Best Track Down Poems
It wasn't because he brought her flowers....
It wasn't because he wined and dined her....
She loved him because he spent hours on the computer
trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card
for their oldest son's birthday
She loved him because he played with their kids, even after a hard day at work...
baseball games in the big front yard...
cheering them on...
not getting angry when the youngest son
knocked a homer
straight through the living room window
Diana, Nature’s Guardian
Defending purity, virtues, by preordained, destine.
With faithful diligence I oversee all life that’s birthed.
Celebrating nature as its radiant guardian
Fulfilling life’s desire with independent strength girthed.
I am Diana, Goddess of hunting wild animals.
Protector of the natural world both domestic and wild,
Camels, beetles, jackals, deer, hogs, flowers, myrtles, squirrels -
All in my magical care live wonderful lives beguiled.
Fertility and childbirth, my responsibility,
Accomplished spontaneity living, functioning well.
Reflecting light among the beasts with great nobility.
An accomplished war-like goddess guarding while lives impel.
Hunting dogs track down their prey; fearful deer run. I am there.
Staying in the midst of them observing, balancing, and keeping.
Preying is part of life’s design sustained with greatest care.
Plants and animals live mortal lives wisdom possessing.
Plundering men cause great concerns that must be soon resolved.
Wreaking havoc here on earth, plowing jasmine, balm, mugwort,
Destroying creatures, felling trees, habitats requiem.
Man must change his wasteful ways to prevent my last resort.
Mother to the animals I recycle elements.
Wildlife conservation thrives, careful awareness acting.
Take heed ravenous plundering men, lest my anger vents
And another species takes your place, last choice exacting.
You can find me in my sacred place among quiet oaks.
Cherishing my own chastity, purity makes me swoon.
Walking in my natural world hearing each frog that croaks.
Living flawless beneath God’s sun, reflections from the moon.
© August 1, 2010
Magic Beans Magic Beans
Sure Jack was swacked
On the tip of beanstalk
He was bivouacked
He met a giant's wife
Who gave him food and drink
When the giant came back home
He had to recoil and shrink
You know the story
And I am sorry to tell
He got the magic beans
By the magic spell
And he went on to hook
Like a quicksilver crook
The giant's hard earned bread
In an attempt to rook
I don't want magic beans
For my son and daughter
I would rather go to Greens
To track down Harry Potter
Magic Beans - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A
POET: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
11 th January,2015
But later that night the girl tip-toed out,
And went down to the registry desk.
She picked up the ledger, poured through it all,
There was something that she had to check.
Back upstairs she went, content to wait
Her quarry had not yet arrived.
He loved was awake, and smiled at her
The kind the makes a man feel alive.
She smiled back and asked for his name,
She’d forgotten to ask in the rush.
He said ‘Clarence Stone,’ and out came her gun,
And she pointed it straight at his gut.
She said,’My name is Ellie-May Burton,
Sent out two months ago on this path,
To track down a Stone who ran to the west,
Hoping to escape our wrath!’
But he heard a catch in her harsh tone,
And in her gun-hand a slight shiver.
He couldn’t forget the warmth of her touch,
So one final chance her did give her:
He nodded and said,’Then fire away,’
With a coldness that made the soul quake.
The gun fell from her hands, and she lit out,
Running from the hotel without break.
Come morning he road, pointed northwest
Unnerved, but his decision remained,
To return to Kentucky and die in a feud
Was a choice not made by the sane.
In the bright prairie light a rider appeared,
A familiar woman on a mare.
She rode up slowly, face red form tears,
No weapon upon him did bear.
He moved closer slowly, hand on his gun,
But she said,’Clarence, there’s no need.
I’ve been thinking all night on what I’m to do
Of the future and of dark deeds.’
‘Of a good man who stood, fought by my side,
And put on a fine show in bed.
Yet my family demands, for forgotten crimes
That I put a bullet in his head.’
‘Perhaps it is best, what you’re doing now,
Riding out a free man to the wild.
To be ride of the hate that has put kin in graves,
Since the days when I was a child.’
‘They say that a woman needs a good man,
And the good men need themselves a wife.
I may not be so good, but I think you and I
Could ride out and build ourselves a life.’
Then she went silent, he waited and thought
Of the chances and of the risks.
But the pain in her eyes told the whole truth
She he rode close and planted a kiss.
They moved out at a trot, both realizing that
Amongst the worst you sometimes find the best,
And to this very day countless Burton-Stones
Are scattered all over the west.
It wasn't because he brought her flowers....
It wasn't because he wined and dined her....
She loved him because he spent hours on the computer
trying to track down the 1970 Brooks Robinson baseball card
for their oldest son's birthday
She loved him because he played with their kids,
even after a hard day at work...
baseball games in the big front yard,
cheering them on...
not getting angry when the youngest son
knocked a homer...
