Best Rummaging Poems
Courage of Youth, Battle of Ypres, Flanders Field
(A Tribute)
Tough as nails young man with a red right hand
red-fire and whiskey ran in his blood.
Courageous seed of vast and cold hard land
quick temper, power of a surging flood.
Seeker of life, its promised mysteries
rash gambler with all he would ever own.
Born on ship in high wind swept, roaring seas
toughest warrior his town had ever grown.
Met his fate by volley of red-hot lead
buried on ground scared and battle blasted.
Aye boys, fodder that machine guns were fed
fools marching to death, long as it lasted.
Now flowers cover up and Time denies
scenes of battle torn soil and blood-red skies.
R.J. Lindley
April 23rd, 1975
SONNET-(DEATH AND WAR'S FUTILITY)
Tribute to Courage of Youth-- Second Battle of Ypres, April 22nd 1915 .
Note- added - 8-26-2017
Wiki-
The name Flanders Fields is particularly associated with battles that took place in the Ypres Salient, including the Second Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Passchendaele. For most of the war, the front line ran continuously from south of Zeebrugge on the Belgian coast, across Flanders Fields into the centre of Northern France before moving eastwards — and it was known as the Western Front.
The phrase originates from a poem titled In Flanders Fields by Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, inspired by his service during the Second Battle of Ypres. The fields were not maintained for years before they were made into a memorial. Today Flanders Fields is home to thousands of poppies.
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Found this while rummaging through some of my old poems. Decided not to edit it. Leave it as it was composed over 42 years ago..
Added the note for those not familiar with that battle and its horrific carnage, primarily from the insanity of large bodies of troops marching into direct machine gun fire.
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Note:
This poem was selected and requested for teaching purposes at Cambridge University. Permission was granted for educational use.... RJL
All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!
~Through a wisteria laden arbor~
Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.
Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)
Ferreting around, in dumpsters of dreams
In the back alleys of my imagination
Through swill, liaisons, and cheap rendezvous
And words misspoke in conversations
Rummaging for one morsel, an old tattered remnant
In a disregarded or discarded memory
For that one piece of the puzzle, a maggot's repast
To feed a starving, rapacious fantasy
I find a face, in a crowd, dark eyes and dark hair
It was only a passing glance
There's a memory, lost, of a soft tender touch
From a young girl at my first high school dance
Then mixing and matching, of shapes and sizes
I've always been partial to curves
A voice, a whisper, an exciting laugh
From a stupor that's still just a blur
In this jigsaw fantasy, some light conversation
At a restaurant by candlelight
Some soft music, slow dancing, funny improvisation
Then a romantic walk in moonlight
She's intelligent, engaging, laughs at my jokes
I'm forever lost in her eyes
While we dream with the stars, with her kiss I'm awoke
In the dark , I sit and I sigh
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Darling—
You strung together useless trinkets of imagination,
And pinned me up inside your head.
With dreams that stalked me across the night,
But were too big to drag out of bed.
You clung to the savior you rashly mistook in me,
Like a lover clings to her dead.
When I never meant a single word,
Of whatever I might have said.
Verily, I wasn’t rummaging for anything at all;
I certainly wouldn’t have begun in you.
The god you saw, I have seen, as well,
But only in the self I pursue.
And so I rose from shards of the mirror,
And snatched away from your fussy little hand.
For as I slept beside you, I slept nonetheless alone,
In a dream you could never understand.
I never used you because you were useless,
Never belonged to you because I don’t belong.
Couldn’t fulfill my emptiness with your own,
And could only pretend for so long.
But now I can’t gouge you out from within me,
From a place that never was there.
From a bottomless, unquenched solitude,
In which you simply could not fare.
What you wanted to see wasn’t in me;
I can’t give you what you think you need.
We’re ever alone, yet we try to outnumber our loneliness,
When in turning inward, we are freed.
You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litter bins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
If you are reading "the Adventures of Soda Pop" for the first time, read the first in the series and the story will make more sense. I hope you enjoy.
