Best Backtrack Poems
South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)
Caravans comprising multitudinous
peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated
by North America
an irresistible source,
which tug felt
nearly all the way round
webbed wide world beckoning
for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
beacon of democracy flickr
Trump might extinguish
though tis quite heart
breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,
(and eventual citizenship),
while this "FAKE" president
invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
dagger o type cruel barbed wire
accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
(I could continue),
but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
affected by xenophobia
countenance same stance
as Commander in Chief,
or contrariwise some
like minded
thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,
would effectively serve me
as preaching to
the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,
and agonizing to witness
hordes of persons treated like
some pestilential
eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,
though thee crux of my opinion,
inspires a poem express
sing supportive emotions
particularly acknowledging,
how these masses (thousands)
of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
would be hard pressed
for an immediate
humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin
watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point
blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
huss) punch smack
king young ones
upside the head forcing
everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
violently land a deadly whack!
Categories:
backtrack, abuse, america, break up,
Form:
Ballad
In the mist of life, I have found myself
lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
A chill to the bone, a fall to the depth
a longing to feel the warm rays of day.
There was but one road which ran to a church.
There was many roads that ran far in the wood.
Like a fool I have run past Elm and Birch
this lost road turned to a trail where I stood.
A dark cloud now forms a narrow cold sky
a wind from the North, which blows coastally.
My choice brings no answer only a sigh
it made years ago and so willfully.
Weary am I of a life on this path
wishing to visit my option again.
Fearing my Lord or fearing His wrath
I backtrack this road but only in vain.
Before me a puzzle of rock and stone
reaching far back before a road in time
planted me deep in a mist with no tone
searching for a life, that I could call mine.
This narrowing track turns back on itself,
the undergrowth soon will stand in my way.
In the mist of life, I have found myself
Lost and alone in a wood dark and gray.
Categories:
backtrack, confusion, faith, mystery, sympathy,
Form:
Quatrain
I should be ecstatic, I should have tears of joy shining in my eyes,
But as I watch the ultrasound I feel a gut wrenching pain inside.
I am unable to attach myself to this reality,
I backtrack in time back to our twins.. back to that tragedy.
I find myself gasping within this room with walls that are much to close,
I desperately want this baby but I cannot spark that hope.
I remember vividly being held within your arms shaking,
When they told me our twins hearts had stopped and not faded.
I remember stark pain that tore through me and left my lungs feeling raw.
From the screams that raked through me and how much blood I saw.
I cant touch my stomach without cringing out of fear.
How could i put so much love into a baby who might not join us here...
How can I explain to you that when I held my breath...
I was imaging not giving birth but a stillborn on my chest.
I can't force these lungs to expand under the pressure of my ribs..
To see that look within your eyes there's nothing I wouldn't give.
My love I'm terrified...
I dont know what words to say to make you see
I feel less like my self and there's an emptiness in me.
They call this normal.
It's to be expected.
My body is a barren place where my Hope had been rejected.
I am struggling with the fact I now carry another beating heart...
I don't think I could handle it.. if this baby were to part.
Categories:
backtrack, baby, child, mother, obituary,
Form:
Silence
Silence can give comfort
It’s a perfect hiding place
Where sometimes we choose to retreat
For hours or for days
But even though we choose to be
Without disturbing noise
This should not mean that we prefer
To be without a voice
A voice to make a statement
A voice to take a stand
A voice that parts not with the truth
When lies are in high demand
Outspokenness is a virtue
When integrity has its back
Why speak out, but when in a jam
We cower and backtrack?
Be silent then, and do not speak
For spoken words will travel
Into the ears, into the minds
They hamper or unravel
Speak up when it will save a soul
When it’s right and justified
No room for cowardice and fear
Their access is denied
Choose for a voice, don’t quiet down
Be bold with grace and poise
And have your silence when preferred
But don’t be without a voice.
Wendy Nipas
Categories:
backtrack, silence, voice, words,
Form:
Ballad
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.