...straight through the living room window
~
Donut People
Not all donut people are large or police or thieves
Nor are they thin, eating only greens and leaves and vitamins
Or exercising on the side of reasons muscularity
All this takes time to digest of course
Another hole, another donut down
Finding the criminal intent within is not a sin
Each and every calorie must be accounted for
According to health reports and other sources
Sugar particles find their way to court
Another bite out of crime….(but what about the obvious holes in this story?)
Public opinion is all about perception and what went down
All energy and money spent takes time to digest as well
To track down lost donuts, confections imperfections
Bring it to just desserts and deliciousness of justice
Our dedicated police will not sleep on just one donut
Their job has just begun
All citizens of our fine town
Can rest assured…. (So let them sleep)
Why!...Some of my best friends are donuts…(the mayor shouts.)
There is nothing wrong with that
Knowing one is out there unconsumed….
Leaves donut people too confused
Children are donut people too
They eat them all, run back for more….Poof!.....They’re gone
Confectioner’s confess and conjecture
Did girls and boys steal or simply borrow them?
Dusting off sweet powder and tiny prints of suspects
Leads to one conclusion
Convictions are in order for any one large or small…mostly small
When donut snatchers perpetrate such crimes
Donut people have their rights to eat in peace
Protected from crumby children who steal their treats
He was rsised in New Mexico
and became feared more than Geronimo
The army enlisted him as a brave
to track down other braves.
Accused of many crimes
he escaped many times.
He led many raids
with his four braves.
He didn't trust his tribe
so he stayed on the outside.
People say he died
in a fight with soldiers
others say he died in his cave.
Even ranchers claim
to have killed the brave
down in New Mexico way
after a raid.
Quick bold drums start out loud
Pounding out the terms of war
Race through the frantic jungle thick
Rhythms of pursuit take to the beat
Let the chase begin with heart in mouth
Track down the sun burnt frantic man
Stripped naked by his captives
They pushed him into foliage of the doomed
Now running through entanglements
Strangled in the vines for ancient crimes
Hate has no boundaries when not of the clan
Primal blood can not be satiated
Carbon men shoot long arrows, cannon fire from the camp
Small dark people with evil minds advance
Send the prey into unkind environments
To grounds and undergrowth with shouts
Demise looms on horizons mist for him
Already tortured from the womb
On pounding feet he bleeds while pressing through
In strange surroundings with open wounds
Shots ring out after the enemy make the naked prey
Lay eyes on him in day light with pure hate
Follow every footfall falling on the ground
The ugly trees take a couple of hits
Splinters fly out, shatter living wood, as their demise is sure
Old riffles and loaded guns come with the hunters
Limited only by so many bullets screaming through the trees
To kill their prey, to bring the head back intact
Numbers don't lie. Momentum is on their side
Why the man has gone missing is a mystery
A cause for strain with sweat and grimace
Small men with evil minds intent become confused
Bugs gather around the fugitive
Make configurations for a meal
Moving keeps him from them and their appetite
He runs in heat with fear and heavy lungs
Filled with humidity he breaths no peace
Keeping quiet requires concentration
The wind must cease to speak for silence
Hiding is a science
Snakes want more than the mosquito
No time to turn about or study wings or feet-less creatures
Insects survive by flying from disaster
He follows them into the swamp
Lives under water for awhile
A long hollow reed for breathing
Comfortable for a time with larva breeding
Tickling his frail and fragile body
There is nothing wrong with wanting to survive
Life, like bullets, fly by
For those not familiar with Banjo Paterson's poem LOST you may like to read it first to
understand the sequel below. You can find it at
http://www.uq.edu.au/~mlwham/banjo/lost.html
He stood by the pepper tree down by the stream
and his eyes were cast down at the mound,
the hurt in his heart, which he’d carried for years,
now displaced by the peace he had found.
The promise he'd made to himself years ago
he'd fulfilled as he'd promised he would
and the daughter and grandson he'd lost years ago
lay together as he'd deemed they should.
He’d known that the filly was vicious, strong willed,
but the lad was so wilful and game.
He’d only gone down to the two mile that day,
still he failed to return all the same.
His mother searched tirelessly all through the night
and for days rode the ranges in hope.
But sadly she pined and she faded and cried,
till her small frame could no longer cope.
He lay her to rest ‘neath the pepper trees’ shade
and he vowed to his God and to her,
he’d search for the bonnie, young, winsome lad’s bones
till the ranges declared where they were.
He too was determined to track down the mare,
that now ran with the ranks of the free,
but pledged in his heart he would have recompense
for the bones ‘neath the ironbark tree.
Year in and year out the old man rode the range
and he searched every gully and ridge.
Astride his old grey with his packhorse in tow,
he forged on with his bold pilgrimage.
At times he would sight the wild mob and the mare,
but they sensed the man’s presence and fled.
Though filled with a will to win out in his quest,
the old man set his course straight ahead.
