#rag
Rag and Bone he shouts out loud
Best prices paid he roars
His noisy voice attracts a crowd
But they all stay indoors
He continues on his merry way
His Horse Betty pulls the cart
A real pictures does he make
These two are rarely apart
His horse is now a tired old nag
Worn out from overwork
He himself is no spring chicken
And often feels a berk
As he sits upon the cart
His coat and trousers badly worn
Bad tempered most of the time
Because on his foot he has a corn
Which gives him jip each time he walks
And Betty’s in a sorry state as well
Her legs are tired from all the work
If you look you can soon tell
But they soldier on as best they can
To do the round all day
So always greet them with a smile
As they wend their merry way
Now Tommy has been in this trade
For three score years and ten
Which means he should be retired
Like many other men
But despite his grumpy demeanour
Betty means the world to him you see
They have been together for twenty years
Without each other where would they be
So as the day moves on without buying a thing
It’s back home they go together
Every day is always the same
In good or inclement weather
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 4:49 AM UTC
As he awakes to greet the dawn
On his park bench amongst the dew
The Times newspaper he has used for a blanket
The one read by the chosen few
As he stretches out his arthritic arms
And moves his arthritic legs
His eyes now staring up at the rising Sun
As he drinks from his cup, now full of dregs
He greets the day with his usual smile
Though the garden he surveys is owned by the city
As people pass him by and tut
He resents their look of pity
I may be a wanderer he thinks to himself
But self respect I have so much
I need no one’s indulgent stupid remarks
I do not need societies crutch
As he makes his way to who knows where
Each and every day
Spending his days on the road and free
Searching for food along the way
Every dustbin is his restaurant
Each *** bit or morsel that he might find
Will keep him alive and independent
He is just the roving kind
Each night he returns to the municipal park
His bench is always there
Another newspaper will keep him warm
So he can sleep without a care
But he is not alone it seems
He has a field mouse for company
Who arrives each night to sleep in his pocket
And will even partake a sip of his tea
As he sleeps he must remember
Not to turn over or disaster could strike
He would crush his little rodent friend
The one he has nicknamed Mike
So together they settle beneath the stars
Out in the cold and rain
And when they awake they both need to rise
And face the world again
Old Roddy, our gallant hero
From fighting, on the Som, in world war one, and yet
Has memories that bring him nightmares
Of things he saw that he would rather forget
Time has passed him by so much
His mind a blank to the person he once was
No one knows a thing about his life as they pass by
The ones who glare and cuss
But he always greets the day with a cough and a smile
Puts newspaper in his shoes to fill the holes
And watches intently as the old park-keeper
Clears up the work of last night’s Moles
As Mike runs off to forage for food
Old Roddy prepares to venture out into the morning Sun
Because his greatest adventure is about to rise
Unbeknown to him it has begun
Because every day is a new beginning for him
Where he will travel only he knows
But he will always return to his park bench home
In the park where the flowers grow
So if you pass him by asleep
Or if he is awake just say hello
Because unlike him you surely will
Not have far to go
And just remember one thing
When you see Roddy out in the rain and snow
He and his little field mouse friend Mike
Have nowhere else to go
His pockets may be empty
His clothes may look like rags
And as he wanders around the place
His worldly goods are all in bags
But that does not make you a better person
Than he ever could have been you see
But for fate and misfortune
It could be you or me
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
Old Archie was a rag and bone man
Who cruised the streets all day
With Mabel his trusted friend and companion
Who pulled the four wheel dray
Which he had purloined from a brewery
Which had been closing down
A big old red brick building
That was on the edge of town
Now Mabel was twenty eight years old
A big old dapple grey
Who cost old Archie a fortune
In biscuits and in hay
But they has been together forever
Or so it really seemed
To Archie as he sat upon the seat
Occasionally falling asleep and dreamed
Rag and Bone he used to shout
As loud as loud could be
And people would come out and give
Old clothes and other goods for free
Sometimes around the posh areas
He would have to pay
And that would just set him off
Moaning the rest of the day
For Archie was a tightwad
Money seemed to be welded in his pocket
He even had a few pound notes
Around his neck in an old locket
But it also contained a picture
Of his beloved flo
His wife for many a long year
The Lord decided had to go
So now it was only Mabel and him
Companions till the end
Working together all day long
Archie’s one true friend.
