Best Tramped Poems
My Wellie boots are battered
and all frayed at the top,
They cost me fifty bob
in C.D. Ellis’s shop.
They have seem better days
but they still keep water out
and that after all is what
Wellie boots are about.
I bought them on leave
way back in 1962
and with a little care
I reckon they’ll see me through.
We wandered winter nights
over Billy Bulson's crisp cold land?
under country clear skies
a twelve bore close to hand.
They’ve tramped may a mile,
kept me dry in a Lambwaths flood
and fifty years later those
Wellie boots are still good.
I shall wear my battered boots
until my very end,
putting them on my feet is like
communing with an old valued friend.
In my Last Will and Testment I shall
decree they are honourably burned
because that’s the fitting end
those Wellie boots have earned.
They cost me 50 bob
at C.D Ellis’s shop
and they’re now torn and battered
and well frayed at their very top.
Categories:
tramped, memory, nostalgia, remember,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh! to be among trees, mindful of silent power
in mountains hallowed trails walked by Muir
snow still filling nature’s deep kept secret bower
breathe a bounty of sweet air clear and pure
the rush of streams in springs ever rapid plunge
music played to my footsteps beating drum
water dripping into the grounds wet sponge
snow melts as flowers start to thrive and thrum
he set about recording each feeling, plant and rock
tramped trails knowing there was hidden a clue
we roam the mountain as one of his unknown flock
interlace our souls in a weave that’s as old as it’s new
what words can be found dropped into this silence
when distraction is nothing more than a birds wing
no screens to scream about the daily violence
just lessons of earths sacred bounty worn like a ring
where your eyes meet what has lived serenity bound
falling trees that heard the soil cry with sympathy
decays gift of life as the circle comes to meet around
aligned in time to hear its own life of pure symmetry
caught in a fast web of our own handcrafted design
we can let go to journey upon a mountain path
what Muir saw as seasons to be so innately divine
we carry within our spirits in an inherited shared bath
So! On to the forests and into the depths of green
wear visions of blue sky caught in the white giants lure
adventures drift into the dreams that you’ve seen
on pathways not hallways we answer our cries cure
Categories:
tramped, mountains, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
I have been here, I’ve been there,
over yonder up and down.
Been back home and been long gone,
been nowhere but been around.
I’ve traveled for a far piece,
just a hop, skip and a jump.
I climbed clear up to the top,
hit rock bottom with a thump.
I’ve journeyed and I’ve traversed,
arrived here and went that way.
Headed out, trekked, and jetted,
fixin’ to go there someday.
Went when the Spirit moved me,
only if the creek don’t rise.
I’ll head out your way sometime,
if I make it be surprised.
I’ve voyaged, gadded about,
tramped, stomped, and drifted around.
Been where the sun did not shine,
just the other side of town.
I’ve flown over the rainbow,
the other side of the track.
I’ve crossed against the traffic,
walked away and not looked back.
Always marched to my own drum,
I’ve strolled down the avenue.
Danced, pranced, and pirouetted,
I’ve had nothing left to lose.
Where I’m bound, where I’m going,
don’t ask me ‘cause I can’t tell.
Some say I’m bound for Heaven,
others swear it’s straight to Hell.
Categories:
tramped, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
We stitched our ribbons through your heart
From end to end we threaded
We sewed right to your fingertips
– And every stitch you dreaded
We tramped along your shoulders broad
To weave our little lines –
How nimble were our fingers then
How clever our design!
We jabbed and pierced and buttoned you
We pulled the stitches tight –
For us an act of liberty
For you an act of night
We gaze now on our handiwork
As on a work of art
A wilderness of emerald
Mapped out upon a chart
But, ‘lest we think we’ve mastered you
Once every little while
You raise yourself and startle us
With lightning in your smile!
Categories:
tramped, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
All I ever wanted, was to live a happy life
Never did I imagine, I'll one day face this plight
I never wanted a life filled with sorrow so rife
All I hoped for in my life, only a little light
Home was the best, not west nor south
Up until, the war broke out
I can't even relate all I've seen
So many war crimes, I'm not even eighteen
Now, I leave for another man's land
Where I'll be tramped upon like I'm sand
I'll cross oceans, take great risk
What can I do? I have to act very brisk
With all the misery, different things I ponder
I'm I not a human? I'm often forced to wonder
My brothers and sisters, I'm in great pains
Must I endure a lifetime of chains?
Some countries, won't let me through their borders
Does it really matter that we aren't even brothers?
We're all humans, that's the reality
We're supposed to live,in peace and Unity.
Categories:
tramped, immigration, poetry,
Form:
I know
in soul
I am a poor wretch and banditte
without any moral codes and barriers and senses.
