Best Backpacks Poems
Asleep before the head hits the pillow
Head filled with vivid colors swirling, amassing, mixing outside the lines
Transgressions grow skyward like a bean stalk becoming a giant
Worries wander aimlessly like a cat in the night looking for a spoon
Hurts pound again, and again, first a drumstick then a sledge hammer
The kaleidoscope of confusion rotates ever faster, bed spins counter
Places cannot be escaped
Faces stare as if clothes have been robbed
Running, Flying, Drowning, Suffocating, Garbling Words, Can’t Breath,
Slow Motion, Falling, Insatiable Hunger, Unquenchable Thirst, Blood Stained, Shouting
Loaded Down, Frantically Searching Pockets, Hidden Underneath, Forgotten
Fear. All fears. Nothing but fear. Afraid. Regret. Worry. I didn’t. I really did!
Each day we pack our pockets. Cram our purses. Load our backpacks
Hang needless objects and things around our necks, over our shoulders, in the crux of our elbows, on our belts
Grip suitcases. Carry stuffed plastic grocery bags on each knuckle. Waddling to the side of the bed before crashing head on
Unknowingly still pinching the key between our left thumb and pointer finger
Hitting the bed with a massive crash
every part of the day strewn around the room like a devastating mid air explosion of a 747 littering debris, miles and miles of destruction, charred remnants, unidentifiable and randomly placed objects, out of place, disfigured, often never found
Before your head hits the pillow
Drop the things you picked up today
Take a load off
Free yourself of your burdens
Neatly set everything aside
On second thought, just pile it and let it lay where it falls
Drop your yoke
Sit down on the foot of the bed with God
Hand Him the things you still cling within sweating red fists
Briefly Examen your day
Fall asleep on His shoulder
He will gently lay your head on the pillow, loft your feet off the floor, and tuck you in.
Let Him carry your burdens, lighten your load, unpack, empty your pockets, wash your laundry, even sort and match the socks.
Travel to sleep lightly and peacefully dreaming of a new day
carrying nothing but what is truly needed.
September gone, October here, November in our sights.
Fall magic floats all around in orange and brown highlights.
Prancing sunlight sprinkled on leaves of gold soon delights.
September gone, October here, November in our sights.
December now, January around the corner. Valentines next.
Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, then frost and sleet, up to our necks.
Red and green, twinkle lights, evergreens covered with in snowy flecks.
Warming up with hot chocolate, cuddled close in plaid pajama checks.
March and April, spring delight, and May, the end of school by June two.
In twenty-four-hours we have forgotten every sort of rule
It is summer vacation, and we are ready to spread our wings and fly.
Toward the sun, fully enjoying every second of June and July.
August is so unique, she deserves a stanza of her very own,
For without her, we would not be able to write any kind of poem.
Teachers and schools, new backpacks, teachers, and potential friends.
August starts out so fresh and smart, but that rather quickly ends.
Every season is special in his or her own special glorious way.
Enjoy each one, for none of us know if we will have one more day.
But one thing is for sure, and you can set your clock by it.
With the right attitude and optimism, they can each be a riot.
Mondays were school days.
Mondays were rule days.
Mondays can be cruel days.
Sundays make me sing
but Mondays bring
open books,
a crooked look from the boss,
leaving crying children
with their first strangers.
The outlook for Monday
might be blue
or overly optimistic.
Moms love Mondays,
circling the day
with a fat red marker.
Moony-eyed Mondays,
for lovers
separated by the weekend.
Their love-mobile
yellow bus, reunites their lips.
Shy Mondays
hide behind rain clouds,
and binders and backpacks,
and inside lockers,
and behind thick glasses.
Fridays make you tingle.
Mondays are the starting line.
The race is on!
You step over the line
and yawn and sip
coffee with reluctance.
Your t-shirt speaks loudly,
“I don’t do Mondays!”
No one hears you.
