Best Topo Poems

Black Bog

My descent was gradual, sedge meadows with wondrous pink orchid variations visited by never identified damselflies, my head starting to swim; erasing time, giving way to a dark canopied wetland of black spruce, difficult to traverse, sloping deer trails the safest path to take, avoiding quick-mud holes. These trails are popular in the forest, as signs reveal, death struggle remains, the saddest.
 This is the area I saw the hairless half ape/half wolf like creature block my trail, stopping to look at me deeply, then vanishing like a ghost, without even a ruffle of plants.
 Sometimes a plant, flower or insect calls to me "come closer" so I approach with caution; my hand carved heavy oak staff probing for danger, strong enough to ward off bears and badgers, snakes & insect saboteurs, intent on my demise.
 With compass and topo I chart my course, knowing each time I visit these wild places in the forest off Lake Superior, it could be my last, so I bring back natural, wondrous souvenirs that fill my day-dreams, content once more, cleansed of my sins by Her Majesty, the forests off Gitchi Gumee.


Authors note...never venture into these wild places alone, always be prepared with survival equipment in your pack.

Categories: topo, nature,
Form: Narrative

Just a Few Clerihews

Warning, if you are under 60 you may not "get" some of these.

Mohammad Ali
taunting with poetry,
his opponents he'd zing
as he danced 'bout the ring.

Graham Kerr "The Galloping Gourmet"
oft with our minds he would play.
Why else would he pick
the dessert "Spotted Dick"?

Ichabod Crane
rode down rode down the lane.
From the Headless Horseman he'd flee
while on his saddle he peed.

Abbot & Costello,
two funny fellows
were very immersed
into whose on first.

Ed Norton
couldn't laugh without snortin'
which would quickly annoy
old Ralph Boy!

Professor Irwin Corey
told confusing stories,
You'd listen and listen till your eyeballs would glisyen
and not understand what you're missin'

Don Rickles
would offer a nose full of nickels
and got plenty of yuks calling you a schmuck
and dumb as a hockey puck.

Giuseppe "Peppino" Mazzullo,
the voice of Topo Gigio
on Ed's final night
said "Eddie, kessa me goo' night!"

Jack Benny
wouldn't lend you a penny
nor spend a dime -
died when he was 80 at the age of 39.

Categories: topo, fun,
Form: Clerihew

Trying To Find Kroto

From Talkeetna by bush plane to a frozen bog 
under the white gaze of Denali.
“Snow’ll be too soft to land this afternoon,” 
our pilot says. “See you in the morning.”
He points to a wrinkle in the field of snow.
“Kroto Creek.” And then he’s gone.

Check topo map, take compass reading. 
Strap on snowshoes. East to Kroto; 
follow the creekbed north. Smaller drainage 
from the west. Map-check. Drainage
runs the wrong direction. Keep walking. 
Landmarks don’t match map.

Study USGS quad-sheet top to bottom. 
Find a stretch of creek that fits. 
Six miles from where we ought to be. 
No longer lost – we now know 
where we are. But does our pilot?
Will he find us in the morning?

Follow our tracks back to frozen bog
and packs, survival gear, 
honey and granola to feed us 
for at least a day. End of March, dark 
comes early. Night thoughts, taloned, fly. 
The closest road’s a world away.

Categories: topo, adventure
Form: Free verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry

February 9, 1964

Between performers we did know
(Remember Topo Gigio?)
Ed Sullivan would introduce
New acts and sometimes he’d let loose
A revolution from his stage
For viewers of a certain age.

I was among those teens that night
Who watched and screamed in pure delight
When John, Paul, George and Ringo played
The sweetest music ever made
(At least to us, for rock and roll
Tapped into every teenage soul).

Today’s that date. In ’64,
With no idea what lay in store,
That show unleashed, on each TV,
A moment etched in history – 
The Beatles sang, to wild acclaim;
The world would never be the same.

Categories: topo, music,
Form: Rhyme

Order of the Arrow

Three days and topo, 
Drawn circle to stay 
Within; can’t 
Encounter another.

Three days of solitude
Bare provisions, no tent;
Fruit, jerky, one egg,
Three matches.

The rest of food to find
Mid-summer, Sierra,
Plenty if you know,
Nothing if not.

Night one, little sleep 
Chilled, shaking fingers
Touch flame to tinder – 
Welcome whisp.

Eat one half orange
Put egg within
Then orange into coals – 
The first breakfast.

Eve, day two, 
The silence doesn’t speak;
Smells and sounds 
Grow strong and loud.

Night three, a voice
Different language
Primal, musical,
Ecstatic, empowering.

Hike back, meet others
Sit in circle, no talk,
Eat sandwiches
Listen to a drum.

Categories: topo, mountains, native american, nature,
Form: Blank verse