I am ended cretin and cynic.
I spat to all -
to ours or others, friends or enemies.
I have held in my hand
the nuclear bomb
and ruled firmly
by the great country,
where self-governing chicken community
frozen to death,
as the doctrines of cursed justice.
I spat to democracy, wisdom,
to human rights of men,
and what left there else?
Fair elections
and other values and social perfections?
I tramped them all,
that might to corrode my legitimacy.
I am bad boy
and know that never lose power.
Better the great country
will go to hell
together with honest sheep-like population
that so adored me
when I am spitting to West and East
then I am lost my favorite toy.
I am bad boy
and will be to stay forever
I spit to past, up-to-date
and to face of forthcoming day.
I am bad boy
but the national leader also.
Categories:
tramped, political, boy,
Form:
Verse
[ In the early 1890's, Henry Lawson tramped to Hungerford which inspired him to
write a short story on his reflections. In the 1980's I was part of a team
connecting Hungerford to the electricity grid and write the following by way of
reply.]
You've tramped the hungry road from Bourke
Up North to border gate,
A country lad in want of work
With Gordon your old mate.
Then camped the night in Hungerford
Beside the old Paroo.
I sensed that you were not impressed,
You're not among the few.
I had a chance to work there once
To build a power line,
And saw myself what you had seen,
The privilege was mine.
The rabbits are still there you know,
On both sides of the fence;
Though myxo slowed them down a bit,
They're now not quite as dense.
Two pubs have been reduced to one
Still on the Queensland side.
The store is but an old shell now,
Where cats and mice abide.
That hungry old dirt road you tramped
Now runs right through the town;
From New South Wales to Queensland, mate,
Folk travel up and down.
Town water has not changed since then,
'Tis red as mother earth,
And though folks there are used to it,
I gave a bath wide berth.
Post Office building stands there too,
But not the New South side,
While local law enforcers still
In Queensland do reside.
I never met old Clancy mate,
Though met a jackaroo;
When asked of work conditions there
He'd Clancy's point of view.
The houses are all much the same,
I guess they'll never grow,
But now they've got the power there,
One really doesn't know.
Your sentiment was right my friend
On how some toughed it out,
Those men who travelled 'cross this land,
Before towns came about.
No doubt someone in future years
Will pass this way again,
Who may reflect on what we saw,
And write down some refrain.
Categories:
tramped, life, people, places, write,
Form:
Rhyme
Under centuries of sediment
Tramped by stalwart feet
And twenty-two layers of blood
Laid down like concrete
From crunching force ambivalent
To this mottled seat
Dangles a shepherding spirit
Bathed in phantom mist
Playing on strings of circumstance
When souls coexist
With delusional flesh taunting once
So violently kissed
Until caressed in the nexus,
Songs resonating
In harmonic tempo profound
Patiently waiting
For the transitional gauntlet
Nature’s creating.
Categories:
tramped, allegory, song-lyric
Form:
Rhyme
Timpling tramped down the naked white snow
Under the bluish moon found his foe
He was his young brother
Standing on earth mother
Looked at his face tears began to flow
Categories:
tramped, poems,
Form:
Limerick
Panic in the supermarkets!
By the new mad author
Stanley Russell Harris
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dearie me.
In the supermarkets do panic I see?
I wonder why, as yesterday.
I was in one food shopping I say.
Not to me. I must now tell.
Was for my daughter, she was unwell.
I tramped the aisles I must say.
All were crowded, as was a Friday.
The shelves were packed with food galore.
So what was the panic, I could not ignore?
Everything on daughters list.
I ticked off in case I missed.
Just in case like I do write.
I might load it twice in my basket alright!
If I had two items that would be wrong.
Unless two were written, so I didn’t go wrong.
Then on the list in writing small, you know.
Was one, (blinking) courgette, was so.
And hey, there was one of them left..
I hope there was nothing I did forget.
PS. For once! I got everything right.
Was too much ham prepacked that’s right.
But as I know my grandson Jay!
I knew he’ll tuck that soon away.
It’s just a fact with boys today.
They need energy X-box to play.
NB. Actually he is a football player.
On the football field, playing in all weathers!
As for mum, my daughter true!
She freezes on the touchline too.
Along with those other mums and dads!
Wishing hot-dog's is what they had.
You know, I’m glad I did not forget.
And get that last, (blinking,) courgette.
The above poem was conjured up in response to learning certain salad foods like Iceberg lettuces, peppers and guess what? Courgettes, were in short supply, being due to poor weather experienced in the growing UN country Spain. Fortunately we have friends in America who do grow courgettes as well, aren’t we lucky? I wonder why we in UK do not grow, such a crop in heated green-houses?
