Best Knapsack Poems
Let us curry favor in dog star's
splendid laughing light
bring the crash of passion's waves
through two arms held tight.
I carry your wishes in love's
knapsack, strapped close
in tomorrow's hope
fashioned in new dawn's
golden charms.
Bring empathy in touch
understanding where
once was none, gone
in sorrow's parting.
Grant me true sight
unbridled, like a child's
reaching song..
your gleam in smile.
Rein in gallop of
heartbeat hooves
grant me sleep
so I may dream.
Categories:
knapsack, heart, sleep, song, star,
Form:
Prose
I watch a golden sun slowly rise above the eastern sea and my thoughts naturally drift to her. I wonder what she is doing, and if she ever dreams of me.
A southern breeze gently caresses my skin and fills my lungs with salty sea air. The tide ebbs back and forth, relaxing me and at the same time stirring my curiosity. Does each incoming tide bring back the same water that ebbed away, or has it been renewed? And I wonder what it means to be truly born again
About twenty yards to my right a drifter rolls up his sleeping bag. His well-worn knapsack is stuffed with everything he owns in this life. I ponder: Has he ever been in love?
Ever felt warmth from the tiny hand of a child?
Ever beheld big brown orbs staring back at him whispering "I love you?"
For a moment our eyes lock. His are deep-set and steely blue, like the sea before me. Wrinkles are etched into his face from years of hard living, I guessed.
My thoughts once again turn inward. It is safe here on my side of the ocean. But have I really learned what it means to live, to swim in unchartered waters, to bathe in crystal streams heretofore hidden from my heart?
From a distance I espy the returning tide. Maybe I'll go out with the next. See where it takes me. Maybe, just maybe, I will learn how to swim for the first time,
again.
Melancholy thoughts
transport me across the sea
where the dream begins
* photo quote: "And so you see I have come to doubt all that I once held as true. I stand alone without beliefs, the only truth I know is you..." - Kathy's Song (Simon and Garfunkel)
Categories:
knapsack, confusion, desire,
Form:
Haibun
Atacama, Eden of winds,
flower of abandoned rocks and of sapleter,
homestead of flamingoes and geysers,
and above all ,
below an azure sky,
mountains are carrying on their tops
ice of the past.
Old villages tell us their stories,
Toconce, Toconao, Chiu-Chiu,
carry in their canons
life,
water from deep below
let flowers and vegetables grow.
Chiu-Chiu, oasis of the desert,
a green spot,
surrounded by fragments of history
with the colour of orange, red and brown,
embedded in fragile foam of salt and hope,
the history of the Atacama.
Still alive in their churches.
Fragments of an ancient culture
reflecting on the surface of Río Loa.
Like ants – far away,
dispersed in vibrant light
some Vicuñas are looking
for tranquility and forage.
The geysers of El Tatio
send their hot water into the cold and pure air.
How pacient the Atacama is with us,
slaves of modern times
with the desire for paradise
with the dual face of history and hope.
Salar de Atacama, show me your
cracked and wounded face,
your wrinkles of solitude.
Far in the distance the chain of volcanoes,
with towering Lincancabur,
and its shouldered knapsack of crystals and ice,
holding its splendour towards the sky
with the colours of lapis lazuli and light agate.
Toconao, the ruins of Quitor greet you,
dormant since ages
they narrate the history of the Inca,
of their last refuge and their last battle with
Pedro de Valdivia,
who came with his men
to break the bravery of Inca soldiers
with thunder and destruction.
The waterfalls of the hot spings of Puritama
shoot their water into the air with the colours of rainbows,
drawing delicate faces of life
on dry sand and charming stones.
The wind from the mountains carries songs,
flute music, ancient tunes,
stories of salt, gypsum and clay
to the Valle de la Luna,
to let it remain calm and unchanged
with its eyes filled with dust and stones
in the eternal canto of earth.
Atacama, heart of the North,
plant of wind
in the song of history,
you make the day sound
and rock to sleep the nights,
lonely between the arms of the mountains
and the Altiplano.
Categories:
knapsack, historywater, history, water,
Form:
Free verse
She's thrice now had a scarlet groom
Adorned in silk this dusty room
She sobbed away sorrows in black
When she discovered the knapsack
In gold and pearls, did sorely lack
And her head and palm greeted, smack!
