Best Satchels Poems
Scarlett thought she was promised permanent security.
Satchels of resilience bound her fragile wrists.
Woodland deities hailed her.
Underworld demons feared her.
The curious townsfolk simply stood in contemplation -
Inviting epee's gleamed in their eyes
as the garden shears, in their hands, smiled.
Scarlett oft pretended she was Joan of Arc.
Threads of meshed titanium webbed her sheltered heart.
Sour Grimm moppets heralded her.
Skeptical fairy godmothers chastised her.
The relentless wheel of innocence spun without interruption.
Persnickety rogues sashayed in dumbed silence -
permitting their sordid counterparts unwelcomed invitations
into a void where reverend satchels are tragically punctured.
Scarlett donned spiked eye patches in her latter years.
Protective velour swatches masking mass and the masses.
Myths and urban legends empathized with her.
Gods and martyrs appropriately buried her.
The dumbfounded spirits circle Scarlett's broken window with raised eyebrows.
Quizzically staring at rotting barrels littered with skeins if shredded satchels -
yards if tainted fibers being hopelessly spun into yet another
dark, forgotten midnight.
Categories:
satchels, irony, sad love,
Form:
Free verse
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
Categories:
satchels, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
So polite. Wearing gloves. And hats. Hair in Easter colors.
Church ladies; prissy, smiling, crackling in their perfumes.
Flowered dresses, sitting primly on the hard wooden pews,
Singing in loud overtones songs they have known for decades.
Smiling at the Easter bonnets, and the tiny white lace gloves
Worn only by them and the toddlers now, everyone else in
Blue jeans, plaids, regular street clothes,
Sunday best no longer applies
Still they come, in their lavender hair, wearing their Bibles
In sheaves and satchels, letting their slips hang a bit in back.
Not as lively as before, but still with sparks they throw the
Way of Old Bill, the only bachelor over eighty, the reason some still come.
Categories:
satchels, christian, easter,
Form:
Free verse
I've toured the world and lived life hard,
Sordid tales I can not hide.
I've logged some miles,they're on my face
And in the baggage by my side.
I've made poor choices in the past.
Tried hard to let memories go.
But sometimes scars don't fade away,
They stay to help you know.
Every day my satchels packed,
Carrying acts that need repentance.
Swinging on the shoulders of my all girl band
The Fabulous Me and The Resentments.
I Carry With Me.... Contest
Categories:
satchels, introspection
Form:
Free verse
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
Categories:
satchels, history, love,
Form:
Romanticism
The Benaminis are a family of rodents,
who live their lives capitalizing on other
peoples' residences,
They scope the homes when they're not
home,
or invade it when only one member's alone,
They scamper up and down,
acting like confounded clowns,
going through closets and secret hiding places,
at the end of their visits , they carry satchels on their backs
filled with delicacies and knick-knacks,
The familes set traps of honey and cheese,
hoping they all will fall to their knees,
But they just keeping rambling and showing up at
the oddest times,
even when polluted with coffee grinds,
They run a muck, taking what they want,
Their sniveling looks seem to haunt,
making families edgy, and promoting dreams
that taunt,
Oh, they give the children quite a scare,
by climbing everywhere,
They cover their bodies from head to toes,
for fear that the Benaminis grizzly hands may take them
out the windows,
The gypsies who traveled from "Nowhere",
have put enmity and nervousness everywhere,
helping themselves to life's delights,
only stopped with traps and horrible fights.
Categories:
satchels, childhood, imagination, science fiction,
Form:
Limerick
We paused in the shade
Of the cool, green, cedar tree
Ties flapping in wind
Satchels hung like saddlebags
We raced home like wild horses
Categories:
satchels, brother, child, school,
Form:
Tanka
Early morning, while walking down the country road
I saw a group of children, school bound in crisp uniforms
Oh it is August, I suddenly remembered
And the schools have opened after the summer holidays
Like birds unleashed from the cage,
With satchels on their back, talking merrily
Shouting at times in rising elation
Without a care, they walked down the lane
Seeing them, my world sank into a chasm of memories
Remembered my school days when I walked on foot
With my friends every morn to the school, close by
Though bored by the onerous rite of waking up early
And studying subjects we hardly had any interest
Life altogether was a new adventure
And on every day we learnt something new
At recess, we would grow into a disorderly mass
Laugh and play. Oh, what joy we always had!
But how fast those happy days ended,
Plunging me into an abyss of nostalgic remembrance.
Seeing those children in school uniforms,
Heading to school to study, play and have fun
Thoughts fall like feathers of moulting birds and reel round me.
How the memories of school life make me smile
And how I long to be a student again just for a while!
August.26.2022
Back to School Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Francine Roberts
Total lines-24
Categories:
satchels, autumn, friendship, memory, school,
Form:
Free verse
The silence of morn makes this place forlorn
in the fields, the hillsides, and trenches.
Over two hundred years since the bloodshed and fear,
yet you can hear the yells, smell the stenches.
The crush of the blue, charging straight and true
at the redcoats behind all their breast-works,
The bayonets clash, and the musket-balls crash,
the cannon’s roar shaking all the Earth.