Categories:
backtrack, allusion, analogy, fate, growing
Form:
Villanelle
You are shelling out a lot
Of racist evil remarks
That I don't appreciate
Your full of negative hate
Why are you so cruel and mean
What have your darkened eyes seen
That turned you into a bully
Sputtering out words so cooly
With no regard to the feelings
Of the people you sent reeling
Into a depressive state
Soon it will be much too late
To fix damage you have done
Every time your hatred runs
From the dark shell of your soul
Not knowing the tragic toll
Your creating with your ways
And the way your words will slay
Into innocent hears and minds
That break with new words you find
Disregarding everyone you see
That looks and acts differently
From others that fit your norm
Keep this up and soon the storm
Will fall on your poor existence
Making you see the conditions
You've been putting others in
Will backtrack on you again
As karma and fate combine
Slowly over years of time
Causing havoc in your life
Making your days full of strife
Unkind--not caring at all
As you finally take the fall
Leaving you alone to pass
To hell that will kick your A--
Categories:
backtrack, abuse, bullying, judgement, language,
Form:
Rhyme
Man, it just doesn’t pay to try and live in the day. Crazy full up, crisper, sharpest with an undepleted uranium core, burning burning burning, knowing it’s all **** and nobody pays attention, “quiet desperation,” hell! I just want to run in circles, scream and shout, play a one-man game of crack the whip, and fly down the lea flopping into a deeper briar patch of blooming wild irish roses and gin blossoms! As I pass through muted crowds, so full of noise and bustle-hustle, I get that itch between my chakras, that tightening of the fruit, stooping with a sly look around me, a faint paranoiac whiff of parallel worlds at a titanic event horizon, slamming together, slapping bellies like a $2 whore... shadows fighting archetypes of shadows (or is it more like the agony of waiting for that goddamn second boot that never gets dropped on the floor in the apartment above, Jesus Christ, does Ahab live up there?! But more like living a Gilliam dystopia, never feeling completely at ease with anything or anyone, until even the sewer urchins are out for your blood...my God, their dark eyes!) and, passing through the crowds and stores full of purchased attitude and 4G networks, everyone’s hands full of their adult pacifiers, texting a friend sitting next to them, I get cooler, like passing through a near dawn mist roiling off a boneyard, and realize we’re all starving pilgrims on a road to nowhere, begging bowls filled with moaning woe and ironic suffering as we’re denied entry into Lhasa (we had a PC instead of a Mac). Do I bow or curse now at knowing I'll have to slide past a window and hide under the stoop with a paper bag full of fortified liquid forget-me-for-now and growl away the ice weasels? But as I wander, backtrack through that plastic-fantastic crowd, hitting the door and dark like an expelled sigh, I wonder what became of true heroes? For with my disdain, rapier sarcasm dripping with cleverly crafted metaphors... I’m not one of them.
Categories:
backtrack, depression, memory,
Form:
Prose
Walking down the street I see into everyone back yard
Walking down the street I am drawn to a person for one reason or another
Walking down the street i know that others have been here
Walking down the street I feel the rhythm
Walking down the street can be an adventure
Walking down the street can be a nightmare
Walking down the street I backtrack to find what I have missed or left in the dust
Walking down the street I find myself filled with lots of regret
Walking down the street is better when you have someone to walk with you
Walking down the street is always better the second time around
Walking down the street I appreciate the beauties that I may come across
Walking down the street is so much fun if you find the time to enjoy it
Walking down the street is easier when it is flat but harder when its not
Walking down the street is a crazy thing when you have broken souls.
Walking down the street you find the cracks and dips in the road
Walking down the street I see a lonely person with no life in their eyes
Walking down the street I want to change the peoples lives
Walking down the street I want to change my own life
Walking down the street can be peaceful and calm if you take the time to be still
Walking down the street I know that i can finally have true joy behind a smile
Walking down the street I see happiness as a possible thing to obtain
Walking down the street I pass many different things
Walking down the street I see people who are full of Joy, Laughter, and Love.
Walking down the street I know that i can be one of those people
Walking down the street is a privilege and a beautiful privilege it is
Categories:
backtrack, inspirational, life, social, people,
Form:
Free verse
SONG OF ANALOG MAN
Don't blog.
Sing in analog.
Log-off in space.
Wasted time!
In machine rhyme.
Holding data in your face.
Past, heart shaped locket.
Present, gear and shinny sprocket.