CONTINUED
I took a stroll on a wet November day
following a track down to the byway
there was a pile up causing a long delay
nearby some heaps of trash left to decay
rumbling sounds as I cross the tramway
then down the steep hill to the walkway
Into the park where I watch the children play
rain soaking me through, my hair in disarray
hangs down in threads, like papier-mache
when I get home and dry off, I sit and watch the bay
warm and cosy I drink my tea, watch the spray hit the quay
a blustery day with heavy showers, I decide inside now to stay
We are lost cities finding reasons
to join our broken aspirations together,
a lost elegies uprooting tubers of yam planted by our forebearers,
dreams seeking for home and abode to abide by in the nexus of classism.
We've missed the track created by our ancestral ancestors in the dark days.
now, the light created by modernity hurt and hunt us through shame.
We keep running into the dire shadows,
Into hollowness, into races that named us betrayals & nothingness.
Race that track down our throats into splitting emptiness and sagging lips.
We lost between thigh of a lady,
Through the celestial eyes of women,
In between fingers of Delilah's make up.
Our name reek of bottles of wants and needs,
Our shadow duplicated in the thought of lost temples.
We printed the map of our cities in our mind eyes,
We foresee the routes of our helmet but we could not trace the fragment of it.
Home is the passport of dignitaries of righteousness and holiness.
Our kind minds the animation of this movie called life.
But the thoughts of leaving our shadows
To places where survival and existence
Are two starved fishes - wrestling under water is our fears and doubts.
Our bodies are home of sluts finding reasons to live!
Our minds are carved memories
our legs have created more pains than the rebellious act of Boko Harams.
How do you name boys like us when you place more values on baby girls?
You said we were stronger and you left us to find freedom,
musical notes of songs which is to be
Sang by boys who grew into men
Gulping crooked waters- for strength
We were the origin
Of those unclad boys rejected.
We seek for the way to retrace our way into future built before us.
.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
The cold, icy water caught my attention
I splashed my face, but
The mirror failed to reflect the
Anguish emanating from my eyes
How early my soul solemnly dies..
The water dripping down my chin
Struggled less to track down
The invisible contours of my face,
I breathe, I hate this elusive race
My head pains
Paralyzed, I am from my senses
My heart beats mechanically like an old radio tune
I see my scarred, expressionless face
And try to seek the illusions that baffle my mind,
Is there no one else of my kind?
I despise this weary world
Friends no longer seem to invigorate like a breeze
Blowing away my sorrows,
Smiles escape from my poker face;
It is now, when I realize that
Every winter, I can't dream
For the one I thought would be my spring
Has abandoned all of me..
~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
There are some things that I should say to you
But I just can’t find the words
They keep running from tongue
And avoiding all my thoughts
And I’ve got to find a way, to say… you are…
Well you are…
The words that I can’t find
And the feelings I don’t know
But I’ve got to find a way… to show…
That I can never let you go
Until I find the words, to say…
You are... Well you are……
You are the rain that hits my roof
And sings me back to sleep
You are my strength to rise again
When I’ve fallen to my knees
You are the warmth that comforts me
When the cold has made me weak
And still these words they don’t explain
All the things you are… well you are….
So I try again to say these things
That I should say to you
To track down the words and bring them to their knees
And let them flow across my lips
So you can finally see, to me… you are…
Well you are…
The words that I can’t find
And the feelings I can’t show
But I’ve got to find a way… to show…
That I can never let you go
Until I find the words, to say…
You are... Well you are……
You are the rain that hits my roof
And sings me back to sleep
You are my strength to rise again
When I’ve fallen to my knees
You are the warmth that comforts me
When the cold has made me weak
And still these words they don’t explain
All the things you are… well you are….
Why is it I feel like this?
Is there something I have missed?
For on this day I feel so sad
When years ago I'd have been glad
Why must I grow up this way?
Can't I fight for one more day?
I don't want to grow up here
Where this life is full of fear
Can't I stay like new spring rain?
So full of life, so free, so plain
I miss the days of childhood things
We'd dress in robes and play like kings
We played with swords in our backyard
And dreamed of places past and far
I long to fight the Uruk-Hai
Just once more before I die
And track down all the orcs and wraiths
To hold them fast before the gates
If I don't go back to that land
My life of chains starts with a brand
So let me visit Narnia please
To run with centaurs through the trees
To chase the white stag through the woods
To fight the fight and free the good
Let me go to Neverland
And fly on high with Peter Pan
And live free 'till death calls my name
To live where Aslan shakes his mane
Horse catcher I said she looks down at me don't you mean wrangler said she, but then quick as a flash I'm back at that bloody track down at the start waiting for all to load almost all done then one throws its midget and runs, off in the pickup I leap to go corner the big black beast
and there we are with me breathing deep I have him corralled of sorts cutting down the angles closer I creep, then I see the twinkle in his eye
I've got no protection for my head or knobbly knees and he fancies his chance of running through me, back in the stand with the delay all eyes are watching the big screen with glee.
Then round the corner walks his lass and makes me look a silly ass, for off he trots head held high snorts in my direction as if to say did you see what he did to me, so my dear I prefer my steed to be made of metal and come with a key.