Best Boy Scout Poems
When I was a young lad
I was a boy scout
We went once a month
On a camping trip
With our father
Coming along.
Once we went
On a camping trip
Along Stinson beach
In Marin County.
We had a campfire
On the beach
A real bonfire
Welcomed
In the chilly night air
Fond memories
Of being a boy scout
50 years later.
I am proud
That I was a boy scout
In some quarters
In the hyper-liberal bay area,
Of the late 60s and 70s
Boy scouts were denounced
As being nothing
But training camps
For the fascist overlords
Of the universe.
But I disagree
And am glad
I was a boy scout.
Always regrated
Never becoming
An eagle scouts.
A tenderhearted lad from Schenectady
Gave his elbow to an elderly lady
Helping her across the street,
While never missing a beat
Leaves her happy in a better spot shady.
Written May 18, 2022
I remember waking up
To the sudden sense of fear
My camping bag was packed
I could sense what was near
The 3 hour drive
Was a bit of drag
Where I would spend 5 nights
Saluting the flag
I was nervous at first
Didn’t think it was fair
But then I realized
I was under their care
And I felt safe
It was a rainy thursday when we rode a jeepney
We saw a boy scout seating in front of me
He was very cute and chubby
Wearing his boy scout attire incompletely
He was a kid who looks innocently
His blue bag was on his back while he was seating chilly
He observes everything silently
With his stunning Utopian round eyes that opens widely
His color was not too dark and not too lightly
His round face was created symmetrically
The angle of his nose is on a nice degree
His pinkish lips fits on his face perfectly
His haircut follows school rules correctly
And he wears himself neatly,
He catches our attention so easily
Thus me and my friend was amused constantly.
Until we reached our trips extremity
We are shock cause we and the boy scout has a destination equality
So he go out first and we follow intentionally
For we want to see him until we depart totally
As he go down out of the jeepney,
We saw him going on a right direction precisely
But just after him, we go down out of the jeepney
Yet in a span of a second we didn't see him anymore, he was gone unknowingly
We look in all directions fast and carefully
But our senses failed to track the scout: we didn't saw him and we didn't heard any noise from a running boy, he disappeared totally!
The right direction was part of a street and it was blocked so if he go there we must see him in reality
We are thinking all the what if's logically
But after all we cannot decline impossibility
What we experience is truly extraordinary
The boy scout transcended our fast eyes, does he teleported and gone swiftly? is he a time traveler? or we are just played by our own fantasy?
I cry at Chain Bridge
in my third year as a tenderfoot.
It's the same thing,
when father takes his time
showing up and the earth
gapes all the way to chaos.
It's when the money runs out
and the business fails.
The scouts all laugh
as they stand near their
neat packs with all their
plans piled beside them.
I am 13 in the dangerous
age of sissies.
I wonder what
the crying does.
He raced confidently forward.
The adults seemed indifferent.
I had tripped and the hard fall
knocked me unconscious.
He turned me over and grabbed
the belt around my waist.
With man-strength he lifted me,
forcing air into my lungs.
I stood, wiping dirt from my face
and dusting off my clothing.
I dabbed a few bleeding scratches
And shoved my hair behind my ears.
The adults went about the chores
they’d been performing.
I was seven. He was twelve.
My hero. My brother.