Best Packed Poems
I decided to turn around this morning,
stop spooning away the day
Forget about mother nature,
look much deeper into the grey
I could see late night approaching,
and planet Earth speeding away
When the unimaginable happened,
God spoke! this is what he says
Your journey through life is now on pause,
over there’s the final shore
Take a moment to absorb these words,
which we both know you’ll ignore
The path chosen can be known,
I walked it a trillion times before
For in eternity all gates are open,
yet you find abstract doors
Order dictates I should pull the plug,
but I’m enjoying your cryptic show
Every so often an aberration pops up,
and I like to watch them grow
The universe wastes so much time,
creating infinities I already know
You my friend are merely an anomaly,
who goes places others won’t go
Take another look at the shoreline,
I should really hold your hand
We’re nearly there already child,
I can’t tell, if it’s a promised land
The footprints are still quite fuzzy
most of your life reflects quicksand
Best go back to sleep for a while,
maybe tomorrow we will understand
I awoke later on that night,
my bed seemed the other way around
The stars were somehow brighter,
as my head stopped hearing sounds
This vision had made no sense at all,
other than being quiet profound
And when I put my shoes back on,
sand poured forth upon the ground —
By
David Kavanagh
We work ourselves to exhaustion
and drive eath other to our limits.
We aim for that elusive destination
that never seems to get much closer.
We strive for the better life of our dreams.
The more we have the more we want
when really we need so little to be happy.
Joy doesn't have to be a target.
It's as simple as our daily habits.
It's being in the moment
Appreciating a warm smile
Extending a caring word
Making a moment's pause
Taking a detour for fresh air
Sitting in the garden...
Joy is gathering these precious moments,
appreciating the present and feeling gratitude.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Wrote this because my wife and I both love dill pickles and eat one before bedtime most
every night.
Haiku:
Cucumber on vine,
Pack them, process them, spice them
Birth of a pickle.
Here's another version that I like also. Second line was suggested to me by Tim Ryerson so
thank you Tim:
Cucumber on vine,
Plucked and peeled, sliced up and dilled...
Birth of a pickle.
Free Verse:
Cucumber patiently growing on vine
Plucked, processed with Mother Nature's abundant spices.
Viola, birth of a dill pickle, Heaven!
Leaving at midnight on a Greyhound, I'm excited I'll be seeing my baby sister's family for two days and watch my nephew perform in CATS. In my small safari travel bag, these things I have packed:
Deoderant and my toothbrush (will sponge off my nephew for the toothpaste)
Two pairs of different colored contact lenses (gotta match my outfits)
A bottle of contact lense solution
Undies and sports bra
A pretty blue and yellow floral summer blouse (for when I watch my nephew perform in CATS)
Blue stretch denim jeans (and white ones as well, just in case)
Fashionable blue sandals
My supplements and sleeping pills in three tiny containers
My ASEA and COSEVA (They are helping me at least a little)
My cute new pink swimsuit (in case there is a pool somewhere)
My grey short shorts for exercise (in case I find a gym)
One of my favorite t-shirts which reads "I Need More Weekends"
Flat black comfortable shoes
A long t-shirt for my nightie
My cosmetic bag with makeup, face cream, nail file and hairbrush
A jewelry bag containing decorative combs and an extra ring
A pack of gum and my mouth guard
A small notebook and some pens for hopefully writing a few poems
My latest copy of TV Guide (I don't expect I'll be able to sleep on a bus!)
A borrowed book entitled "Uncensored Health You Can Have Today"
Healthy Peatos and "I Eat Bugs" snacks (to surprise my sister)
My purse with money, phone and charger inside (that completes things; the bag is less than 15 lbs. I always travel light because my trips are alway short!)
Date Written: Aug. 1, 2019
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Loaded mind
with caotic thoughts
there is no 'satis'
like an overloaded bus
packed
like a little nest
crowded with birds
big birds
noisy
uninterested sound
uncomforting zone
windy
cold
heat-hot like a burning gold
no rest
unfree
tranquility's absence
quest for peace
lack of bliss
like disturbed bees
up and down
hopeless time
internal crime.
Drencho POET Loads
Grandma Francie had been a preschool teacher too long
She packed me a lunch one time when I was in sixth grade.
What are those? My tablemates asked as I rolled them out.
They were tiny bugs made out of apples, celery, dates and raisins.
I was humiliated and horrified. It was a lunch a three-year-old would love.
“Can I have one?”
I ended up giving them all away.
They wanted to know if grandma would sell them some.
Catastrophe avoided.
As I gaze at my gorgeous lunch salad
sings to me a sonorous love ballad!
What’s dazzling about temporal food
that calls for this surreal mood?
The melting silk of shredded cheese,
the sharp crunch of leafy lettuce,
the crimson of tomatoes. All hold a spot arcane
tucked behind the corridors mundane,
oft murmurous with banal ‘I-love-you’,
jewels, roses and boxed rocks so blue.
The quiet gesture of you packing my meal
with thoughtfulness and honest zeal
makes my heart quiver with glee.
Your love sprinkled in the foliage medley
don’t know if any eye can see.
Written 04/28/2016
Joe Doakes packed a pistol for protection
Tucked away in his pants, 'scaped detection --
Had a girl named Meg
Who flashed him some leg --
Joe's pistol turned into an e-rec-tion
Choice, fair or foul, lay waits in a moment
Freewill is in the moment
Stillness is in the moment
Later and tomorrow is in the moment
Courage is in the moment
Complacency is in the moment
Tenacity and being intrepid is in the moment
History, mystery and strength is in the moment
Pain and blame is in the moment
Sin's built-in consequences is in the moment
Room for remorse is in the moment
Humor and innocence is in the moment
Clarity and conformity is in the moment
Your summit of pure joy is in the moment.
*
I play the organ to a standing ovation~
and my hymns are gifts
12/30/22
The Best Gift Poetry Contest
Sponsor-JCB Brul
1st
Walked out a leaving door once welcome,
Goodbye waving from her streaming hair,
She's over me while I'm drowning under why,
Offered to carry old baggage she couldn't see,
Thought it was I that was weighing her down,
She didn't know her past was all laid on me,
Not quite Atlas taking her world on my shoulders,
Love doesn't always come true in the real world,
Mine left standing there cold in a lonely doorway.
Copyright © 2014 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."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
I put away yesterday, and packed it away,
I said good bye to live for today,
But today i had to clean, and i found you again,
pestering my heart even though your no longer my friend,
you never liked my words, even though they stood true,
you hid away all that you knew,
you stood clean as a whistle and covered up the grime,
it was none of my business so i left it to time,
i kept a place in my heart, as i do many others,
and i wait on the prompt until it all comes together,
we are in the same book, but on different pages,
God moves our hearts in many stages,
and that momentary lapse is only a space,
the heart creates because it needs a break,
To Breathe......
I pack the backpack
then empty it
count again what I need,
discard the unlikely,
the unnecessary accessory.
I pack the backpack
shoulder it,
adjust the straps
remember to add a useful thing,
unpack and repack,
try to balance the weight,
smooth the angular,
tighten the loose.
Once again
add another small but
just maybe item
to the survival kit in the backpack
which I have just repacked.
I open the backpack
unpack just enough
to add to the survival kit.
I forgot to pack rope,
It’s a must-have necessity.
I pack the rope.
This is a metaphor poem,
possibly a cautionary tale,
or an instructional manual.
I remember just in time
that I have left the instruction manuals
for the battery operated can opener,
the outdoor fire lighter,
the camping stove,
and a sharpening tool
on a small folding chair.
I gather the manuals up,
pack them,
try to pack the small folding chair,
decide I will have to carry it separately.
The backpack is back over my shoulder,
above that a rolled up pup tent.
The camping chair is in my left hand,
in my right hand a sturdy hiking stick.
Climbing boots and cleats affixed.
I go to the door to leave.
I can’t open the door
too much gear to go through
I may have to squeeze out sideways,
but now I can’t turn the door handle or lock,
too much in my hands.
I will have to unpack.
Turns out
metaphors are a heavy lift.
Around the swirling
Pond
Is where you are
Looking up at the
Fascinating stars.
One by one they
Disappear
All because of a
Drop of a tear
Your hands reach
Up in pain
Wondering how
You could have ever
Took this into vain
The words of yours
Have been adsorbed.
Always by the
Same old chord.
What is the point of
Speaking
When all that
Happens is that you
Are ignored
packed with yesteryear's decorations...my smile