Pendulum stops in place.
Time machine,speaks tick-tock.
Strings and loops, in quantum flick-flock.
Trying to save the human race.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream of
one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
Here today and gone tomorrow.
Cry into your programed sorrow.
You are not, Computer Ace.
Find the F key, find the trouble.
Hit a key, and now it's double.
All else fails, report your case.
Don't throw ExBasic fits here!
Count the gigs to megabits dear.
Do your Loop in nested trace.
Forgot to multiply
the chain.
Did this really cook
your brain?
The functions solved for X and Y,
thrown a curve you won't embrace.
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
A swirl of chips and funny numbers.
Formulas, our life encumbers.
Are we truly lost in place?
Can we backtrack and count our fingers?
Toes and noes, the feeling lingers.
Of pendulums, and golden lockets,
and crystals used for mama's vase.
He wants a song, to strum guitar strings.
Don't complicate, the how to live things.
Digital, can we erase?
Analog he really savors.
No prologue to quantum favors.
Do away and please efface!
What's the pattern,
what's the fear?
To everything that
we hold dear.
Endless stream
of one and zip.
Baked in a Pi
of Delta whip.
By Edlynn Nau
Categories:
backtrack, computer, humorous, internet, math,
Form:
Rhyme
Tired body aches. Long walk on starry night -
ears attuned for bear at creek, or cougar.
Nothing, not a doe.
But that afternoon
came upon a healthy young buck in a meadow.
High up. And a hawk left a feather for me.
Old, old stands of lodgepole pine, grey bark
like wrinkled hides of elephants. Thick carpet
of dead needles.
Thirst. Sit at snowbank
for an hour eating snow. Burn tongue.
To soon after stumble upon a pond and the place
that a creek springs from the mountain. Water
indescribable. Eat ravenously and drink deep
gulps.
Climb highest rocky peak at dusk. Razor-back
ridge. Mother hawk scream nearby. Must
backtrack and then go straight down near dark
feet fall through layers of scrub pine, hands
grab for the live stalks only support against
broken bone.
Choose steep narrow bed of loose rocks,
surely waterfall in some other season and descend
on ass and all fours, feet first always fearful
it will end in an uncontrollable hundred foot drop.
Trickles of water nearing bottom.
Cracked hands, raw
behind, cross final snowbank and attain road
along Snake Creek.
Categories:
backtrack, deep, drink, health, mountains,
Form:
Verse
Man was once content to stay
uncomplicated and free.
For flowers bloomed every day
and fruit hung from vine and tree.
God tested the soul of Man
forestalling self-awareness.
And for an infinite span
Man lived with this unfairness.
Only if Man disobeyed
could He gain free will of thought.
And when Adam wasn't swayed
a woman's touch was sought.
Woman came into season
because God thinks in abstract.
And Eve gave birth to reason
though Man found sin in her act.
Man rose from ape to being
and found there was no way back.
For when God sent Man fleeing
there was no way to backtrack.
(Quatrain)
12/3/2015
Categories:
backtrack, bible, faith, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Quatrain
I guess this had to be said
The root causes for the way
I am kept awake at night
Summer heat no sleep
My only companions are
Past events and the opinions
My soul resents.
I guess it had to be felt
Every reflection and failure
To society, my appearance must
Be on point and tailored
To meet another’s expectations
My soul craves approval like
Success and celebrations emotional
Rollercoasters to ride on certain occasions
As a man fear becomes unacceptable you must
Be the brave one.
I guess this had to be heard Oh, sorry say that again?
I can’t hear you. My soul then becomes numb misunderstood
Makes you feel dumb because you must be the only one when
The second or third comments speak up son. Damn it another crack collateral
fracture to move forward must move faster to escape the disaster
in my life oh well, time to backtrack.
On the bicycle of this thing called my life, I fell off way too many times the bumps and bumps and bruises become a badge of honor look how bright they shine. So how do I heal as I deal with how the pain festers when the scabs of old wounds peel. I heard my brother say toughen up like the Navy Seals. For him, my heart is cold like steel stories I retold myself based on events half real.