Like his body met the floor, thwack!
The house empty, less her they track
Hardened heart, hollowed like a tomb
Was it lover's spat or planned doom?
------------
Duo-rhyme? Not quite got the iambic tetrameter down, but I tried.
Categories:
knapsack, death, murder, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
Has anyone seen my muse -
I think she’s gone on a world cruise
One where there’s plenty of booze
Then she can have a long snooze!
Why has she run away to sea
I’m searching for her constantly
I’m feeling really unhappy
Please can someone help me?
If you find her, please send her back
Then I’ll be fine and on the right track
I’ll take her out in my Cadillac
And confiscate her spotty knapsack!
Then my muse won’t be free to roam
She will have to stay with me here at home
So I won’t be left all alone to moan
And I’ll write poems in a massive tome
6th February 2017
Categories:
knapsack, humorous, lost, muse, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Twas the night before Christmas
He sat near the street
With his dog in a blanket
Warming his feet
The sidewalk was cold
His windbreaker thin
He longed for a scarf
To cover his chin
He wished that his pants
Were free of the holes
And dreamed of new shoes
Without paper soles
He played his violin
With a melancholy ring
Like the sound of an angel
Which made the heart sing
Where once he had played
To whomever he choose
But his life took a turn
When he fell for the booze
The snowflakes fell softly
And peppered his hair
As he faintly heard carols
In the soft evening air
He counted his money
And wrapped up the dog
Shouldered his knapsack
And walked through the fog
Tomorrow was Christmas
To him one more day
To walk in the streets
With his violin to play
Categories:
knapsack, introspection,
Form:
Ballad
Illustrious? Too sophisticated.
Advanced? Sounds too modern.
Awkward? Not in the mood yet.
Animalistic? A nice ring, bereft of a special ring.
Will consider it for later though. Jotting it down now.
I could cut up some onions. I got up early to cook a roast right?
I get up from the chair, and my muse bops me on the head,
A light smack. I know, I tell her. I will be back in two.
It is actually ten minutes later. I had to cut up the onions and the roast.
Antiquated? Too prissy.
Profound? Dharm it! You already use profound in every other poem.
Pollutive? Is that even a WORD?
I will set the crockpot on high.
Trixie gets out her machete and leers at me, really mad now.
If you use that, I will not help you at all, I warn her,
So she files it back in her knapsack, and starts stomping up and down the paper.
She is storming angry when I return, I know because the paper is torn into
Teeny, tiny bits, I pull it back together, trying to read it again, as I recopy it.
Plain? Too plain.
Demonstrative? Circle that one. I like that one.
Delectable, delightful, deliriously diabolically, do-able.
The D words are here, and they are dancing and prancing.
Discerning. Where did that come from? Trixie helps me scratch it out.
Hey! Were you going to put the meat into the crockpot?
INSTANT brain stop.
We come to a screeching halt.
Dhramn!
I take Trixie to the kitchen where she hammers on Joe’s head with her axe.
Unfortunately, he does not feel it.
No one else here can put roast into a crockpot?
Categories:
knapsack, writing,
Form:
Free verse
There is a road to happiness. It is a smooth and narrow road. There are no potholes or curves. It is a straight road. It also goes on forever.
There is a road to adventure. You will never know a stranger upon this road, for everyone who travels upon it has the same goal in mind--to sit in the presence of the LORD. To learn of the greater things of life that cannot be purchased at a convenient store.
There is a road to contentment. You will never long for anything of this world ever again. Your burdens are light and you only need a knapsack. In your knapsack is your Bible and a fresh red juicy apple. Everywhere you pass on this road leads you to joy and contentment. Your needs are provided for along the way.
The Highway to Holiness is a real road. It is a road in the spiritual realm. It is a road that will never allow you to get off course as long as you remain close to God. The LORD is the One who is in charge of His road. He will not allow discontentment or bickering. He will not allow discord or strife. This road is the way to life everlasting.
