Best Encamped Poems
Faraway, across a widening
Expanse of vacant fields,
Dawns slated light is gradually
Awaking;
And too soon new Morn's stilled
Indifference
Determinedly steals
Into the abstractions of my fitful
Dreams,
Where, deeply concealed,
Many forgotten memories from days
Since past -
Ne'er once unto me unworthy...
Although long be they in their
Forsaking.
Those languid days, that, lately,
I quite often see and hear
Crowding throughout my wandering
Slumbers;
Vivid recollections, interns of a
Jumbled mind - for ages absent,
Beginning now to inexplicably reappear;
Insistent murmurings troubling -
Troubling incessantly:-
Unwelcomed guests from
Yesteryear...
Strange impositions, of a sorts,
Burdening upon this weary soul,
Which, encamped within my
Dampened Spirits -
Doth so unwittingly encumber!
Christopher Cricket
Lived out in a thicket
With his musical family
They slept by day
Each night they would play
At the Firefly Jamboree
A chorus of frogs
Encamped in the bogs
Would always accompany them
No need for a ticket
just come out and "kick it"
They will happily, welcome you in.
Daniel Turner
2/21/23
Encamped in the local IHOP patio
Doing reconnaissance on the butter pecan syrup
I discern its malicious, aggressive intentions:
To march defiantly down Mt. Stack
And wage a ruthless attack on
Defenseless over-easy eggs
Acting quickly, I wield my fork
Digging trenches in my pancakes
I flank the enemy, staving off
This unprovoked act of aggression
Victory!
Only in that moment do I lift my eyes and notice
A brood of young sparrows
heralding their hunger
The chevron of hang-gliding geese silently
sailing to destinations unknown
Majestic Monarchs flitting
stoically southward
And rival suitors:
An iridescent hummingbird and an industrious bee
Romantically pursuing myrtle blossoms
The canopy of cerulean blue
And all the life within its realm
Resolves my thoughts from war to peace
Note to self:
Don’t forget to look up
NEANDERTHAL
In times gone by, now recondite,
Neanderthal, erect, upright,
spoke softly, tones so lily-white,
and tried to put the world aright.
He taught us how the flame ignites
that wearing furs will warm the nights,
just why the rolling wheel excites,
and how the beveled flint stone bites.
Before the days of dynamite
he fought his foes with spit and spite,
and swung big sticks with all his might,
and rendered death with stones in flight.
Engaged in never-ending fight
(arenas were a global sight)
he forced his forces to unite
to sate his oily appetite.
To quell rude thoughts that may incite
he ruled the realm with fly-by-nights
and culled the winds of words in flight,
and darkened minds to anthracite.
With fairy tales of evil sprites
and how the fist of freedom smites,
he washed the world with flames alight
to vanquish hoards of parasites.
Each dawn the damage brought delight,
the foe was bent, a bit contrite…
yet battled on with no respite
until the dusk and evening light.
Encamped beside the firelight
Neanderthal, that shiny Knight,
awaited morn while sitting tight
assured the end would be alright.
Yes, conquest seemed his sacred right…
Forevermore?… well, no, not quite…
Neanderthal's extinct tonight
and lies beside the Trilobite…
MORAL
The Oreo is round, not bright:
while rolling near the candlelight
at first the searing seemed so slight,
the molten cream an oversight…
NOTE:
This screed has nothing to do with the noble Neanderthal (whose brain size exceeded our own).
It has nothing to do with 'times gone by' (though who knows what future beings may see and think).
It has nothing to do with anything…
and even less to do with something…
unless of course, you think it does….
Antietam
I lay in the creek my face to the ground
My hand on my musket, I pray I’m not found
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the battle’s begun
I fired on the troops as they crossed Burnside Bridge
Safely encamped up high on the ridge
The bullets are flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the sound of the guns
I hid in the cornfield till I heard the attack
I fired then I charged and I never looked back
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the red rivers run
I knelt by the fence there on Hagerstown Road
Knowing I’d reap whatever I sewed
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the day no one won
I gathered up wounded, I gathered up dead
There’s a lull in the battle; who knows who’s ahead
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; it’s now setting sun
I passed by the church as we fled in retreat
I prayed for the fallen, may this never repeat
The bullets were flying, the soldiers were dying
Antietam; the battle is done
Our history club is presenting Antietam this month so I wrote a poem for it.
Encamped beside a clear blue water lake
We call it, Bullfrog Valley. Here, they thrive.
The labyrinth of streams the water takes
Brings insects, as the meadows come alive.
