Best Backyards Poems
A boy lines up plastic soldiers
In straight rows across his floor.
He knocks them down with callow ease
In a naive game of war.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In between rich, well-known places,
Little boys become those soldiers -
Grow hard lines upon their faces.
Guns weigh down their frail frames,
As they march in groups like drones;
Passing by jumbles of bodies -
Messy piles of flesh and bones.
One cries softly in the corner,
Another cannot bear the sound.
He takes the blunt side of his gun
And beats the other to the ground.
In the streets they pass right over
Mothers murdered, sisters raped,
Countless men whose limbs are broken,
But whose empty eyes still gape.
Narrow roads become red rivers,
Neighbourhoods go up in flames,
Backyards turn into cold graveyards -
Still they play this twisted game.
Far across the deepest ocean,
In the richest, well-known places,
Boys line up their plastic soldiers
With blind smiles upon their faces.
Back then,
backyards were big enough
to nurture a growing soul
and provide a space
for the earth to play out
its seasons in full rehearsal.
There were wide tracks
of grass, trees to climb,
old sheds to rummage
with their interiors full of tools
and bric-a-brac
webbed in history.
There was food - ripe tomatoes
and corn from a vegetable patch,
grapes swelling
under a cool canopy of vines,
soft skins bursting
their dark sweetness
inside expectant mouths,
almonds, apricots and the luscious
dribble of a warm peach
down sticky cheeks.
Some had roaming chickens
with their bounty of eggs.
Backyards were blotting paper
for a child's hurt, a hiding place
to get away, a theater
for projecting the phantasies
of a sheriff or a princess
high in a golden tower.
And in summer, a sprinkler
casting a gauntlet of cold spray
for tiny feet to challenge.
Then it all ends
when backyards become
too small and more exotic places
call a restless soul to leave
its Eden and break the spell
of its beginning.
My friends come home draped in flags
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................
I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------
There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...
I guess I’m more accustomed to the modern sting these days;
the one that comes by e-mail or the phone.
They might hurt the pocket with the modern scamming ways -
but Mother Nature’s stings bite to the bone.
I’m talking ‘bout a paper wasp,
or the angriest of bull-ant;
perhaps a hornet or a bee,
and that Queensland stinging plant.
I could be in the scrub casting out a fishing line,
or relaxed while I stand beside a tree
without a thought, but ignorant to a home that isn’t mine,
and its residents who start attacking me.
I’m talking ‘bout assertive spiders;
that little blighter jumping jack.
Damn mosquitoes and march flies,
and scorpions sometimes attack.
It may be every few years, but there does come a time,
when backyards need a bit of cleaning out,
so there will be disturbance that is not a pantomime,
and lackadaisical is not what it’s about.
I’m talking ‘bout stinging nettle,
or prickly pear annoying hairs.
The European Wasp and chiggers,
and white-tail spider toxin scares.
When fishing in an estuary; the beach or in a bay,
you never know what bounty it can bring.
You’ll always have a fighting fish trying to get away,
and some of them can give a nasty sting.
I’m talking ‘bout butterfly gurnard;
the torture of a sand flathead spike.
Feeling of pain after sunset,
and a victim when biting midges strike.
Some might be quite obtrusive - and some a fine-looking thing,
but they all come with a warning - I’m talking ‘bout the sting.
Peering down from a window seat,
she closed her eyes and she sensed the heat,
the plane made its final approach,
and she didn’t mind flying coach,
the land meets the ocean on the east,
and it was emerald green,
that could be seen
from her window,
perfectly manicured hedges and lawns,
graceful coconut palms,
and backyards dotted with pools,
tennis courts and yard tools,
to an outsider it would seem,
that Palm Beach was like a dream,
glamourous in every way,
larger than life, so they say,
beautiful and mysterious like a good book,
worth every moment shared,
worth every look,
highway filled with fancy cars,
host to kings, tycoons and movie stars,
and now a little girl,
heading to a fantasy world.
I’m from dirt covered knees
and sweaty faces
I’m from playing in the sun
from dawn ‘til dusk
I’m from “being one of the guys”
playing sports in the mud pits of our backyards
I’m from striving to fit in
I’m from making mistakes
and learning from the consequences
I’m from going to parties
and staying out late
I’m from a shaky past
with an unknown future
I’m from turning the bad into good
I’m from being the best I can be
and working hard to succeed
I’m from a family of survivors
supporting them through their fight with cancer
I’m from never giving up
on something you love
Call "It" and "It" will Come
Imagine "It" and "It" Becomes
All the horrible thoughts Create
Be the Sorrier when it's too Late
Invoke "It" and "It" Appears
A Grotesque DEMON from Hell declares
Cursing the "MOON" the Sky cried stars
Killer Zombies crawl out of backyards
Know "It" and "It" you'll be
A rope around your neck hanging from a tree
While Dark Shadows whisper come to me
What you Most Fear Happens INSTANTLY
Fear "It", FEAR "It" Well
A Scare crow's beside you only YOU can tell
A hideous creature's stalking and you're the prey
Tonight your Demons are coming to take you away...
Remember when we used to play
In our backyards every day
We built castles in the sand
And chased each other hand in hand
Remember when we used to laugh
At silly jokes and photographs
We shared our secrets and our dreams
Ate ice cream and watched moonbeams
Remember when we used to be
The best of friends, just you and me
We swore we'd never drift apart
And keep each other in our hearts
But now we play a different game
We've grown up now, it’s such a shame
We rarely talk or have time to spare
Now kids and jobs are always there
Remember when we used to say
Nothing could ever get in our way
We were so young, naïve, and blind—
We left our childhood behind
*I wrote this poem on January 27, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 27 and the prompt was: Write a poem that evokes nostalgia.