7/30/2018
Tania Kitchin’s Contest
Books and erasers on pencils
Alphabet and numbered stencils
A plastic chair attached to
A desk reserved just for you
Chalk boards are for taking notes
A cubby for backpacks and coats
Milk and cookies for a snack
Music and stories are fun
Recess in the warm bright sun
Taking naps to get some rest
Learning skills put to the test
Baby dolls--red fire trucks
Show and tell with baby ducks
Time out's by the corner wall
Bandaged boo boo's when you fall
Memories are being made
From this kindergarten grade
Helping you to learn and grow
As each lesson always flows
In your memories and heart
They will never leave or part
Way back then when I was ten
the year was nineteen ninety-three,
Mom was so proud when I said aloud
that I made the school spelling bee.
Days of math sums and bubble gums
have faded through the years,
but I sing along to a certain song
and it still brings me to tears.
It was a big fad to dress all in plaid
and wear a necklace with a peace sign,
ponytails and ripped jeans worn by every teen
and neon colors were thought to be mighty fine.
I loved cassette tapes that let me escape
at least for minutes through my headphones,
while I would read and write notes in a Mead
after school when I was home all alone.
Kids shopped the malls and covered their walls
with posters from every teen magazine,
what made us sob was each new heartthrob
from every band, TV show and movie we'd seen.
With Rollerblades and a new pair of shades
we roamed the sidewalks until it got late,
our backpacks were heavy and filled with a bevy
of boring English assignments that could wait.
For many hours I could stay and sit and play
with Nintendo games, stickers and Treasure Trolls,
then aside they were tossed and some became lost
except for right here in my heart and my soul.
That time proved to be the most fun for me
O, how I wish that I could relive it again,
way back then when I was just ten
and the year was nineteen ninety-three.
You know that summertime is gone
when a chill is in the air
when snow is in the forecast
and hockey sticks appear
when kids with toques and earmuffs
show up on every street
stick-handling wayward tennis balls
on tar and on concrete
when flags of northern nations
unfurl on jacket backs
with favored players featured
on shirts and on backpacks.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
The stars, the stats, the standings,
team trades and injuries
consume us all the season
and test our expertise.
In cubicles and staff rooms
at desks and boardrooms too
the talk is all of hockey pools
and who is picking who –
Russian or Canadian
American or Czech
Swede or Ukrainian
Finn, German or Slovack.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
And when we’re old with fires banked
and we forget most else
we’ll hanker back to storied games
and golden stars whose very names
excite our feebled pulse:
Hull, Lemieux and Richard
Beliveau and Fuhr
Orr and Howe and Harvey
Gretzky and Lafleur
We'll hear again the rising roar
And then the call
He shoots, he scores.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
I remember
That summer
Days in slow motion
Longer nights
Nothing to do
Bored
And angry
I enlisted.
Military orders
In breast pocket
Standing In formation
Gear
Next to my right leg
Family, friends and memories
Lurking
Somewhere in the shadows.
Cargo plane
Engines thrusting
Size beyond imagination
Pushing through a crowd
Of olive green fatigues
I grab a seat near the back
Meet another soldier
Friendly round face
Broad shoulders
Southern drawl
We share some things in common
I call him Country
He calls me City.
An eternity
Flying in the clouds
Hours pass
We finally land
Stomach churning
Running on adrenalin
We disembark
Carrying 90lb backpacks
Walking into
Oppressive heat
Nauseating smell
Suspicion everywhere
In the distance an ugly black cloud
Blocks the sun
From a place where children hide
And death is just a step away.
Numb with fear
All the tough words and slogans
From basic training
Slip away
I grip my rifle
A soldier yells out
Watch my back
And I’ll watch yours
The words strike a raw nerve
Country slaps me on the back
Up front someone cracks a joke
Nervously we laugh
And I think to myself
Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
When you're just a Teen
(Verse 1)
Backpacks, notebooks
Hair done
What a good look(look)
Let's start with my shoe game
It's on point
Can't explain
Peer pressure
Don't crumble or break
Never worrying about what people say
Mind set
To learn
Met this boy
How things turned
Never knew how it felt (felt )
To like somebody else
(Chorus)
When you're just a Teen
It's cool (it's cool)
Got to finish
Stay In school(in school)
It's OK to be liked
But focus don't lose sight
No matter how it may seem
These things happen
When you're just a Teen (teen).