Blue herons wade, perched hawks take treetop views
Colorful fish seek shelter in the shade
The bullfrogs sing for rain, from grassy pews
Mix sights and sounds of nature, all stress fades
Late evening, we share tales around a fire
First one who tells a lie, don't stand a chance
Each time a story's told, the stakes get higher
Night breezes make sparks rise and shadows dance
As eyes begin to dry, we start to crash
A night time serenade in Bullfrog Valley
The orange glow turns into white hot ash
The moon provides the light in nature's galley.
by Daniel Turner
Two way street
a common road
so much esteemed on the way one go's
Those who build a world with hands
and the bodies beaten to build those plans
Others figure with minds of brilliance
while charmers amass financial assistance
Our world, our human existence.
Dividends balanced in skewed proportion,
like the honor of men who have heart or the hunt
those who are trained to be manly men
or the smooth handed man "that world" would shun
Judge not cruel your fellow mate
for side of track their life encamped
what label worn or charity paid
to each a lovesome splendor attached
Behold the child with silver spoon
who feels no affection by day
or the orphans hair tenderly brushed
for Samaritans pity long the way
There beyond thou mansion fair
a beauty is beaten, lonely and scared
but she who wanders without a home
can be cherished more than riches owned
Our world, our human existence
Forfeiture or dispossession
affluent or highbrowed
all the difference still remains
to be loved or disavowed
I've pondered the pages between their covers
'twas this simple fact I've found...
our world is a quilt stitched by cultures
a solitary thread woven within and without
The difference is no difference at all
except the heights from which one falls
seams tear apart and like fabric lives unravel
yet you'll never find a road left untraveled
Nothing exists beyond a need
and nothing is ever as it seems
Our world, our human existence
What then is that of highest value
that which sparkles or that which lives
The blessing found in every child
or how massive an estate can be built?
Traveled now in both directions
paralleling both sides of the journey
The greatest value one can attest
is to walk either road with mercy
Dignity lies estranged from pride
for pride is a predator disguised
One set in mind "I have arrived"
and shames the value of another's life
If on a one way street you'd rather
tread your way without your brother
go ahead
judge a book by its cover
Life is laden with countless pages
none void of feeling or untouched
Keep in mind the two way street...
where direction giving life is TO LOVE
Disorientated in the world I've known.
Struggling to comprehend what's defined.
Unable to fix my course, I'm alone.
I stumble through my encamped darkness blind.
Encircled by confusion I must stand,
To confront the reasons that find me lost,
And reach for the will my soul shall demand,
To defeat this fluster, to pay its cost.
My depth of will begins to marbleize,
As I dissolve fear of failure away.
Before me a challenge I won't disguise .
The tensile strength of my will on display
Confused in the wilderness of the mind,
To temper the lost soul, to realign
I HEAR HER SCREAMING FROM A DISTANCE TRAPPED WOMEN
SLOWLY OVERLAPPED BY MANY DRIPS STAMPED WOMEN
DOWN SHE GO TRY NOT TO HARD TO STRUGGLE
YOUR LOSING BALANCE YOU BETTER NOT GET TO CRAMPED WOMEN
YOU NEED ALL YOU CAN KEEP DONT PANIC
PLEASE DONT JUST LET THE IMAGE BE REVAMPED WOMEN
DIDNT EVEN LISTEN TO YOUR CONSIOUS YOUR FIRST MIND
WOULD YOU BE IN THIS PREDICAMENT IF IT WAS RIGHTLY CLAMPED WOMEN
SO LISTEN HERE SLOW YOUR ROAD TAKE IT SLOW
YES I KNOW I KNOW YOUR OVERLY WRAPPED WOMEN
THINK STRATEGIZE DONT OVER DO IT
NOT JUST YET YOU ARE NOT ENCAMPED WOMEN
The gamblers and the mourners
Explore the vagaries of fate,
The expediency of life
Dangling in the capitol rotunda
Like a hanged man
His hair standing on end,
His boots in the air.
Write, sing, boo,
Do what you will
Never mind the outcome.
Words are cheap, they said,
But they knew better.
The price was dust--
Gold dust, that is--
By the ounce. Enough.
Enough.
Swinging from that bough,
Rope rubbing the bark raw:
It was a tree in that rotunda,
Where they hung them high.
Crows roost there at night.
Monkeys swing by day.
The crows fly away.
The monkeys take flight.
Women come and go,
Taking the sight.
Evening is still
Outside where the grass grows.
Obsidian crutches punch the ground.
Eagles fly where they please.
They do not fly near the tree.
Effervescent truly,
Shards unruly,
Dying away like rumblings,
Trains at the station
Puff and wait, puff and wait.
They pull like many horses.
Over in Scotland,
Inverness is halted.
The city is slow,
The soul of the yard.
Fruit ripens all golden
Everything rotten,
Lies on the ground.
Shuffle the deck and draw water
Encamped on the trail.
acrostic
Regiments of verse march in rhythm.
Eagerly they traipse word by word
Combing the theater of my mind.
Trying this ancient captain’s orders.