Two centuries gone by, you can still see the lines,
hear the cries of dying men down in the grass,
to some it’s meadow, but to those in the know
Saratoga is a place of today’s past.
In a Vegas hotel are some relics that tell
of a ship that tangled with an ice-berg.
The trinkets and things of those traveling,
raised up from the ocean and preserved.
From Gilded Age times, these objects passed b
you can imagine in a person’s pocket.
Watches for a vest, tooth-paste and a dress,
dishes, satchels, and a locket.
And there, grey and dull, a big piece of hull
hangs before you just beyond your grasp,
these titanic remains, they make a good claim
for being a place of today’s past.
A theater in D.C, it tells the sad story
of a great man who was cut down too soon.
Sitting in these rows, seeing the play go
until the shock comes from a pistol’s loud boom.
Imagine the sounds when Wilkes-Booth leapt down,
the chaos, the confusion, the frenzy,
a war we had won, then the sound of a gun,
and a chase for a dastard enemy.
That theater this day means more than plays
echoing the sounds of that old blast,
we still feel it now, though we can’t say how,
it’s forever a place of today’s past.
The present goes quick, there’s no stopping it,
and the world it wrenches and spasms.
We forget about time and its endless line,
we pretend that it’s like a great chasm.
But mankind don’t change, we’re much the same
as those past that we pretend we’re beyond.
If we lived back then would we do different,
or would we the same road walk upon?
We find an old space, the present is erased,
and the memories start coming so fast,
we revisit that hell and we see ourselves
when we stand in a place of today’s past.
Categories:
satchels, america, history, perspective, places,
Form:
Rhyme
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
Categories:
satchels, childhood, history, nostalgia,
Form:
Verse
(Dedicated to the Victims of Nuclear Weapons)
Though in the later years I was born,
Yet history makes me forlorn,
Rocks me back in the past behind,
To the horrible event and tragic morn.
I see the roses with blighted faces,
Satchels on backs, toddling to schools,
Playing in parks, swimming in pools,
The men, women and the old folk,
Busy in their worldly doings,
Teenagers move with flowing passions,
With longings for the better times,
Brighter future and happier days,
The stream of life goes with dancing waves.
The lovers still on the beds, bending
Over one another peeping into the eyes,
Measure the depth of bottomless love.
Oh no! Now my receptive ears clearly hear,
Incredible rumbling roaring of thunder,
And eyes see huge yellow bluish flame,
Whose dazzle makes us all blind,
All blackness of humanity spurts out,
In the shape of sooty mushroom,
Upon the earth spreading sable shadows,
The explosion smashes and blows up,
The whole structure of civilization,
The hopes resting in the beating hearts,
And cherished longings in the minds.
I see humanity being fallen,
To the meanest level of savagery,
Cruelty and abyss of brutality,
What game have played the pioneers of peace,
The busy men, women and sucking infants,
Being nourished in the soft soothing laps,
Burn as the rosy petals do,
When thrown into the furnace,
Where terrible enormous heat,
Melts metals hard, like butter,
The Darkness dances all around,
The echoes of laughter have changed,
Into wailing, crying and painful shrieks.
Who are these who move like ghosts,
Charred bony figures with hanging shreds,
Lamenting upon the horrible deed,
And despised nature sighs and sobs,
That who knows when time takes turn,
Who knows moments of calm and peace,
Might contain the centuries of sorrows.
Categories:
satchels, depression, history, war, women,
Form:
~tasting herbs of pewter mist, satchels of tender bouquets kneel on primeval b.l.i.s.s.~
Especially for :Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name :"One Amazing Line"
By:nette onclaud
Categories:
satchels, happiness
Form:
Monoku
Freezing slides on sheets of ice
Balaclavsa snug;
Finger mitts,snow-balling bold,
Playtime in the cold.
Satchels,desks with lift-up lids,
Pen nibs and inkwells;
Five-stones,conkers in the yard,
Before the lesson bell
Categories:
satchels, life, nostalgia, school,
Form:
Rhyme
Five stones
school caps
pooh sticks
film flicks
short back
and sides
mangles
oil cloth
braces
plimsole
dripping
and toast
satchels
school milk
cut-throat
razor
coal fires
and draughts
Categories:
satchels, car, childhood, nostalgia,
Form:
Footle
"How sweet to the heart are the scenes of my childhood"
Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842
standing on the window of my friend’s house,
we let childhood imaginations loose,
fairy tale of gods demons we espouse.
grassland with myriad flowers to choose,
dragonflies, butterflies to play and chase,
Jack farmer’s friendly talking sheep and goose!
our dreams had wings, no reality base,
killed enemy warriors in brave fight,
our weapons were satchels or pencil case!
however night saw the fall of our might,
with darkness crept out our deep inner fear,
close to mother we stayed, hiding our fright!
life was full of love, yet purpose not clear,
good old childhood days will always be dear!
1st placement
Terza Rima Poetry contest
Constance la France
Written 18/11/2020
10 syllables each (PS counter)
rhyme sequence as suggested!
ABA BCB, CDC, DED, EE!
Categories:
satchels, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Terza Rima