Best Famous Backpacks Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Backpacks poems. This is a select list of the best famous Backpacks poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Backpacks poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of backpacks poems.
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Written by
David Lehman |
The last Campbell's tomato soup can
of the twentieth century is going to
the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh
That is an example of a sentence
Another is this from a CEO in Fortune
"You die in either case, but this way you get
to do it proactively," where the adverb
makes the sentence I'm walking amid
the tourists on Bleecker Street the riffraff
the students with backpacks the bums and
a good old-fashioned New York feeling
hits me from head to toe a misanthropic snarl
the urge to kick a stranger in the pants,
and if you don't smoke you feel as if you do
|
Written by
Meena Alexander |
In a crumpled shirt (so casual for a god)
Bow tucked loosely under an arm still jittery from battle
He balanced himself on a flat boat painted black.
Each wave as I kneel closer a migrant flag
A tongue with syllables no script can catch.
The many births you have passed through, try to remember them as I do mine
Memory is all you have.
Still, how much can you bear on your back?
You’ve lost one language, gained another, lost a third.
There’s nothing you’ll inherit, neither per stirpes nor per capita
No plot by the riverbank in your father’s village of Kozencheri
Or by the burning ghat in Varanasi.
All you have is a writing hand smeared with ink and little bits of paper
Swirling in a violent wind.
I am a blue-black child cheeks swollen with a butter ball
I stole from mama’s kitchen
Stones and sky and stars melt in my mouth
Wooden spoon in hand she chased me
Round and round the tamarind tree.
I am musk in the wings of the koel which nests in that tree?—
You heard its cry in the jolting bus from Santa Monica to Malibu
After the Ferris wheel, the lovers with their wind slashed hair
Toxic foam on the drifts of the ocean
Come the dry cactus lands
The child who crosses the border water bottle in hand
Fallen asleep in the aisle where backpacks and sodden baskets are stashed.
Out of her soiled pink skirt whirl these blood-scratched skies
And all the singing rifts of story.
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