I guess this had to be seen the rumors about me are not true I am not really mean
Although I do get mad and half the time I don’t know the words to describe how I feel. Your insults don’t hurt me I devour them like three-course meals. Lets talk about what’s really on this brain how lies were sold and how this soul growing up in the modern education system studied long-term and was short-changed but I guess the was all part of the plot to teach base on rigged curriculums and whether I learned or not teachers still got paid at the end the day.
I guess this had to be sensed since every human I ever crossed paths with subconsciously convinced that parts of my soul do not fit into the mainstream
No one left to pick up the pieces so forget about seeing the bigger picture when the vision is blurry.
Categories:
backtrack, feelings, freedom, introspection, psychological,
Form:
Bio
The annual migrat'ry trek of southern folk each year,
Escaping chilly winter months, they mostly seem to fear,
Sees four wheel drives and caravans of ev'ry shape and size
Roll slowly northward searching out the sunshine they all prize.
The backtrack to the outback takes folk up The Kidman Way,
Through legendary, scenic, towns enticing them to stay
A day or two while searching out historic tales of old,
While making friendships many hold more precious than fine gold.
Queensland's Matilda Highway carries folk still further North,
Through Cunnamulla, Charleville and as they sally forth
Enjoy the flora's many scents that nature does provide;
That's all except the gidyea tree; it stops them in their stride.
Especially when summer rains have been abnorm'ly kind,
Resulting in a pungent smell that plays upon the mind.
Most couples can't ignore it as the odour is quite strong
And usually the female says, "Hey love there's something wrong!"
The other half then stops the car; he hates to be henpecked,
Concluding maybe it's the gas and ev'rything is checked.
But, no, the bottle's quite secure, so carries on his way,
Perplexed as to the odours source, much to his wife's dismay.
Some females though will drive along content to show restraint,
Acknowledging the woeful smell, but making no complaint.
The sideways glances and the pout reveal they sense the source,
Though put off by their other half's contempt to show remorse.
But some blokes are all in the know and when their mate reacts
They quickly set the matter straight by stating them the facts.
"Excuse me! It's the gidyea love; might strong up here this year."
"Oh, I know that," some then reply. "I'm not that silly dear."
Categories:
backtrack, funny, people,
Form:
Rhyme
all in the astrological
a probable obstacle
opposing a closing
on misquoting
avoiding acknowledging
a declaration
of ever changing information
staging the hesitation
as engaging the conversation
shorted
and circular
retort like
interpreter
port side
murderers
singing
like mother natures nurturer
a cursive cure
portrayed other than
self serve
okay the pelt fur
was filayed from a cave dweller
shadows on the wall
ancient paintings
saints restrained as decaying
a sacred hazing
surface alterations
a presence of learning
and the egos altercation
the peasants are burning
blue sky on the eve
a single tree a hair in the expanse
red cliffs and black sands
lightning struck three times
roosters and left hands
bones and amethyst
holes to hide a fist
i told the psychiatrist
im older than osiris is
navigate in a dreamstate
ive been told im a cheap skate
thank goodness for cheesecake
i used to eat cheese steak
satisfaction in all forms
something they forewarn
feeding the forlorn
or heating a cold dorm
romance by the crab shack
the silence of abstract
wander and backtrack
snake in a knapsack
Categories:
backtrack, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
Listen....
Let me tell you a secret peep it
poetry is an art form, so intriguing.
Whether you're in solitude
or on stage speaking not speechless.
Poetic speeches teach the future's
young leaders many reasons
to lead the leadless to be leaders.
Knowledge, college scholars showered
with power make nonbelievers cowar.
Hardtimes tower over our life
and devour us from the inside-outward,
if we let it.
If we could....backtrack our tracks
to the past back when
elementary class was in session,
I'd take a different road
as an inacurate adolescent.
Back when....
grandmother was packin' a blessin'
in a black sac clappin and stressin'
cause young kids weapon clappin'
in da back of da black Lac
actin manish.
I'd be a....
doctor, an athletic athlete in a track meet,
a balla that packs Heat like Shaq.
A teacher, I'd be Puff Daddy
and remix 'Mo Money Mo Problems' featuring Aretha.
But remember, that's my secret,
shhh, don't tell anybody.
Categories:
backtrack, art, family, children, funny,
Form: