Backtrack Poems | Examples

Beneath the Gilding

The corrupt officer schemed throughout his years,
Amassing great wealth beyond his peers.
But once retired, his heart did stir,
He dreamed to be known as patriot and social worker.

The social worker preached to keep things clean
Yet dumped the trash where it should not be seen-
By roadside or river the rubbish he threw 
A bitter irony the people knew.

The patriots and reformers proud and tall,
As they liked to be addressed by all,
Encroached upon the public land,
Taking more than they had planned.

They speak out against corruption's blight,
Yet ask their children to thrive in its night.

The social activist, with care and knack,
Got government contracts through the backtrack,
Jobs for his kin, all neatly aligned,
Through hidden doors, deals well designed.

The society nods, though it may shove
The life one chooses to live and love,
Need not align with words they say,
Actions and truths may drift away.

The Spell of the Blessed Water Diviner

They called him the dosser.
A blessed man with a crooked, 
bent and wobbly wishbone of wire,
held tight in clenched fist. 
He fossicks spellbound 
for water hiding deep below
in the groundwater.

His fingers compel the water 
sleeping fifty feet down
to hear his call, 
and echo a reply forthwith,
with a signal on the wire tap.
On some hot dry afternoon, 
dumb with drought.

If he lets you watch him, 
you'll see the wire tremble 
ever so slightly,
and swing to one side.
Often he'll backtrack, 
reset the grip,
cover the same ground,
to see if the quiver,
and swing repeats.
Then, 'X' marks the spot 
for the farmer to dig.

The water diviner knows not why 
he has this insight to feel
the presence of water beneath his feet.
It was pure happenstance that
he learned he had the gift when 
a true believer gave him a try.

Perchance, you too 
may have the diviner's gift.
To conger the wellsprings 
of water deep within.
To reveal its 
secret whereabouts, 
with a wiggle of wire, 
held tight in a believer's fist.

Curves

An easy type of quilting 
Is to sew two fabric squares 
Which are pinned and lined up neatly;
Nothing else, for ease, compares.

Once you make the shapes more complex,
Like a triangle or curve,
Things might get a little tricky
And you need a bit more nerve.

I’ve been sewing several years now
And still have a way to go,
For when stitching points or circles,
There’s a lot you have to know.

Curves have always proved a challenge
And frustration is no fun.
Every time I had to sew some,
I would backtrack to square one.

But I’ve lately had a breakthrough, 
Which I hope my brain preserves,
For my latest little project
Has a lot of sneaky curves.

Yet I’m tackling them slowly 
And they’re falling into place.
Something clicked - you know that feeling?
And a smile is on my face.

Now my project, when I finish,
Will be far from error-free,
But if you check out my curves, I think
That you’d be proud of me.

Seaside Suicide

The waves grow larger as they draw near
I just want to disappear
The white water crashes against the jagged rock shore
I really thought that there’d be more 
The air is salty and the breeze sings its song 
Have I been living my life all wrong?
Seawater sprays me in a fine mist
I’m worthless
I’m worthless
I’m worthless
I’m worthless
The clouds drift overhead in wisps of white against the black I would turn around now but it’s too late to backtrack
 
I’m already here
At the edge the pier
My intentions are sincere
So please—don’t interfere
 
I’ll let the waves wash me away
I hope this is the end of my dismay
I really don’t want to stop halfway
Just do it
Just do it
Just do it
Just do it
 
I take a deep breath as my feet give way

Fault Lines of a Life

We drift, unaware—
years merge into moments,
promises fall by the wayside, collect dust.

If we could backtrack every decision,
each fault line of our days,
would we discover we really lived
or just shuffled in place?

Bustling Brainwaves

Bustling brainwaves bring it to life  
better when both eyes are blanketed;
Hyperactive insomnia’s strife;

Gears inside feel like a hamster’s wheel,
it keeps going and going won’t stop;
Blinking and scanning I have to deal;

Bedrest blatantly bombed before dawn,
I need sleep but I need to stay up;
Marred by my mind the moonlight is gone;

Listless I sway through the night and day 
I’m always a step above the clouds;
Words burst so fast much to my dismay;

Stars out, on queue my pen misbehaves;
I succumb to me and don’t backtrack,
branded and bombarded by brainwaves.

Is It Me

Is it me? Is it you?
Is there nothing we can do?
But grasp... both sword and bow
To the valley death below.