One day whilst out upon their round
Mabel caused a disgrace
Her tummy was not all it should be
She left manure all over the place
P C Smith came running
Stop he shouted loud and clear
Bur Archie being a little bit deaf
He really did not hear
The constable was now running fast
Gaining on the dray
But slipped upon some of Mabel’s mess
As Archie went on his merry way
He landed in a heap in the road
About twenty feet further adrift
Regaining his composure as best he could
Out came his notebook rather swift
I am arresting you he shouted
For causing this sorry mess
So let’s be having you matey
What’s your name and address
By now a crowd had gathered round
Complaining of police brutality
For picking on an old man and his horse
Only a rag and bone man you see
As P C Smith put away his notebook
Realizing it was a waste of time
Mrs Jones came from up the road
A lady in her prime
Bucket and ***** in hand
She started to scoop up the mess
It’s for my Roses she cried
Spilling some on her dress
Meantime old Archie and Mabel
Started off down the road
Having caused all chaos
His dray now with a full load
It had been just another day for Mabel and him
Who had seen it all, over the past twenty-eight years
A lifetime of hard work and laughter
Along with a few tears
So if you see them out when you’re passing
Just give them a wave and a cheer
Or even better still
Buy them a well earned beer
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 3:58 AM UTC
Diseased turnip
Rooting in the dirt
Rotting fodder
Unpicked
Untapped
Gnarled and bitter
Lying under your bridge
When you are gone
No-one will miss your rancid rag
© 2019 MJL
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
a whirl
on heels
with a
shrew could
strew the
map with
their features
a cartographer
drew in
their wild
fantasy with
red carpet
with their
faction pursued
a revolution
with Stanton
à la carte
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 7:21 AM UTC
please allow arability of friendship
and hoop fully this acquiescence
can render an accord shared
via exchanging calumet peace pipe
initially invoked qua
piercing, gouging, digging...from hooked aquilinity
upon awareness miss applying the squaw aridity
mine swallowing capacity as pins pricking
a voodoo likeness doll (of me),
though this claim could steeped
in utter contrived artificiality
fusing flagrant faulty aromaticity
asininity admitting absent attentiveness
as ska walking a fine line
betwixt asexuality behooves
rectification allowing solution Wiccan agree
upon linking assimilability, assignability, assiduity
implicating with asperity ***** err roan
nee huss rubble word choice prompting asperity
inducing me to cast the first stone
of apology, and self awareness
totally tubularly offer thyself as human sacrifice
redeeming conceding unalterable venal tone
role of squawking chief fowl ling at the end zone
regarding, where associatively properly went
assumability, anonymity of the internet vent
ting modality adopting immunity,
viz virtual community tent
revival meeting adumbrating atypicality, attainability
avoidance of audiological atrocity, sans atonality sent
to ear rate, the autoimmunity authority,
authenticity, austerity, audacity, co rent
ting availability, automaticity, accessibility
asper automobility to scale tenement, pent
house, or pre faux ying bing avascularity,
avidity, avuncularity avers automatically tall lent
aim to amble along xy feigning tubby
with minimal audibility clark kent
information superhighway
axiality grid via galavanting gent
can be activated swimmingly
with less overt axe said dent.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
It hurts more to succumb to the darkness
Than to resist its emotional drag,
To give into the negativity
And accept the longevity
Of that damp, moldy, abrasive rag,
Than to accept and see the Likeness.
Accept the overwhelming Embrace,
Rather than the darkness of that place.
Overcome. Claim what’s overdue:
The Love, the Peace, and the Grace.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Today, I met the son of a rag picker.
working at a landfill talks about a Biogas tomb,
but does not know that he sits on a methane bomb.
Talks about the suffering of animals, while he suffers from toxins,
redeems every moment of his life for indefinite sins.
Shoves through the rotten corpses and befriends the scavengers,
he wears a stained Spencer and soiled wayfarers.
His eyes are jaundiced, given the stench,
climbs the dirt, while his body starves but his hands are hench.
He looks curiously at my white glowing skin,
laughs at my soft palms throbbing on a dustbin.
He burns the crap, and high goes the flame,
snuffs out his little life, with this every day precarious game.
He bathes in sewer and eats near the crap,
he talks of the other day when he fell off the fill and his leg got snapped.
He is sliced at places and stabbed for stealing ***
he earns his bread while others of his age mug a shot.
Authorities for his welfare complain about the aroma,
he worships this place as his life’s dogma.
Someday I wish may he smell the green grass,
wear a uniform and attend the chemistry class.
Prejudice he may, for the upcoming generations,
who spend a summer day carrying out these gnarly operations.
May fair go his skin and clean run his blood,
he is the saving grace, my new stench bud.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
now everybody’s doing it.
that’s not to say
i haven’t seen how
your eyes roam over
your body like you’d been
stitched together with all
the wrong fabrics
i don’t think
i’ve ever seen you
look as dissatisfied as
when you look
at yourself.
you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just like
an std, everybody’s had it
at some point.
it’s just that some people
were smart enough to
use protection or are abstinent
and they’re the ones
who sleep easy at night
while you’ve always got an itch
to scratch it was never clear
how they toed the line
between their self love
and hate better
than others and you
were their other,
caught them staring
and couldn’t tell the line
between love and hate
(thought you saw it
split the ground open
wanted to dip your toes
into the nothing between
you were scared
you’d fall in).
but you won’t tell
me what it’s like
when you look at yourself,
and your reflection
is rag-doll ragged
the perfect pincushion
and you pinpoint
all the split seams
moth holes your
smile is just a
loose thread you stop
to unravel
and you won’t say
what it’s like
when your reflection is
all pins and points
and you’re not sure
if the rag-doll face
underneath is still
there, at one point
she smiles
like only girls with pins
in their lips can,
her lips unravel
(you don’t smile).
you’ve told me before,
self-loathing is just
a common cliché,
there’s no way you’d
be caught dead
doing it.
i’ve seen the red-capped pins
you keep with your make-up.
they look so much
like my own.
hey.
are you still there?
i can't see you beneath
all those pins.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 6:26 PM UTC
i fought for my country defended my flag
i'll do what i must to support that old rag
i don't drink craft beers
that just ai'nt my bag
i'm just an old outlaw at heart
if there's a chance i will take it
give me a choice and i'll make it
i speak the truth , i don't fake it
i'm an old outlaw at heart
Rules to be broken and highways to ride
I can do both without breaking my stride
I show you one face, but deep down inside
I'm an old outlaw at heart
I'm just a truck driving black hatted man
I defend my beliefs the best that I can
I belief in the flag that flies over our land
I'm an old outlaw at heart
I'll tell you my truths, like it or not
You may not like it, it's the best that I got
I know the pledge of allegiance, each dash and dot
I'm an old outlaw at heart
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
I’ve been pulled
and pushed around
all my life
Like a rag doll
And it has ended up
Where I am just
going with the wind
Push me away
Pull me back
close
Mess me around
I dont care anymore
I’ve gotten used to
Being used
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC