"bagging" poems
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Other optional features include
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tipping the velvet
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salad tossing
tea bagging
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
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golden shower
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motor boating
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Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Remember days bagging up some minerals.
Trying to find the toys in our cereal.
Now me and Don hiding from the ops like we federal;
Getting kinda hungry, not for food but for miracles.
I’m just thinking bout the old times.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
With TDS, for success, keep that in my mind.
And summer eighteen, promise it’ll be mine.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
she brings me pancakes and lights me a cigarette
my ***** are cement and icicles form on my toes
she opens the curtain to a dying dove on the balcony
the banks are closed and the stock market has crashed
the periscope lens, so lucidly balanced, has fallen
irreparably into the crypt of a dream
i take a bite of an apple and stare into the mid-morning sun
after bagging the bird, she drapes herself across my chest
she is worshiped like a cradle, or a gravestone in a thunder storm
in her ecstasies, a prism, a poem fits like a glove
as the sunlight warms her ******* she heaves remnants
of last night's whiskey into my adam's apple and it burns me
the words she struck me with still sting in my ears
her fingerprints remain on my back and my bathroom mirror
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Her bed wouldn't release her,
Despite the alarm clock's vicious bite,
had a late one last night,
hey, Jenna,
Mother called,
time to get up honey,
get your *** moving,
and I'll chuck you some money,
maybe get you fast food breakfast,
won't tell you again,
that time was the last.
Jenna fell out of bed,
chucked on her clothes,
looked like a clothes horse,
with a pierced nose,
She wiped on her daily slap,
told the world that school was crap,
wiped on a phoney grin,
Mamma said she must go in,
In a very loud voice,
She spouted,
only thing worth having,
was not education,
but in her classes gangs of boys.
Had enough of dictatorial teachers,
she could still hang out in bed,
learning from dreams,
instead,
She so hated mother's nagging,
practised in old bagging,
She had no yearning for learning,
all she wants to do is sleep!
(C) Livvi
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:46 AM UTC
Oh, delicious siren of the produce aisle,
your alias, “Vegetable,” above.
Come, let me pick you from the bunch.
I’ll run my hands around the contours of your shape,
checking you for holes,
bruises,
dirt.
“I’ll take this one,” I say,
bagging you up,
twist-tie tight.
How softly you ride,
in the front seat of the shopping cart,
alone with the eggs.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
If corporate Dems tell me about how 'We all do better when we all do better'...
Or about how 'It's not about class, it's about coming out for Dems'...
Or about how, 'No one identifies with the working class' or 'nobody wants to identify with the working poor'...
I say to you, WE ARE THE WORKING POOR.
Look at the stains on their clothes, listen to their words, look at the rugged callous of their hands, who amongst us can last a job loss, or wage cut, or a car blow out?
None of us, cept the 1%.
We are the precariat class, the proletarian class.
I say to you, the working poor and homeless are the 'emarginati', the literal marginal ones, the ones at the edges of society.
But who, honestly, isn't at the edge???
The Democratic gubernatorial candidate turned carpet-bagging Congressional goon, Bank of America executive turned-state-CFO Alex Sink embodies the centrist-right neoliberal dogma of 'business-rules', who cares about immigrants besides those who 'clean our hotels and do our landscaping'.
Brand-imaging, quaffed corporate Dems are why the two-party system in broken.
Both parties are sell-outs to capital, and they think we don't know.
We know, and we remember.
Neoliberal capitalism of 'Washington Consensus' imposed on the rest of humanity will fall.
I just hope we wise up as a republic in the mean time.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
ever had those days of nagging
the ears are punch drunk
taking lefts rights and upper cuts
the retinue of blows are countless
this follows that
it's punching bag material
you know how Joe Frazier felt
when he left the ring
stunned to stupification
ever had those days of bagging
nothing you attempt to do for people
turns out as it should
everything ends up pear shaped
and asymmetrical
the best is done to fix the problems
without the proper tools
a jack of trades
is a cunning fool
a master
is a pilot ace
who do they think you are
some super hero
ever had those days of ragging
*** shot are taken
keeping you on your feet
like Ginger and Fred
doing a four two step
you hope a ****** doesn't lay in wait
hitting the all important red dot
notice how rabbits
dart and dance
not wanting to take up the spot light
ever had those days of slagging
the words are directed
like hacking scissors
chopping a crooked edge
at your sleeve
leaving you at the whim of humiliation
you dignity left in tattered shreds
where's a seamstress
when you want one
at a stop work meeting
shop stewards are thugs
and stand over merchants
no one comes to your rescue
have you ever had those days
none of us are immune
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat
Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes
An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan
Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...
**
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
don't look, I
run with the wind, amok gilted hands
fast lacing,
i've only got six fingers saved for
dead kachinas, and I'm
wheeling rough
through the underbrush;
mixed Wiley yellow, willow
peering in on my schemes, paint
pallet dragging leaves
over the hills and holes of
my body's deepest grief
so brush up the tic
and wipe off the blood,
if i'm treading through this
horse hyde, then lift
up my red dress
and sift out the weeds
bramble ramble, ramble
soothsayer hanging bones from
his swollen empty gut-- I
got a rain-stick, talking-stick
Yellow Wampum floating, bagging
sick sweat, for Appaloosa, holy, holy
leave, god anger ugly,
golden painted leaves
and if i'm too swollen, and if you're too
sullen-- i've got a bag of névé rocks for you
so hitch up the tobacco and wait
for tomorrow
my deer running, hoof trotting, snow
blowing legs will be comin' soon.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
I was just a young lady,
Working to be something that I wasn't,
Night and day, no weekends off,
Minimum wage, flirting for tips,
It was a job, and that was it.
I was bagging up an order,
Grilled Pork chop, green beans and fries,
when a large man took me by surprise,
Said are you really going to work here, you should enjoy your life,
I just blew him off, didn't give him a second thought,
He told me I should be kid while I still could,
But the truth was I hadn't been a kid for a long time.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Summers meant harvests of berries and such,
chores to do before play.
Running barefoot in lawns that were lush,
the smell of fresh mown hay.
Hoeing the garden to keep down the weeds,
cooling off with the hose.
Bagging up the dried Marigold seeds,
finding Ladybugs in the Rose.
Swimming holes, Dead Mans alley, long evening walks.
Picket fences lead the way,
as I walked with Grandpa and talked.
Summers were the time for Rights of Passage,
lessons in growing up.
When bravery or cowardice sent a message,
with buddies there for backup.
Warm nights allowed for camping out back,
fireflies aglow.
Lying in wait for a surprise attack,
until the lantern burned low.
In those hot Summer days of sixty five,
something in me changed.
Through my talks with grandpa, a calm came alive.
He taught me how to feed the birds,
standing quietly as you can.
They would come to his whispered words,
eating out of our hands.
Grandpa taught me the importance to truly see,
what was slipping past.
I watched the world, as other kids ran free,
knowing Summer wouldn't last.
As for me, I was content to let pass,
those Summer days in shade,
learning to whistle, on a blade of grass.
**Thank you Grandpa for all you taught me.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC
You slip another excuse from your blood red lips.
It slithers snake like
flicking its tonge
staring with never blinking eyes
as it climbs up excitedly
strangling me with its obvious deceit.
I accept it regretfully
and slip slowly into blackness as it chokes the air from my pride.
Sure,
next time,
with that salesman's grin on your face.
I just bought a 1982 with a cracked block
and 25% interest.
That giddy smirk on your complexion
it shakes the limp hand of my shameless ignorance.
Still I feel no bliss.
I'd love to see you again you say
bagging up your things
and shaking with anticipation
at the freedom beyond my sight.
My authenticity suddenly becomes pathetic
mirroring your statement
onto a fleeing back.
Now,
my days are spent watching walls
and contemplating loneliness.
The white begins to swirl
pitted pimples capturing old filth.
Its monotone reaches to swallow me whole in the silence
some still blanket grasping.
I'll let go.
It's not that hard to ignore reality
until the cigarette cherry climbs its way to my finger tips
fiery teeth biting.