If you want to take a journey on this most beautiful road there is a road map. It is the written Word of God. It is the Holy Spirit-filled writings of a select group of people that were called to serve the LORD. It is the road map for the journey to the heavens. It leads to peace everlasting. Open the pages of the road map to the Highway to Holiness and begin your journey today.
gwendolen rix
6-18-15
Categories:
knapsack, bible, blessing,
Form:
Pastoral
Here are six tales of six relatives of mine
Now all have passed in the passage of time
Mostly seen through the eyes of a child
Poetic licence used for I’m no Oscar Wilde
~~~
Aunt Ada and Aunt Edie were a scary pair for me
Ada wore a real live fox fur dangling from her neck
And as a child I really thought this is where it slept
Of course it was not breathing as the poor thing it was dead
But nothing could convince me ~ for to me it was asleep instead
Edie was Ada’s companion or that is how it seemed
Much smaller in stature she walked behind Ada
Who strutted ahead when her mind it was set
Each day Ada dressed in her Astrakhan coat
And walked to her ‘bookies’ where she placed her daily bet
~~~
Another scary person whom I only met the once
A cruel step mother came to stay
When I saw her face I ran away
Her face was pointed
Her nose was too
Her countenance a paler shade of blue
And with her came her daughter too
A spookier pair I never knew
From whence that day the day they came
Their names we never spoke again
~~~
My dearest Grandpops ~ loved him lots
A character through and through
He wore a black beret perched upon his head
With a loosely tied dickie bow draped round his neck
A master magician with his performing dog named Win
Performing caricatures by his favourite Dickensian
Wishing he was here ~ passed in his 84th year
Wanting many answers to questions unasked
For the young have no time for to stop and to hear
When young, one can be so selfish I fear
And that is the reason I wish he was here
~~~
An uncle in the navy spent months away at sea
Like Father Christmas he returned ~ I sat upon his knee
His knapsack overflowed with gifts for family and for me
Exotic lace and silk and dolls and fancy fans and herbal tea
Ivory figures large and small he'd bring from a foreign land
He would sit for hours spinning yarns of the Orient exotic and grand
~~~
his visits stopped so suddenly no more gifts were sent
to this very day I have no inkling where my uncle went
Written 15th November 2020
Contest Six relatives
Sponsor Caren Krutsinger
FIRST PLACE
Contest ALL YOURS POETRY
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Categories:
knapsack, character, family, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
As I trekked through wilderness
Without solid gold
It's amazing fresh air was my buffer
As I levitated from rough paths of self neglect
To calm seas;I was facing slow death.
I remembered seeing silhouette of You
Your features fair, Your hair resembled wool
I heard You say, "She's one of us gone astray."
I'd gone long miles, with heavy knapsack of sorrows on my back
Folks feared I was too kind; yet they wondered about my mind
At the end of such times, I again saw You
You had servants, and possessions of wealth I saw
Yet, with fear I limped, and missed your train of rules.
I saw Your world of women primed and schooled
Like one of a kind queens
How admirable I thought; such life I'll regain
Though in Your mansion, women reigned aplenty.
You commenced walking my way, with eyes on me
No audible sound I heard, but tenderness I saw
Made me realize, love was on the rise.
One look on Your face, and I felt chased
I was home again
Surrender to Your love.
*
Categories:
knapsack, happiness,
Form:
Couplet
The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky
The sun that is out of reach of a hand
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope
One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March
has left behind
Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone
The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore,
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind
The friends, not many in number shared his happiness
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though
plain and simple, abundance in God;
at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle
For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences
As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him,
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind
Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone,
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him
Categories:
knapsack, april, easter, jesus, march,
Form:
Free verse
At noon we sat down under a large old oak tree on a wild hillside with masses of rocks,
The day was very warm and I took off my knapsack and rested by the foot of an old tree,
Below was a spread of orchards, next to meadows, and the glades sat with watery mead's,
Above, a beech forest that stretched, many miles the greenery touching the white clouds,
White clouds in a beautiful blue sky, shapes constantly changing shape, in a light cool wind.
Looking around there was much to see, there were lapwings and golden plovers in the trees,
Down below in a meadow a carter was leading a pair of horses off to plough a grassy field,
Then a fox crept from a hedge into a ploughed field and dropped right down into a furrow,
On a flooded mead a Great Crested Grebe dived under the water looking for some fresh fish,
And the water looked like sheets of polished glass and the sun reflected great rods of beams.