Ricky ran up the stairs to go to his room to prepare for the days fun. He put on his favorite pair of jeans and a western shirt with pearl buttons. From under his bed he pulled out a leather gun belt that held two cap guns. (apparently the monsters vacate the space under the bed during the day) As he strapped the belt around his waist, I could tell he liked how it felt on his hips. Ricky took one of the guns out of the holster and placed it back under the bed. At first I wondered why and before I knew it Ricky placed me upsidedown in the holster. I liked how the leather held me firmly in place, luckily I had been corked or Ricky would have been wearing purple instead of blue jeans. Ricky then started rummaging through his closet looking for his Daisy BB gun. After a few moments of searching he was happily holding it in his little hands. He shook it and I could hear the BBs rolling around inside the gun.
As Ricky walked down the stairs I could feel his imagination taking hold. Ricky felt as tall and powerful as any real cowboy. There was a certain coolness in his stride, if he had had on some cowboy boots instead of his black canvas runners, the picture would have been perfect. Ricky went into the kitchen to find Roy and Teresa, Mrs. Burns told him they had already left with some friends. No worries after all today Ricky was the "Lone Ranger" and I was Tonto! The adventure could begin.
Somehow I had loved you so,once…
When we relished vintage cherry wine until
The last pitch of a guitar man drifted along
harbour’s bay…and how our shared wishes
gushed around Trevi fountain, tossing coins,
rummaging new souvenirs that became
endless conversational pieces in our inner loft.
Yes, I held other thoughts about us, keeping
My voice low as angry words snuffed the
Fragrance of candlelight: but in a flash, time
Paused while you smiled to brush my hair amiably.
I loved you well, perhaps …maybe more,
Yet deep in my bones, leaving me alone kept
Rainy nights unbearable where we passed
Like abandoned ships at night… then what
About those evenings that won’t let me down?
This feeling of uncertainty, suspension, pain
Led to catharsis: because for all that was real,
The ghosts of old souvenirs ended love's glory.
Gren's Evergreens (Golden Oldies) # 1
Inspired by the song: ‘And I Love You So’
Contest of Teppo Gren 4/21/2016
Wretched Stakes
I find in your eyes a mysterious universe
fraught with the searing scent of betrayal
and warped reflections of my reality
swirling in shadows of welling, yet un-shed tears.
Rummaging the tortured abyss for a glint of familiarity,
grasping to anchor myself in the alien terrain,
I'm awestruck by the requisite strength; your strength...
to survive among the crosses in your eyes.
Over the horizon a faint glimmer defies the gloom.
A hopeful star, fading but stalwart,
screams for love as it grapples the swallowing deep.
At last, I fathom the wretched stakes.
07/26/15
Submission for Contest: The Crosses in Your Eyes
Hosted: Justin Bordner
Aconites gazing into the sun
'neath catkins dangling,finely spun
Awakened mammals desert their holes
rummaging midst the hazel boles
Long twilight days in winter's shade
tomorrow..brings snowdrops in the glade
Abandoned and alone in the middle of the ocean,
Rummaging in the dark,awaiting for the lighthouse flash,
Soaked into the series of failures, lost all my motion,
Come on, blow out my misery with your powerful splash.
Surrounded by the concealed hatred and the phony veils,
Certainly a knotty task to intuit fake faces.
When the truth never prevails and the untruth fails to fail,
Come on,burn evils and save goods with your generous grace.
Like the refreshing rain droplets on infertile dry land,
drench me unconditionally with your pure love showers.
Like an oasis in the desert, moist my hot dry sand,
Like a spring, adorn my garden with alluring flowers.
I wish you fathom my unformatted hidden prayer
and bestow me with sheer confidence and courage to dare
I promise everyday I will not fail,
For my eyes will tell you a very deep tale.
A story about a girl lost in this life,
Hoping and praying for a little light.
It all began at an early age,
Unsure of what was on the next page.
She walked the road of uncertainty,
Even though the ending was blurry.
Head held high with her chin in the air,
With a pain in her chest she couldn't bare.
But still she walked with such pride,
Everyday she always tried.
Weakness wasn't an option in her mind,
For she still had herself to find.
Everyone she met she had them fooled,
The pain she felt kept her fueled.
If they just took the time,
I swear this isn't a crime.
Just take a few seconds from your day,
Ask this stranger if she is okay.
In this moment you'll hear a sigh of relief,
This is something she couldn't believe.
One by one the tears fall from her face,
Each one representing a memory she can't erase.
In silence she stares you in the eyes,
Rummaging in her head looking for a lie.