Inspired to pass the roll call of muster,
Former battle veterans re-up
Yearning for more difficult assignments.
I choose my warriors cautiously
Strategizing before and after each revision.
Attention! inspection is nearly complete.
Bravely comes the posting of my piece.
Encamped just outside the reader’s battleground,
Testing my troops for the final draft,
Treason is discovered, some soldiers go AWOL.
Enemies within, enemies without,
Renegades are dishonorably discharged.
Weightier words are chosen as replacements
Orderly guarding each post as prescribed,
Resolutions must go past mere wishing
Determining the success of this poet.
written 06 January 2016, revised 03 February 2020
Matt Caliri - Resolutions Poetry
Twas in the darkest pitch black of night
That those demons came pounding the gates
Taking siege round the walls of my soul.
So, I hoisted my flag up high
Inverted, and hid there to wait
In the dungeons for the King's patrol!
In fear, I tried to swim the sewers
To sneak past them by way of the lake
But the disturbance there was too great,
For they were encamped by the moors
So I swam back quiet as a snake
To that hellish and uncertain fate.
Sleep did in tarrying finally come
And with it a sweet comforting ease
From the din of my demonic siege,
I woke to the silence of the drums
And the stillness of a silent peace
By faith giving thanks to my Liege.
Embolden to venture out I went
By the calm still waters of my soul
And there I saw a beautiful thing,
My Lord Yeshua's familiar footprints
Where in battle He stood to control
Those devils, I serve a mighty King!
Timothy I. Brumley
He rode into town in the back of a truck,
A man on a mission, who, hoping with luck,
Would find the young zealots who murdered his Dad,
And vowed he'd take vengeance with all that he had.
Was late in the evening, and chores had been done,
He'd gone to the bedroom to tuck in his son,
His father was sitting there, out on the porch,
When Klansmen came 'round with a cross and a torch.
Without any feelings, they shot the man dead,
They lit up the cross and then watched as he bled,
A small band of cowards, they started to run,
When out of the door came the shots of a gun.
He rode into town in the back of a truck,
To look for those Klansmen, who, running amuck,
Had caused so much heartache and caused so much pain,
The ones who found pleasure when someone was slain.
He found them encamped on the side of a hill,
The look on their faces, it gave him a chill,
The sight of pure evil is all he could see,
There, hid in the bushes behind a large tree.
He cried to the wind and to God up above,
Who spoke to the mountain and gave it a shove,
As boulders rained down like a God-given sign,
He heard a loud voice, saying "VENGEANCE IS MINE!"
Now all is so quiet, and all is so still,
No more will those Klansmen be able to kill,
The only voice now is the sound of the wind,
Like tormented souls of the ones who had sinned.
Jesus, Your Son,
The only one true
Perfect and Holy,
Who makes all things new
To my spirit bring life,
My flesh, execute
Please, cleanse my soul,
Make me more like You
Teach me to be gracious
Show me how to be kind
I want for good things
To fill my mind
Let me be patient,
Yielding to time
I want You to claim me
And tell me, "you're mine"
I want to have gratitude
And be sincere
I want for Your voice
To stand out in my ear
I want to love,
And trust without fear
I want to always remember
That You're always near
I don't want to have pride
I don't want to be vain
I don't want to use
For selfish gain
I don't want to hurt,
I don't want to cause pain
I don't want anything evil
To be attached to my name
I don't want to lie
I don't want to cheat
I don't want for others
To be offended by me
I don't want to be arrogant
Or a slave to greed
I want You to shine through me
Whenever I'm seen
I don't want to be perfect
But perfected in heart,
My will at the end,
Your will at the start
I want to be selfless
And just do my part
An obedient servant,
Recognizing Your art
I want life to flourish
And peace to abound,
For Your angels to cover us
And be encamped all around
I want grace and mercy
To always be found
Your Spirit, our messenger,
A sweet, gentle sound
I offer up all
I surrender to You
Anything that You ask,
I promise, I'll do
I pray all is well
And is done in truth,
That I live for Your glory,
Whom it is due
The breathless seas expire across the shore
as if still more to dramatize decay,
as if the spirit realm were threatening;
unseen the children of the day who swim
within reality you cannot touch,
who bear no name, who are the aliens
encamped upon a planet floating in
a world of dreams
As such, it is illusory to read
the ink upon a non-existent page,
for lucid reverie is ours when we
can touch this fleeing fantasy of skin,
and see just how it molds itself around
our skeleton, creates the apertures
that let us see and hear, the brain that lets
us stop and wonder, and the tear that takes
the moment into memory.
In such a night alone, the love we share
is just a gentle brooding shadow of
beneficence that hovers over all the stones,
the souls in flight,
the messengers of light.
It is the commonality
to which we cling, and some of us
will call it God.
~