The track we walked soon vanished and then lofty pillars of beach-boles with thick canopies,
The earth was brown, withered leaves scattered amoung small pieces of rock green with wet moss,
Here and there were shallow bogs with the 'touch-me-not' plant with bright yellow flowers,
A plant whose name gives significant caution, as where it grows, there is treacherous footing,
Legend says mountain climbers make their peace with God if they meet some in a rocky crag.
Half an hour's progress and we were going in the right direction the scene was impressive,
As we wandered through woods with no out let visible the shade was heavy, deep and silent,
Then through a gap in far off trees was an opening and buttercups formed a carpet of gold,
On a bough was a Goldcrest the smallest British bird, he hopped from twig to twig for insects,
Their tiny nests made from mosses and spiders webs, slung underneath the branch of a tree.
Categories:
knapsack, nature, old, water, old,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Eveliabedlia Handlelock
A happy-go-lucky Kender I am
Not a thing scares me that stands in my way
Lock doors or not suppose to be locked
Into my knapsack for my handy tools to unlock the door
I love collecting objects that people discard
Some accidently fall in my knapsack I carry around
I vow to return them to its owner then tend to forget
But good intentions, I do posses
But then they call me a thief I don’t’ know why
A great insult to me because I oppose thievery
Tales of my life are dear to me, I try to tell whoever will hear
Don’t insult me my temper gets carried away
Sarcasm, rudeness, and insults I can not help
I’m just a Kender
By eve roper 10/5/2014
Categories:
knapsack, fantasy, humor,
Form:
Free verse
The madman chalked red X’s
on the sidewalks of the houses
if he suspected
or had evidence
that people there
were unkind to each other,
or their dogs.
When he was a young man,
he studied hobo signs
chalked on railroad cars, mailboxes, fences,
buildings in barn yards,
in towns he probed.
Signs that said “doubtful”, “mean dog”,
“be ready to defend yourself”,
“dirty jail”, or “nothing doing here”
sent him away
or might draw him closer
to investigate.
He was a harvest hobo,
following the crops in the West.
Once beaten senseless, and left to die in a Fresno alley.
They laughed when they punched and kicked him,
stealing his knapsack and his kit.
The beating injured his brain.
He was never the same.
He lost all inhibitions and good judgment.
He couldn’t remember what rows to pick
when he picked grapes in Visalia
and oranges in Porterville.
He lost track of time, and had to write everything down.
He made little sketches so he could find his way
back to his box under the railroad bridge.
At night, he played his harmonica
until he dropped into dreams of his days as a boy
or his job with the city.
He dreamt of the beautiful woman that gave him
a whole pie when he begged for food at her door.
He dreamt of the old, black man that looked into his eyes for a long time before tears
came.
The old man saw himself in his eyes.
He saw a man with even less than himself,
and it was more than he could endure.
The hobo impressed the dirt path
in front of the man’s simple cottage
with a new mark – a mark never seen before.
It was an austere eye,
a large tear in both corners,
made with polished pebbles
and shells he carried in his pack.
Categories:
knapsack, allegory, angst, life, peoplelost,
Form:
Blank verse
November 10, 2015
If I were rich what would I have done?
I am thinking of places near and far
Perhaps a lavish mansion
Hidden in the heart of a mysterious land
Its walls build of Far East marbles, embroidered with shiny brass
Glass floors curved with diamonds, crystal Chandeliers hanging from every slant
I would bath every morning in the camel milk
And would put on the finest silk
I would demand kings and queens official visit
To brag about my newest shoe suite!
If I were rich, I could have even lived on the moon
In a spaceship in the shape of a cocoon
I would float instead of walk and do all sort of summersault
And sing Na Na Na Na while watching you catch a bus to work
Or I could take a knapsack and travel the world
Live in every five star hotels
Exclusive room service and personal hosts
I would lift my little finger
When sipping on the most exclusive Champaign
Flirting with fine young gents
And rolling my eyes at beautiful girls
You want me to tell you the truth?
I don’t really want to be rich
I am happy with what God has blessed me with
My family is my greatest treasure
My friends are my assets, my God my golden armor
Why should my heart yearn for any other?
When I am already rich!
Written for "IF YOU WERE RICH, WHERE WOULD YOU LIVE AND WHY?" contest
Categories:
knapsack, dream,
Form:
Free verse