Back Pack Poems | Examples

Finding Honor In His Hand

Standing here in the sand
Ready with full back pack
I'm facing this vast sea
Unthinkable but with courage
Waiting a boat for a trip
At the other side of this island
For loved visit and fun adventures
On this way i don't know what lies ahead
I only live every second of my life
God is my guide and I love His favor
I lay my life in Him and no reservations
Whatever it takes His goodness my strength
I venture to the death whether gain or lose
I'll go home bringing with me an honor.

HOW TO FLY A KITE

First you take the girl
up on the southern Downs -
on a day with light wind
and bright sunshine.

Then you unpack things
from your bulging back pack -
with emphasis on those
Picnic goodies.

Next you ask for help
stretching the fabric out
to fit the sticks inside -
looking in her eyes.

While she holds the tail
you touch her hand with yours
as you tie up the string
ready for the air.

You give her the reel
and offer up the kite
to the heavens where her
presence transports you.

Place your hand over hers
and show her how to let
the string free the kite to fly.
When she turns, kiss her.

It's very simple.

 
© Griffonner 2024

Have You Ever Bummed a Cigarette

Have you ever bummed a cigarette
    or a razor blade like Gillette

  How 'bout stealing a place in line
    or someone's coat that fits you fine

  And surely you've snatched a sugary snack
    sticking out of your friend's back-pack 

  I've done all these things and even more
    ~ Someday the Big Guy'll even the score

Shrewd

in a manor of time it will tell
it's been so reconciled
it's hard to tell anymore
not s scull set up on a stump
sold separately no gun
but a tall tale on web buy now black market
but fishes fishes in your suit case and back pack 
can't believe your eye
fishes fishes that fall from the sky
it's a wonder and work's why
it's life and power
it's money that disappears 
it's the people that hate him
distracted discernment
brought it to an extreme 
trust of all bad advice from some
decent i'm sure fine young fella
it's astute I mean absurd

Back To School

Come on little darlings , 
grab that cart.
We've got shopping to do.
School's about to start.

You've been a pain in my a**
all Summer long.
Now it's back to school
where you belong.

Pick some binders, 
pick a back pack.
Grab pens and pencils.
Keep this on track.

My favourite time to shop
Is before Labor Day, 
and the only time all Summer
You get to have your way.

So pick your colours,
pick your themes.
Grab that looseleaf paper 
by the reams.

It's almost here.
I'm almost free.
September can't come
soon enough for me .

Long Trails

Vibram lugs 2 inches thick
	for edge work back when
	I was so young
	with mountains to climb

the leather uppers
	with mink oil spread
	in the oven baked
	again and again

Mountains I climbed
	and dusty trails walked
	like friends of old
	they still remain

in dark of night
	as I do cry
in fear I tremble
	and wonder why

dreams of youth
	in spring of years
golden sunshine
	that could never and

a orange back pack
	on aluminum frame
	4000 cubes
	that so much held	

Baseball mitts
	and skiing wax
	holstered canteens
	and hammocks of string

wonder I now
	just what it will hold
if the long road
	my feet will find

when does come
	new dawn breaks
	life begins again
	and death flees away

a sleeping bag filled
	with hollofil II
	will it then replace
	my King size bed

nightmares were then
	a distant unfelt thing
words on the news
	unknown to me

if healthy lived
	kept active mind
dreams then could grow
	keep nightmares at bay

yet dreams now do end
	golden sun does set
dark of night will fall
	cannot be held at bay

again take up my staff
	and the backpack fill
	sturdy boots again to wear
	and on the road go away

Late August In the Kingdom

Morning mist over Molly`s,
     a late August gold haze.
     Crossing hay fields of Danville,
     Cabot`s meadows and maze.
     A spoon dips the honey,
     apple cinnamon rolls,
     sippy straws in a back pack,
     empty cereal bowls.
     Red leaf in the maple,
     a yellowing white birch,
     chicken pies in the oven,
     Thursday night at the church.
     A blue ribbon Bessie,
     the taste of fried dough,
     bloomin` onions in Tunbridge,
     4 H best of show.
     The holly hocks have risen,
     soon the purple mums bloom,
     and there`ll be frost on the butternut,
     under full harvest moon.

Halloween Remembered

I once made a Halloween costume
For a little boy of four.
And gave him a sack with some string I had,
To go knocking on the doors.

His brother trailed alongside him,
With painting on his face,
He got his shoes a-wetted,
And caught a bad cold, with disgrace.

I made a pink net princess,
She carried a satin sack,
Next year I filed them all away,
In an old and black back pack.

These memories curl around my heart,
Reese’s, and Hersheys and sugar peanuts,
I lie on my couch and sail away,
Drinking Earl Grey from Hyacinth’s tea cups.

She Came For Him In Central Park

On the prettiest bench he could find
Hiding from the death gatherers
In full sight, but blinding them with the red
Plaid shirt, blue jeans, against a leaf flying day.

Autumn. He never thought it would happen in autumn.
September his favorite month. Squirrels were chasing.
Children’s giggles floated into his ears. Sun on his face.
He left the instructions in his back pack, but this was Central Park.

Someone had stolen them and the backpack.
It did not matter. No one would claim the body.
He sat back and smiled, admiring the grim reaper 
She came stealthily toward him in a woman’s body.

Morph Your Defeat

Walk with me, hand in hand.
Welk up the tears, O my friend!
Wack! Don’t shy away, one day your foes too will commend.
Don’t Balk to share your pain, give yourself a chance to amend.
Bilk the defeat! Rest assured, the surges will wend.
Get back! I want you to be the legend.
Pack your defeat and take on the world with confidence.
Get up! Your sorrows I will pluck, vows your lady luck.

words: walk-welk-wack-balk-bilk-back-pack-luck

1/3/2019
Word Morph Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jesse Rowe

Routine

Get up at 5 and go for walk
Meet some friends n have a talk
Have a coffee went come back
And have a biscuit or a snack
Give the breakfast to everyone
And atlast have an omlette Or a bun
Send the children to the school
And then replace up all the kitchen tools
Wash the clothes n hang them dry
Then cut the onions wth the cry
Make the lunch n get children back
Serve the lunch n children's back pack
Then clean the house n mop the floor
Clean the windows n wipe the door
Prepare the dinner n place the plates
Serve the dinner until its not too late
Make children go to dreams
Time to mobile n put on creams
Now go to sleep n start snoring
And once again get up at morning

Classmates

Christopher Black: with his big back-pack.
Liam Short; ironically he was.
Aiden Craven: his names almost matched
Simon Pal - and he was a pal!
Stuart Grove; didn't know him much
Matthew Huss; he sat on the opposite side to us
Adam Ponder, who used to wonder,
Terry King, the class-clown
Eddy Wilkinson, the deputy clown 
Should all be friends for life...

The Weary Traveler

Thousands of miles, dozens of shoes
A weary traveler spreading the news
A walk to Beijing, an old man appealed
For belief in Falun Gong, his heart was real

“Falun Gong is Good” the old man said
As he opened his back-pack that held shoes of bare-thread
But he was arrested as he spoke
Sacrificing his freedom for truth and hope

He continued to say,”The government is wrong”
As he was dragged away, appealing for Falun Gong
 July 20th 1999, marked this historic day
Of horrific persecution that left China in dismay

Hundreds of thousands were tortured and killed
Practitioners appealed for justice to be fulfilled
2006 Kilgour and Matas revealed
A new form of evil throughout China was sealed

Organ harvesting live Falun Gong practitioners was true
The world’s people were stunned at the news
Murder for profit, was the CCP’s aim
Genocide of Falun Gong before the 2008 Olympic games

Meditative Clouds

Meditative Clouds
He lay down on the sandy shore
A back pack pillow ‘neath his head
He stared up at the open sky
to recognize his favorite scenes
The sun concealed by Nimbus clouds
Perchance some rain would fall anon
the thin clouds splashed a bit of light
The sun exploded from its sheath
of Cirrus clouds dispersed to show the
 shape Of Stratus that erased the sun
He sensed desire to meditate

As time moved on the shapes had changed
The dark and light of Arcus Clouds
As evening neared the sol would drop
to sink into the ocean floor
Formatted different clouds to see
The Sunset is our diety

© Ralph Sergi August 23 2017

The Battle of the Words

The desert knows me well, the night, the mounted men,
The battle and the sword, the paper and the pen.
- Al-Mutanabbi to Sayf ad-Dawla


***

Sanddune ripples, 
air tears through sand.

Paralyzed
     desk waves in oak patterns
     pen pierces swelled surface 
     in desperate hope for inspiration

Gallop resonates:
     his court
     his caravan
     my pen his sword
     my words not mine
I write his life

5, 6, 7, 8
     lift, blow
     scratch, tear
     plié, fold 
     this empty paper in 4

The saddle bag
The back pack
Sails the desert through waves
     too far to remember
     or falsely related to distorted time dimensions,
     simmered mirages

Reach up, make words
     land on my hand

5, 6, 7, 8
jam...
(What is home anyway but a bunch of false memories)

***

June 26, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White

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