Baby let’s take this to the next level
We’ve been together for a while now
You should feel my love flowing through your
blood vessels
You know I would do anything for you
By now you should know what I feel for you is true
So Let’s Get Married
And Make It Right
We Can Do It
Anything Is Possible
So Let’s Get Married
Any doubts sugar bring them to the table
Don’t say you do when you don’t
Don’t say you don’t when you do
It’s not up to Momma the answer is
within you
What is it making you so blue?
Are you sure about me and you
So Let’s Get Married
And Make Things Right
We Can Do It
Anything Is Possible
So Let’s Get Married
You are of age now and I love you
with all of my heart
If you feel the same what they say don’t
count
We can have some children
Have a fleet of cars
Several houses with big backyards
If you feel the same what they say don’t
count
So Let’s Get Married
And Make Things Right
We Can Do It
Anything Is Possible
So Let’s Get Married
I would like a dream vacation,
Paris is my destination;
For me this would be a delight,
I am ready to book a flight.
I will walk the wide boulevards,
And sneak a peek at nice backyards;
Oh, it would be lovely at night,
I am ready to book a flight.
I would drift on the Seine River,
The Louvre- I would stay ever;
The Eiffel Tower, what a sight,
I am ready to book a flight.
At the Notre-Dame I would pray,
In the boutiques I want to stay;
In an old cemetery- write,
I am ready to book a flight.
And search for my French ancestors,
Unadorned graves with no answers;
Oh, almost there, but just not quite,
I am ready to book a flight.
__________________________
February 4, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Paris, My Destination
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 752-282-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Take A Vacation,
sponsor, Lin Lane
Fifth Place
Observe the bending of tree & flower.
To rages; a gale… in tempestuous hours.!
Rain deep in curtain, makes interplay;
Fresh night skies, await the sun in power.
Morn air stirs, Lady’s chinking; breakfast crocks.
Day-streams 'cross backyards, endless blocks..
Splashes as sound; tables, are scrubbed..
Cars all hues; white thru red, too! radios rock!!
Sprinklers now silent; birdsong calls,
Gardener’s clipping the creeper on walls
Children’s cries are echoes around
Fountains splash in foyers & malls!!
Gundog flushes the dove; white ahead!
Tools are re-sharpened in timber shed,
Lilac buds blossom! Midst threaded verde,
In abundant gardens, Man & Woman wed.."
© Joe Maverick.co.uk
To know more about this poem (well you know)
ONE HEART, TWO HOMES; (was first written in December of 2011)
Belize of my birth; where my first love bloomed
You've showed me sweet freedom, to grace a second home.
But who'd forsake you? prodigals with intent to stay away?
I recalled years of help, silently floating in, from the US of A.
Where else would I dine with virgin air, suffusing flowered backyards?
I have no qualms, propagating positive economic rewards.
Two splendid homes; one of rivers, one of sun kissed sea
I think to myself, who runs where, to be warm and cozy?
Then again, who's all sufficient; people's lives intertwine
In spaces here and there, surely that's no crime.
One heart that loves... two homes... so close and unrestrained
There's diplomacy and grace, you're both well trained.
O Belize, I see bravado and zing; you're still happy and gay
Royalties still go and come, like tourist ships, from the US of A.
*
....Can fall on deaf ears:
And if not,
Can hurt more than you know,
Later,
Regrets hanging out on a line,
Waiting to be forgiven,
Some will be,
Others left blowing in a lonely breeze,
Have to be even more careful,
In a small town like this,
These walls have ears,
The windows have eyes,
Greeted by empty streets when you appear,
Friendly neighbor now your judge,
All his sad secrets,
Safely tucked into his vest,
Heaven forbid should his past be revealed,
Voice now speaking quiet lies,
Raised only in righteous accusation,
Of faults you've never dismissed,
Yet want to hide,
From those with no compassion,
Reveling in your shame,
Having buried their own,
In the backyards of their minds,
Such cruelty,
No other living creature would bestow,
No,
Only humans with their free will gift,
Of thought,
Draped in pathetic robes,
Of hypocritical truths,
Living in their lies,
Sight lost of understanding,
Worshiping the almighty dollar,
Blinded to their eternity,
Morality,
Only a word to be despised,
Lost.
Copyright © 2015 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
Copyright © 2015 Robert William Gruhn
Solitude?Come not to us our is not a ghost city.
Fun seeker? Come not alone our canopy is big .
Our fresh oceanic cuisine is surplus and honeymixed.
Fear not when baby whales are washed to the semolina beach
Or when little children are basking on zebra and horses' manes
But jump on a tusker and have a whale of the tamer of forest.
The angels shall alight with the rising of the sun
With awesome fry-pan or leaf-cutter backyards,
Perch on love like butterfly and enjoy our moonlight rock and roll.
~There Was a Time~
There was a time when I would look
out over the azure glory of a Michigan lake,
or tear up from the umber-brown beauty
of Grand Canyon in the Arizona sun.
There was a time when I smelled
the fragrance of fresh baked bread
when east winds blessed us with the aroma
from our neighborhood bakery.
There was a time when I could hear
Elvis singing on my neighbor’s hi-fi
without the head shaking sound
of a wooferized bass.
There was a time when I hopped
aboard moving freight trains
or climbed the tallest water towers,
indifferent to the loss of life and limb.
There was a time when Doug and I slinked
through harvesting backyards
pilfering grapes and teasing dogs,
ever mindful of how long the leashes were.
There was a time when I could eat
a box of Girl Scout cookies
as I watched ‘Cavalcade of Sports’
and never gain a pound.
And there was a time when I never felt
the cold as I scurried up and down
the sledding hill at Bancroft Park
with my Flexible Flyer proudly in hand.