June
Father's Day was in its throws
We were just young children
No money, but good at putting on shows
I was the youngest of four
My opinion meant it was a no no
Especially when I suggested flour
To make the carpet look like snow
We were doing a pantomime
Dressed up in all sorts of things
I looked like an old bag lady
Not sure what I wore for wings
Well it went along nicely that was until when
Someone trod on the cats tail
You should have heard him yell
As he ran up and down the curtain rail
Pulling down our carefully chosen decorations
The splinter of glass made us all cringe
There was the vinegar from the pickled onions
All over the carpet with red cabbage in the fringe
The smell was horrendous, can't be denied
the lounge looked like a hurricane had been unlocked
My Tad loved his Father's Day surprise
Mam didn't say much she is still shell shocked
Penned June 1st 2014
They give what they don't have:
Leaving their children to
the lion's paw to devour them,
while addressing the ills
of others' children.
1)Wroughting diverse miracles are they.
2)Skilled in elating words,
even bailing heart out from
turmoil's prison.
'Nemo dat qoud non habet':
Giving out what
they haven't used.
3)Bought a new bag
for your old bag is worn.
But you gave it out
to your neighbour
who has seven better ones.
While you pack your
stuffs in a polythene?.
Giving your cakes to dogs!
4)Taking care of another man wound,
While yours can't help oozing:
Even swarms of flies taking picnic theirin.
"Even if you have what you can't use. Life will not reveal it."
Dispose the heaps in your eyes,
That you may see clearly to blow off the
substance in other's eyes!
Heal your wound first...
And many will patronise!
17:2:12:20:19
The rain fell and the frost came.
Pavements became sheets of glass
waiting for unsteady limbs,
ready for their fall.
The back door opened,
shuffling feet made
there way down a glistening path,
an old key to this problem
held tight in the palm of a hand.
When...
Slip Bang Jolt!
Stars appeared
before dark.
Pain made his
presence
known.
Jack Frost
laughed loudly.
The old bag of salt
sat in the musky shed
looking almost tierd and worn.
It was time again for it
to see the light of day,
to once more do battle,
scratch and scrape that glass
beyond repair and dissolve
any hope of another ambush.
Jack Frost was
about to be
assaulted.
The element of surprise
was perhaps lost,
but the element of
Sodium Chloride
was about to
wage war and win.
There we were - Alf and I - Pharaohs,
surveying those white pyramids -
Nests of ibis - ovulating -
Opera.
Across the bridge we danced,
Swaying o'er the waves below -
Spectred lovers on a phantom ship -
Drifting snug into port - oh, so were we.
Yes, There we were - Alf, you - left me,
As you cantered away on your white steed.
I'm diverting - like a white capped copper
By the Circular Quay - away -
From Darling Harbour - rolling -
Onto the Rocks.
Yet, in Neutral Bay,
I - last - heard you say,
You'd be selling me down
At King's Cross.
So bye - my Alfie - it's over -
Just city lights and squalor - for me -
With whisky and history - this old bag lady
Stares dreamily over the sea.
The ancestral shackles I feel - loosening,
Pushed out - by the will to be free.
In the Land of the Lost, on my floor;folks crazed
A wod jane does yell trash in flush room.; felt miffed
My nerves tense, on this floor -I’m on edge;feel brash
Here 8 months there is no hope in sight; feel stiffed
There’s an old bag here that bums for cash; she’s trash
How to be sane ? I then write poems; do art
Strange sounds comes when my roomy does sleep-old old pfart
I tell him stop it please I crash hard; mind dazed,
Need more cash to live here.I say your; bucks due.
Funds, ask your kin be nice small talk will help you
First two floors and 3 west folks seem not so bad.
I hope the other wards are fairer, am glad,
Nice things to state about the Vigi,caff great.
I like tuna sarnies all dressed please;first rate
I am finished with this poem with much heart .