"These tears are tears of joy",
She spits out quickly to the young boy.
Palms sweaty with a fast beating heart,
Where to begin where does she start.
Caught off guard she studders in fear,
In a moment she hadn't pictured for years.
Pulling herself together piece by piece,
This isn't the time to break the peace.
So here comes the smile,
The one she purposely rehearsed meanwhile.
But still to this day,
She is convinced she will never be okay.
Longings....
Should I have let you catch me
You, with your wayward words
Crazy schemes and narrow roads
Should I have let you hold me
You, with your wide arms
And not so serious nature
Easy smile and wistful words
Should I have let you touch me
You, who made me smile
Forget today and its troubles
Should I have let you in
You, who I felt connected to
An understanding I had not felt in a long while
Should I have
You, who felt inadequate
Who thought he was not good enough ?
Should I have
When you didn't trust me
You who didn't tell me why
Who thought I was too good
I wanted to
I could not
You were too close
And I was too open
You held my hand
And I saw who you are
But you did not trust me
And I knew you could hurt me
In the worst way
......
And yet....
Here you are
Rummaging my mind...
The other day while rummaging in a closet I was instantly overcome with joy
when I ran across our storage bins filled with our children’s once used toys.
Toys our children and grandchildren played with when they were young and new…
Toys that don’t grow up…like children and grandchildren do
A set of nesting cups for the bathtub, noise makers and little bouncing balls
plastic telephones where every child made imaginary calls.
Toys that at one time were their favorites…
toys they once adored.
Toys that served their purpose
but don’t get played with anymore.
A bunch of bendy action figures…which much to our elation
our children and grandchildren used…
to fuel their imaginations.
Those thick little baby books, a stuffed doggie, soft and brown
wooden blocks with painted letters they'd stack up…
then knock down.
As I picked up a plastic microphone and a bunch of different tiny cars
I thought how every toy inside these bins are part of who they are.
Because each of these toys was special once…
because each had their own heyday
there’s no way we could ever throw them out…
no way we'll ever give them away.
So they live in quiet comfort…
who knows…
we may live to see the day
when great great grandchildren come to visit…
who will no doubt want to play.
“Hey I remember playing with this when I was your age!”
We imagine their parents will say
and we’ll sit back and we'll smile
as we watch a new generation at play…
I imagine there are toys like these
in closets all across the USA…
quietly resting in bins of their own…
patiently awaiting that day.n…
patiently waiting for that day.
Over the years
some were carefully carried
tied up in tiny bundles
held tight against the heart
While the other
more awkward ones
were pulled behind in a cart
like so many precious parcels
taken along for the ride
But a few fell
and rolled astray
off by the wayside
along the way
Some were missed
right away
with heartaches and tears
While others were
eventually missed
after some years
And some not noticed at all
I see people now and then
rummaging around
by the wayside
for what they've lost-
Some with long, sharp sticks
poking, prodding absentmindedly
collecting debris
Some on hands and knees
with brush and trowel
excavating so carefully... but-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
Often what was lost
if it was, indeed, of value at all
will not still be there
after some years
but snatched up and carried away
with care, by another who
saw its worth
Or degraded past
the point of repair
until what was lost
can never be recaptured
or replaced
Or sometimes what was 'lost'
simply wasn't worth keeping
in the first place
but purposefully discarded
cast off like old garments
too uncomfortable to wear
Relationships too heavy to bear
tainted by disrespect
dishonesty, neglect
subtle streams of unkindness
ever-so-slightly visible envy
marking their faces
like red flags
But the idea of
something having been lost
is powerful, and nags
at our hearts 'til we forget-
these things and their cost
yes, we forget-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
Quote by M Rose: If love had a thousand faces they'd all look like yours
Your visage is what I'd seek first in my lost and found box.
I'd feel for the corners of my box with nimble fingers
eyes closed I'd brail the contours of your missing face
like a schoolchild pining for a spark of self esteem, I'd linger
on words last spoken, before you faded out of place
If love had a thousand faces I'd see only yours for all eternity
lost in a sea of despair, I'd search for you far and wide
like a mother craving for a child's return, I'd scour the city
rummaging the streets, looking in places you could never hide
If love had a thousand faces I would never look for anything new,
I'd take delight in the likes of you and only you.