*Your back,
stay for a while,
Its not like things could get worse than this.*
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
You took my heart right from the start standing inside Harveys as you where bagging the groceries next to us an you looked up into my eyes an then I heard your voice for the very first time you told me I could have your number if I wanted it an I thought I was going to faint the guy with the beautiful hazle brown eyes was talking to me my dad didn't like you because you where 17 an I was only 15 but my heart was still yours an I didn't care...so I went behind his back an kept you close closer than I ever kept someone before and we talked the more we talked the harder I fell....when your hand was in mine no other place I would rather be to bad your a lier and you did exactly what you said you wouldn't i told you I was broken an that if you where going to leave just like everyone else please don't make me fall you told me you where different an that you where not like them you lied your mom caught us talking ***** an she hated me but it was all your fault I never thought like that till I met you till you showed me the new world of life an love I didn't care that she told me to stay away an neither did you still you kept me hanging on just to break me more......you told me wait till I was 16 an you where 18 the days we still talked as if I was yours an you where mine then you turned 18....and you where still mine then the days that followed to me turning 16 two weeks before the day you told me we couldn't be because you had feelings for another.....now your with her an its hurting me....she use to be my friend now she is nothing more than dust in the wind....and you colby.....your the guy that I thought was my prince your the guy that I love your the guy that made all these promises you couldn't keep your the guy that means everything to me your the guy that I mean nothing to your the guy I wish I could get back your the guy I still see when I close my eyes your the guy I want but I know I'll never have again....I don't know why I love you so much but I do.....an I always will till the day I die...but you don't feel the same so I'll say good night
I love you Colby I really do I hope someday you find what your looking for I'm sorry I wasn't her......I wish I hope I thought I wanted to be her an would have done anything to be her to make you happy to be that person......
I....I...I love you
I'm sorry
Goodbye heart
Goodbye smile
Goodbye happiness
You stole it away as soon as you gave it to me
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
negotiating modernity
at the MoMA
one's pushed along
mass conveyances
inertial rush an
intractable force
surer then the weight
of Newton's gravity
routes precarious
contemplative moments
nails scratching
Pollack's #9
in desperate attempt
to hold ground
Mall of America's
crushing crowds
vagrants pacing
the large garages
barely glimpsing
composite walls
the open spaces
bagging fast food art
not a bit of intimacy
in the **** place
Music Selection
Ornette Coleman
with Eric Dolphy
Free Jazz
2/24/11
NYC
jbm
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC
I looked between the sheets
to see if I could see your feet
Something that once was there; disappeared
Couldn't even find a single hair;
For proof you were there
Must have vanished in mid-air
Amongst the others who were just as fair
But managed to lay their head in another home
Who laid comfortably beside others bones
For proof you were scared
Now there's a lie wrapped around your finger
Married to another but your feeling still linger;
Your smile still flickers as I look in the mirror
Where I used to grab your hips in sensual bliss
For proof you loved, then lied, then sailed another ship...
Your ship missed port and now your bagging for more
But how can I love when I'm ripped up and torn;
Although, these open doors give me sight of fool's paradise;
these legs don't move after you taken them as your prize
Even when you left I still saw me on you
For proof that my mind is delusional too
Cause all this drama is emphasized by me
Crafted by a simple mind and vocalized by a feign
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Bagging groceries has given me
A strange window into people's lives
I stuff their secrets into a paper sack
And I tell them to have a good day
But I'm not sure they do
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC
Lost in the mist with low battery,when I do right the world still mad at me,but the hatred just flatters me,heart broken like they baddered me,I do right and they still nag at me,reaching for heaven but the devil still dragging me,treating me like a food product they bagging me,if I spaz it's gonna be a tragity,fighting back like the Shan dynasty,my mother expect the best of me,but the world steady testing me,gotta do this and get that the world stressing me,no freedom society dressing me,it's like life molesting me
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
I was driving down I-64 with Jesus
on my dashboard and the Devil on my shoulder,
and on those warm midnight drives
I learned that I never found God
in colorful rosary beads or begging for
forgiveness from an unknown face
behind an iron curtain.
