Best Hike Poems
Beautiful forest
Hiking with brave friends I trust
I hopscotch across
River rock, slippery moss
Fell on my butt, soaking wet
I'm such a dumb klutz
Everyone laughs their guts off
Wow! That hurt my butt
Screwed up. No clothes I regret
Walked around soaking wet
By: Eve Roper 1/14/2015
Blossom of baby's breath,soft white
Dusted my shoes in the morning light;
Brushing gorse,crusted yellow
Over the stream with weeping willow;
Into the wood of rush patterned lace
Across a meadow at a slower pace;
Along the cowslip filled track
Under clouds,edged blue-black;
A storm erupted on the scene
Shadowing the pastures a pastel green.
The WOKE CAN ALL TAKE A HIKE
Depressing this year to celebrate the USA nation.
When our flag is dishonored
at the Olympics is a big
sensation!
Causes this poetess tears,
and inner consternation.
Both leadership, multiple insane groups, treat the USA like dirt.
Burning cities, looting, and
multiple humans, dying or getting hurt.
The move is on, to have
Marxism rule.
The ploy in using racism is
definitely the Devils' tool.
I recall when the buildings
on 9/11 fell.
We all cried together, thought
we were dying and might go
to hell.
Any patriot is beaten or spat
upon.
The theme is "hate America"
at each and every dawn.
You, yes, you Americans
know what I mean!
Each morning you buy hate
from leadership, carried out
by the media.
AKA, the fake news propaganda machine.
Some Americans awash in
thinking all things should be
free.
That's Communist thinking,
don't you see?
In a Capitalist Society,you
work, pay your own way to
be free.
Otherwise, you complain and
whine, you..a Communist be.
So don't fly the flag anymore.
We are a censored, lied to
nation, the enemy is living or already, at your front door.
Go ahead, blame patriots who call for America first.
Many hate this and use fists
of fury with a Wuhan thirst.
I don't know how we will survive.
When every death is reported as Covid, a disgusting lie.
I long for years ago.
With meat hot dogs, and
when Coca-Cola was unwoke.
No fireworks do I want to see!
With total freedom, for each
American soul, I pray, returned to thee.
7/4/2021
A scarlet tanager sits primly on the rail
Of the new fence erected near the meadow,
He eyes me stroll as I take in every detail
The path to the woodland is rather narrow,
Infrequently used, it is rapidly overgrowing
I am brushing against the yellow yarrow,
As hottest of summer is fast approaching
The meadowland has nary a cooling shadow.
Happily, I note the salt lick has disappeared
I hope its purposes were well-intentioned,
Certainly not as the hunter’s ploy, I feared
In a previous post, I am sure I mentioned.
I feel the coolness of the pleasant breeze
As I approach the edge of the tree line
Where meadow gives way to aspen trees,
And further on, a stand of taller pine.
I shall follow the trail through the wood
To the river which I can faintly hear, ahead
Where I saw a huge buck in full manhood,
And I have seen signs of where he bed.
It is a good two-mile hike, not exhausting
But I stop to examine new growth along
And for moments to reflect, I am pausing,
I’m encouraged by the tanager’s song.
Written June 18, 2022
A walk through the meadow seems in order
The sun is peaking through some wispy cloud,
Coreopsis is in full bloom along the border
While verbena and cosmos are standing proud.
I make my way through the overgrown path
Pushing aside the wild carrot and floss flower,
Knowing I’ll have beggar’s lice as an aftermath
Causing my nosy neighbor to snicker and glower.
It’s a fine, fine day; butterflies are everywhere
And the mockingbird’s are tweetering melodies
As I get closer to the tree line a-way over there
Where the squirrels will jump between the trees.
I do not expect to see deer since I’m rather late
And they are generally feeding in early morn,
So they’ll have bedded down in hidden shade
They have long weaned their early spring born.
Surprisingly, I see an opossum trundling along
Three or four young’uns clinging to her back.
Picking a bouquet of flowers, I break into song,
And hear scuttling noises, I’ve disturbed a pack
Of nesting quail, fairly close, and off to my right,
Streaking in a flurry their white underbellies flay
I locate them just in time to see them take flight.
I’ll get on home to vase my wildflower bouquet.
Written August 6, 2022
The high hills hummed in praise of their Creator,
As we recklessly rushed down all the rough rocks,
Careful not to tumble down the treacherous
Uneven paths that led to the vast valley.
Here and there were fruitful farms, corn growing tall.
Whilst a cacophony of crows, hens and geese
Filled the air contrasting with passeri and larks,
Practicing their mellow melodious songs.
We found a tavern, delicious spicy food
That soon greeted us as we entered and met
The few travellers that revelled in that place
Which was so warm that we ate our fill with grace.
We marked the superb place on our tattered maps,
Sure to visit the homely tavern again.
FICTION (there are no real hills in Malta)
Atop the Blue Ridge,
Along the Appalachian,
One Hundred miles wild.
Forest floor covered, footsteps echo of breaking branches
Sunlight trying to break through cover, unyielding in defiance
Small animals scurry out of sight, hiding in the trees.
And so, my journey begins;
A challenge issued from deep and within;
You can advise if you like,
But I will hike my own hike;
I am old enough to commit my own sins.
I appreciate that you are worried for me;
You may be living my journey vicariously;
But, when the timing is right,
You can hike your own hike;
I will hold my advice until you ask it of me.
As I take my first steps on the trail,
You are right, I might possibly fail;
I don’t take your warnings with spite,
But I will hike my own hike,
And thank you for simply wishing me well.