(Verse 2)
Make up
On deck
Cell phone
Ready to text
Don't talk to just anyone
Observe yes
At all times
Know your worth
Is not pennies and dimes
Running out of time on this verse
Didn't have a chance to rehearse
Chorus)
When you're just a Teen
It's cool (it's cool)
Got to finish
Stay In school(in school)
It's OK to be liked
But focus don't lose sight
No matter how it may seem
These things happen
When you're just a Teen (teen
Rock left to right
Right to left
Do your dance
By yourself
Rock left to right
Right to left
Do your dance by yourself
Chorus)
When you're just a Teen
It's cool (it's cool)
Got to finish
Stay In school(in school)
It's OK to be liked
But focus don't lose sight
No matter how it may seem
These things happen
When you're just a Teen (teen)
Repeat until chorus fades
Written By :Concetta Hardnett
4\25/16
Dreamers Dream
by Odin Roark
Tulsa’s hard times made the decision easy.
Shouldering backpacks and bedrolls,
Tin cups tied atop
Ready for campfire and bean feasts
With hopefully a moss covered log as pillow,
They took up positions on their dreary piece of road.
New York bound dreamers these.
He confident,
She ashamed for thumbing a stranger,
Bringing a truck to stop and speed them away
From barren lands and dead-end streets,
Trusting their past of gravel and dust laden roads,
Leafless bushes and trees,
Their limbs and branches from parched roots,
Giving but reminders of it all,
The emptiness of nothing.
But now…
Hitching a ride to where liquid gold flowed,
Where paved roads knew no end,
Where visions were realized,
And shade from castles in the air
Were there for the taking.
She’d wait tables,
He’d sweep floors on Wall Street,
But only ‘til she was a star,
And he earned his hustler of hustlers merit.
They’d buy a shiny car,
Bright red and big as a hearse,
Maybe even drive it back to Tulsa,
Where upon their return to the east,
They'd return the favor of long ago,
Pick up a hitcher heading their way,
Even if they were only driving a clunker,
Finding out the real way,
Dreams don’t always work out.
Still…
Dreamers must keep on dreaming,
Even when things don’t go their way,
Otherwise…
Exactly.
They say it’s rude to stare
But staring is caring
So forgive me if I’m staring
I’d have you know it’s for a good cause
I’m looking at people
Those people
With the backpacks on their backs
I'm talking about all of us
The slim and starved, the fat and well fed
Followers of this and that fad
Some slow, others fast
But either way, you know, people
Various shapes and sizes. Arriving, departing,
Standing still, pacing about
Milling around
Adoring fans, raving critics
Fact checkers on everyone’s heels
Telling stories, spinning yarn
Embroidering anecdotes
Or trying hard
To understand what’s taking place
Getting somewhere and nowhere
Giving in, giving up, getting in, getting out
Giving way, giving, giving away
Getting in line, grinning, getting away
All of them carrying something on their backs
Gold, frankincense, myrrh; gossip, weed or hot air
Convicts aboard the Con-Air,
Fresh Princes of Bel-Air
Faces plain and simple
Puzzled looks and open books
Sweet faces with dimples
Struggling, strangled, straddled, blank looks
Cuddling, frazzled, wise fools
Dreaming about this and that
Beaming, streaming live, screaming
Looking around
Visions of the sweet by and by
Dreams of happy ever after
Pimps, prophets, prostitutes and priests
Criminals, cops, politicians, finks
Jesters making funnies, people laughing out loud
Secretly lamenting
But filled with hope for the future
Ridiculous gestures to make a point
Perhaps two, about choices, about making a point
Free but among the captives by the big river
With all of them that wept over what they had lost
And all this, of course, is just an educated guess
The camping life is all we need to cherish a vacation
The low stretched arms of mountains, spread, have called for our attention
Our summer place, serene and free, no worries in our backpacks
No need to vent, just take a breath, to relish lodge-pole scent
My children play on the water's edge enjoying their own reflections
Tossing pebbles, one by one, and soaking in the fun
While tossing sticks, our Lab is quick, to run and fetch them all
He dives back in, ..we're once again, impressed by such conviction!
He's back on shore, he shakes! ... .His chore, is to drench us to the core!
Togetherness, envelops us, beneath the midday sun
I want to write a poem, a verse.....but cure my own distraction
Beholding beauty such as this, would cause the tongue to swell
My pen would dry, and so would I, for words could hardly tell
Serenity is ours for free, with earth and sky we dwell
So overcome with majesty, and tranquil peaks of snow
The stillness of a mirrored lake, unlike I have ever known
I've put away the waiting pen, and put away my muse
For, I hear the family calling me, and though I have excuse
It's time to gather kindling wood, for a fire in the pit
With s'mores to make, we'll not forsake, marshmallows on a stick!
--------------------------------------------------------
4//22/15 For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Memorable Vacations
Upon the day when I was new
You held me at your breast,
And from that day love did accrue
For both I do attest.
You brought me to a place unknown
With slates of painted wood,
Where cheerful circus themes were flown
Above my neighborhood.
We seemed to nest for hours
At night in satin blanket trim,
My curious nature flowered
While yours eyes grew tired and dim.
The bears and clowns did entertain
Those few and fleeting days,
Until my innocent domain
Had overstayed its phase.
For soon the crawling was replaced
With awkward stepping feet,
A challenge you had bravely faced
Without fear of defeat.
Sweet infancy was soon eclipsed
By toddler nonchalance,
For “I can’t like it” pursed my lips
With every smug response.
You bore the brunt of childish acts
With ever loving ease,
Till school time called for pink backpacks
And alphabet expertise.
Soon Girl Scouts meetings filled your time
And clarinet your ears,
For you would plunk down every dime
To see me enjoy those years.
But then the teenage years ensued
When self-esteem is low,
You lifted me from anxious moods
When I had reached plateau.
Our arguments were common then
I thought myself all knowing,
While you’d repeat to me often
That I still had some growing.
We made it through till high school’s end
When college had arrived,
You made sure that I would attend
And my obstacles survived.
Through crying phone calls in the night
And stressful social scenes,
You’d hug me with unyielding might;
Upon you I could lean.
When graduation finally came
You looked so proud and calm,
“I made it through!” I did proclaim,
You knew it all along.
I am grown and on my own,
With life ahead of me,
But through this piece I hope I’ve shown
Just what you mean to me.
For all the memories in the past
My best friend you remain,
And all the troubles we’ve surpassed
Have not all been in vain.
For through these times I have found
An idol strong and true,
And may I say, loud and profound,
My idol, Mom, is you.
Brand-new backpacks, brand-new shoes;
Headbands topped with flowers.
Parents trying to enthuse
About the coming hours.
Photos taken, kisses swapped;
Pupils all converging.
Quick goodbyes as doors are propped;
Teachers gently urging.
Voices chatter, stairs are climbed;
First day jitters rising.
All of us once likewise primed
Should be sympathizing.
Jobless Jack, a real jerk, dances a jig,
He juggles, smuggles jewels in backpacks,
jawbreakers, jump ropes, jelly rolls and crack.
~~Jig be up, Jack'll jiggle in the brig.~~
Junk jingles and jangles, squeals like a pig
jerked and jacked from joints on his pickup routes.
Amid crates of jackets, jeans, and jump suits,
Jobless Jack, a real jerk, dances a jig,
Jack jimmied the Jaguar trunk of some prig;
now Judge Judy’s searching Jack's jalopy.
“Jumping Jehoshaphat, what’s this jersey?"
~~Jig be up, Jack'll jiggle in the brig.~~
Jobless Jack, a real jerk, dances a jig,
her missing jersey was what the judge found.
~~Jig be up, Jack'll jiggle in the brig.~
written 1/31/2018
a villonet
Sponsor Constance La France
Contest Name ''J'' Contest, New or Old
Red, Gold and Green
I can write of Autumn with integrity,
For I have lived red, gold and green long years;
Bruise colored wall clouds marching
Toward Summer’s last gasp,
Teams of boys and pompom joys with backpacks;
Bowed old heads with dread of cold bone winter.
So while it is here, the air ablazing,
Colors of cheer and days of beauty,
I will pray for me and I will pray for you,
That its timeless message shines through,
As if Autumn hued blankets are cuddling you
In that red, gold and green warmth,
To protect you ‘til it is Spring again.