I found God on the street corner
begging for groceries and promising a good time,
I found God bagging my groceries
or waiting at the bus stop.
I found God's reflection in the tears
of my mother.
I found God in every love letter
I sent and every kiss I received.
God isn't dead.
His heartbeat lives in all that we do,
we just have to find the pulse.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
*****
big, small, tall, short.
curvy, flat, scrawny, heavy.
getting the attention because they show more skin than the average woman.
they give them cute names like ***** "cumbucket" and ***** The only respect given to them is cat calling and t-bagging, as if they weren't human enough or even woman enough to be given the privilege to be taken on a date or better yet having a committed relationship with the boy next door because he is too embarrassed to be seen with the **** but would **** in the sheets because he knew no one would see, that inside those sheets he made lustful sweet love to the **** from the stop. Don't be nice they say, she just wants to lay in bed all day, to eat your flesh and give you head, to make you love her and **** your ego. because no one wants a **** But she was once used and abused, maybe that **** never truly understood how to be loved and cared about because every person who has touched her given her reasons to despise every single bit of hope they would put in her head. Wanting the attention she was never given because hearing "you are beautiful" is like floating mid air feeling the goosebumps running down to her spine, making her wish she heard that a thousand more times. (3:20am)
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
A man sits on a chair, centered to those around,
aware of them, glancing briefly waiting.
He developed a taste, this bag however only teased
his receptors, and gave more burn than ease.
Tea bagging is a fine art, to which is paid a king's ransom;
the shaft, though Godly, was not bound for glory...
how he wanted!
There was an exchange of stories, striking similarities;
he had been joined by others, relocated, and told to start over.
Mystics popped the cap, dismissing gender...
how they wanted!
A man sat in a bar;
no knowledge of modern era,
ceiling had tired tiles, a friend sang
to a new lover, and
two in love danced to karaoke,
in sync to their drunken state,
how he loved her!
The party was lavish;
gay youth empowered,
a welcome meat market of pulsing power,
a man sat on the couch...
watching, two ladies necked beside him,
together they danced to sultry tones,
eyes scanning, heads turned, smiles,
how he wanted.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 11:47 PM UTC
beep
beep
i'm ringing up your items
answering your questions
and bagging your items
because the only way to be able to make it in life
is to be a slave for someone else
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Eternal quandary
Basket or trolley
**** no pound coin
L Casei Immunitas
What?
Find me in the yoghurt aisle
Special offer ahoy
50% off
Only fractionally equine
Unexpected item in bagging area
Wait for assistance
Sigh
Card declined
But thank you for shopping
At Sainsbury’s
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
He was working the register at Save-a-Lot foods
The line slowly building towards the end of the store
I saw it
In the veins that stood out on the tip of his nose
In his white hair pushed back despite the receding hair line
In the sag of his lower lip
Making his jowls jiggle as he turned his head
I saw how his lower lip longed for the chewing tobacco it used to hold
I stood in line holding a cart full of lonely
And I wanted to tell him
“You look like the kind of man who’s only ever made daughters
And your hands
Are too calloused
for taking money
and bagging groceries
I know you
How the top of your gut is tight from the hunger
Of not having eaten yet
You were never meant for this
Man
You were never meant to work like this
Humbled by the heartache caused by a dime
We got the same change clangin’ in our pockets
Got the same sorrow
For not having made enough people happy
I know the minute the beer is full someone will take more
And the minute you sit down
And rub your calloused fingertips across your eyes
The phone will ring
Man
I know it wasn’t your fault
When the lady got mad that the prices were wrong
The prices are always wrong
I know
You’ve been here too long
We both
have been here too long
When my hair is grey
Today’s change will still ring off the countertops
And I'm sorry
For everything”
But I didn’t say any of that
I said
Hi
I did not use his name
Because I know how condescending it really sounds to do that
It was Patrick by the way
I gave him a twenty
He gave me a penny
It clanged in my pocket like the last bell on a broken wind chime
And then I said
Thanks Man
And left
Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 1:11 PM UTC