No doubt many people in far-off countries would welcome shopping in a supermarket, so well-stocked as ours, wouldn’t they?
Categories:
tramped, allusion, america, confusion, food,
Form:
Classicism
One summer’s eve in Spain,
I fled through an open window,
Butterflies aflight
In the very pit of me,
And I tramped the streets,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
With my final matches,
I forged a heart
At that maiden’s doorstep;
I was like a thief,
On that torrid night,
My heart abrim
With so much love,
But a love now long gone.
And what of the maiden in azure?
O! What an inferno raged
Within my soul for her,
But that love
Never bloomed beyond a dream,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
Categories:
tramped, dream, eve, heart, lost
Form:
Lyric
The silver sparkles in her smile
The vermilion arch of her lips
Her warm velvet chuckle
The tufts of hair brooking down her spine
The millions gold of her breast
Ardent lust gleamed in her blush
My heart tramped louder than hoofs
I drooled before the shrine of her glamour
The dust of passion rose fervent
Lucent, glistened our intents
Hooters leaned against the other's
And the gale of our breaths paced to the same trill
The shackles of her grip were
An impalpable touch to my soul
We played tint in the pink of daffodils
Under the pine fern
In the ochre of the sne'ky sunbeams
The boughs stripped shade before
The topaz sitting in her dimples
Minstrel rose with every kiss
The sways of ****** tinged us
In the lichen, symbiotic to the fern
Her buccal is a brink of honey
Every kiss occupied every hole
Every space in my parched heart
Her kisses are rockets to isles beyond the universe
A shole of butterflies wreathed garlands in whorls
The raceme of matrimonial blossomed out
The bride stood on the dais of my heart
----- Yes I do -----
Sighed our slugged blinks
Categories:
tramped, kiss, love, magic, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
THE UNDERSTANDING
[ The identity of my father's grandfather and his resting place was unknown to
him until one day the secret was literally unearthed in Charleville . ]
The secret of your resting place
Lay hid for many years,
Yet now the secret is revealed,
To me it has brought tears.
From Melbourne town you did set out
In eighteen ninety-eight,
And tramped your way through New South Wales,
Up to the Queensland state.
A country girl she took your heart
You made that lass your wife,
Then raised a fam'ly best you could,
'Til fate did touch your life.
Yes four young sons she bore to you
Young lads you'd both adore,
Though in the year nineteen o six,
A daughter was in store.
But tragedy would mar your joy
The birth too much that day.
Her health had not been as it should,
And life, then slipped away.
A heavy load was thrown on you
Those little souls to rear,
Though seemingly it proved too much,
Without your darling near. The years were tough and work was scarce,
But try you really did.
To make it worse grief lingered on,
Your hurt could not be hid.
Some think that drink will kill the pain
Depression though takes hold.
'Til finally in nineteen twelve,
You took your life so cold.
Tormented minds do not give thought
Of loved ones left behind.
You left them orphaned and confused,
Their lives left in a bind.
The human soul though can survive
No good to sit and moan.
Your sons and daughter struggled on,
Raised families of their own.
This history was lost it seemed
For many a long year,
And memories of who you were,
Had dried up too I fear.
For where your soul was laid to rest
That secret it was yours.
'Til digging poor old Creevy's grave,
Unlocked the secret's doors.
The digging would reveal to all
Just where you fin'ly lay,
A plaque upon the wooden lid,
Your name there did display.
Granddad those times did not allow
The life you may have planned,
I missed the years we might have shared,
But now I understand.
Categories:
tramped, death, family, loss, daughter,
Form:
Rhyme
As I grow like an unsure plant
I hope to become a giant Oak tree
It seems I do not control the moment
Some have been tramped by heavy forces
My friends have suddenly become tall
As I seek to reach them
They failed to look and to pull up
Some fall down dirtily and fall forever
In education the best I thought would succeed
In education the worst I knew would fail
But the successful is now the Hustler.
The failure is now the millionaire.
I do not know what I am not
But I do know what I am
I have heard of the power of the spirit
To give, to deny, and to withdraw
This is what I have stuck to
Categories:
tramped, lifeeducation, education,
Form:
Free verse
Their will be none to follow after
my footsteps tramped in the wheat,
no surname left to hear the laughter
no eye to see, no heart to beat.
Time will never stop its running
with sun and moon and touch of heat
like old stones lie in their sunning
not caring for the strong or weak.
By the drought or in the flood
storms of winter's wind-full passing
flowers of May and October’s mud
will matter to only lineages lasting.
Neither a hair nor drop of blood
not shade of eye or crest of bone.
Of myself I leave only love
and not my name to carry on.
Categories:
tramped, family, life,
Form:
Quatrain