And in revenge... make bittersweet
The cost I bear for your defeat...
Where we embrace the devil's dance
Or backtrack... giving peace a chance.

               The End

Chasing a Unicorn

I need to get a box to hold the pieces of my life together. Because they're falling out of place awfully fast. Every day I look into the mirror and ask myself, how much longer can all this possibly last?

Does it even really matter anymore?
It seems like the more I try the harder I fail.
So why not just ignore my problems?
It's so easy to pretend that they are not there.

I close my eyes and just keep running,
But where ever I go, there they wait.
Should I lose my life, or take one?
Tell me what difference would it make.

I tire of this endless struggle, especially while the consequences keep building up.
By the time it's finally over I will have succeeded 
At once again royally ing up.

I stop to backtrack my fading footprints,
Looking for where I wandered off.
All I ever wanted was to be happy...
I guess happiness lies further off than I thought.

I slowly lost my faith
Joy I now believe is just a myth.
I've searched my entire life and have found nothing.  Like chasing a Unicorn-
They don't exist!

Back Track

Near my house in the back,
bit lost on a sidetrack,
along the grassy track.

Turned a bit to backtrack,
closer is the right tack,
near my house in the back.

Yet things went out of whack,
more lost was a setback,
along the grassy track.

I put on a soundtrack,
and I thought to kickback,
near my house in the back.

Thought of how'd I attack
then there was a throwback,
along the grassy track.

A song that I playback,
"Get right back" ... [Bleep] (wisecrack)
near my house in the back,
along the grassy track.

Largest Geode Coffee Table Please

I want the biggest geode coffee table I can get he told the geologist.
Better backtrack I said to my cousin, knowing who he was speaking with.
It is going to be pricey, the geologist warned him, and it will weigh tons.
Not a problem, my cousin told him.
I was shocked, as he lives in a home that does not look too sturdy.
They had to take the roof off of his home.
A gorgeous geode coffee table was dropped into place.
Disappearing into the bowels of the hardwood floors a second later.
They had broken into bits.
The coffee table was now a bunch of little geodes lying in his basement.
My cousin wanted a refund, but he had not read the fine print.
So here we are now, trying to sell these gems for a couple of dollars each
And my cousin is out thousands of dollars
Because he would not listen to me.

Treasured Experience

You're gone from my life, but you still
Sit by my side; a breath to fill.
And say, "You can do it, and will."

If I could bring you back.

Do you recall when I met you?
You touched me, shiver went right through.
You were the one for me I knew.

You'd fill the love I'd lack.

We'd put our foreheads together,
Navigate through stormy weather;
Lay our souls on fields of heather.

Never turn and backtrack.

Insta Inflator

Unfollow then you follow back, 
moving forward just to backtrack; 
Bloated insta inflator
stocked refrigerator, 
you’re back before I grab a snack.

Colours

As fascism grows and spreads through the land. A few of sit and remember when an Englishman was respected as a tolerant man. 
Respectful of colour, freedom, compassion and creed. Not bent on self through tyrannical greed.
Now being English carries a weight. Expected loyalty demands xenophobia, resentment and hate.
So be English if that is your path. I’ll turn round, backtrack and nail my colours to a different mast.

In a Time Slip

 In the voids, great macrocosm are many microcosms.
new realms intersect among the satellites. 
Passing through black holes in quantum flight;
shifting time brings discoveries in megacosm.

Diving into the blackness, familiar realms
I espy, though I can’t pass through the black
only to find the same universe; so I backtrack
and chart a newer course, at this ship’s helm.

I see a ship off in the distance,
and as it passes me in flight; 
My god, I think that can’t be right,
waving to me is myself...coincidence?

Time is relative, Einstein claimed,
thinking back, I review String Theory;
though seeing myself is a bit eerie,
Parallel Universes, it may explain.



7-15-2021
A BRIAN STRAND JULY 16 Poetry Contest
Brian Strand

Poetic Podcast Episode 4

People are looking for a reason, 
they don’t want to backtrack;  
When an environment is toxic 
they indulge in a new pandemic; 

People are looking for something more 
give them something to work for;
Take away the motive 
you’re left with a constant ‘Why?’

When you create a cyclone 
it inevitably spins out of control; 
An employee shortage 
stems from a shortage of soul;

It’s a new dance 
one I am willing to learn,
Maybe if we do it with some purpose, 
it will create a little more love;

Come back to a memory?
Eyes weren’t made to look back;
The environment is toxic; 
A shortage of soul, the new pandemic.

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