A winter white blanket melts turning Aspens verdant green.
Buds sprout on mountainsides in a sunlit golden sheen.
Clouds like fresh-picked cauliflower sink low and drift on by.
Distant sun after her show takes a bow in purple sky.
Each eager bear escapes its hibernating cage.
Frozen waters thaw flowing to shores of sage.
Gift of welcomed warmth rids us of icy skin.
Happily we hike the trails, feeling like nature’s kin.
Iridescent dew drops cling to shoots of leaves on trees.
Joyous sparrows sing of birth, building their nests with ease.
Kaleidoscopes of color blossom, grow and softly sway.
Lifting to the heavens high, our spirits soar today.
Miracles of spring’s renewal, God creates for us each year.
Nights curtail and days extend as bustling young appear.
Open fields expand brightly; in the air, fragrance floats.
Poppies, peonies and petunias cover meadows like a coat.
Quizzical eyes peer at us from a shadowed hiding place.
Rabbits romp and hop together through fields of English lace.
Spring reverberates with humming birds and buzzing bees,
temped by sweet nectar of wildflowers on the breeze.
Under mounds of driven snow, earth’s waited to tumble green.
Victorious in her grand arrival, spring’s beauty grows pristine.
Watching from steep ridges, wolves save their howling song.
Xanthic petals mesmerize as we alertly walk along.
Yesterday’s cold winter pales with every step we take.
Zealous spring day warms the soul, our senses stirred awake.
written for Shadow's Abecedarian Contest, 2/13/15
Don’t forget the insect repellent
Mosquitoes can cause such discontent
These bugs make me itch
Watch me swat and twitch
The cost of “Off” is money well spent
Written April 3, 2014
We thought we'd have a little fun
At my friends house last night
His wife would demonstrate how it should be done
To be sure we did it right .
One of the lads would pluck eyebrows
Another would use a lady shave
Solemnly I had to swear a vow
That I would endure the waxing craze.
Well when I saw the eyebrow Plucker
At last I began to relax
I heard him yelp and thought '' Sucker ''
I bet you wish you'd chosen the wax.
Let it go a little hard and playful
His wife said as she shaved around his bits
A woman , A razor and his tadpole
No that would have really given me the squits .
Then she put wax strips on my hairy legs
Telling me to hold on to the chair
Promise me it won't hurt , I beg
OOOOUUUUUUUCCCCCHHHH
I flew up in the air .
I've decided women are masochistic
They really have to be
Or perhaps they are just sadistic
and enjoy inflicting cruelty .
So I'm never again going to play women's games
They can call me chicken all they like
When they've finished laughing and calling me names
I'll just say '' YOU CAN TAKE A HIKE ''
Ancient mahogany walking stick
Blue jay and gold finch duet
puffs of pearls on downy wind
God must be playing violin.
Painted turtles surfing mossy logs
honeybee hovering Queen Ann's lace
saxophone blowing emerald frog
maple leaves flaunting silver face.
Hummingbird on the edge of mind
lavender seeping from the glade
crimson flashes from blue pine
eying violets on a black earth day.
***GROWTH***
Blossoms are Spring sweet
Red orbs that cover fall down
Keep peeling apples.
~~~JOY~~~
New readings today
Words not yet well understood
Poetry...Supreme!
+++ANIMATES+++
Coursing the air bright
Burrows in the earth so dark
Creatures surprising...
^^^NATURE^^^
Sun's rays warm and bright
Moon's harvest fills up the night
God adorns the sky!
) ) )WRITING( ( (
Haiku for form now
Try to think and count as well
My imperfect words---
###PAST GLORY###
Running the bases
Tackling the one with the ball
Memories enjoyed...
> >
Coaching the new boy
Stance back, glove down, go for it
Passing the dream on.
Let me tell you a story …
Many pilgrims had passed this way before him
but had rarely stopped before trudging up the muddy path to the top of the hill
and then disappearing out of sight forever.
But he lingered at this shady spot at the bottom of the dip in the track.
The old stone tablet in the wall was overgrown with moss and ivy.
Rain droplets hung at the tip of every ivy leaf.
Catching the daylight, they twinkled like some distant constellation.
He pulled back the ivy, scraped off the moss to reveal the ancient writing.
By chance or maybe by some hidden force,
this place still belonged to the pilgrim’s way.
But the pseudo-pilgrims had no time to waste as celebrity beckoned.
Eyes fixed on the hill’s summit
they were oblivious of both this place and its significance.
The inscription read
If you look too hard you will not see
If you talk too much you will not hear
If you think too much you will not learn
If you walk too fast you will not arrive
If you are true to yourself you will be content
You will unlock the secret door
He reflected on what he had read but not too deeply and then smiled.
He had another 150 miles to walk which he could do in six long, arduous days
but now it would take him ten days of contemplation.
The climb up the hill was different from what had gone before.
It was exhilarating for the wonders of nature were all around to experience and enjoy.
Every step was stimulating.
The inscription filled his mind.
Slowly but surely the door opened.
The days passed and he realised the pilgrimage was of the mind not of the body.
Walking gave him space and time.
Ten days later he was uplifted and at peace
having stepped through the door of enlightenment
once secret and now so obvious.
He smiled at the pseudo-pilgrims there with him at the end.
He felt sadness for theirs was a superficial achievement
judged against each other with a materialistic prize.
They had been on a walk but not a pilgrimage.
He gave them one last glance,
turned and strolled into life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
25 April 2022
First Place Contest Name: Form N - Narrative - New Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France
Chosen Theme: #1 Journey