Best Tromped Poems
The raccoon was brazen
Bold, devilishly handsome
I fell in love quickly
I know. Raccoons are no good for opossums
But the heart wants who the heart wants.
We met on a warm day
in the throes of summer
He was eating cat food when I arrived
to the consternation of a gray tabby
who was sitting on a prissy
large-flowered puffy porch chair.
“spoiled princess”, the gentleman said
with his large bandit eyes.
“brat probably” I replied, demurely, flicking my pink tail.
He stopped eating and looked at me for second.
Wandered off porch, giving me the rest of the food.
Lights began flickering on and off.
I thought it was lightning at first
Then a large WallyGeemer tromped out.
He was in his underwear.
I flipped to my side, pretending dead.
“EDNA!” the WallyGeemer screamed.
I had heard this voice before.
It is a voice of fear.
He went back inside and slammed the door.
I was halfway back to the marsh when the
generous Raccoon stepped into my path.
“Would you um like to um…”
“Of course,” I said.
And we did.
Categories:
tromped, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Ballad
They were once young warriors well trained Marines
Trained by their government...mean green killing machines...
They tromped through the jungles looking to kill,
Hoping to avoid dying with an ineffable feel!
For deep in the jungle Vietcong all around.
Waiting to ambush and placed us prone on the ground
At the precise moment they opened fire on the point man
But though they show power; as best as they can
Shined on the tempest wake, their wondering hours done!
Their plight to remember...But what is their remedy? None!
It was for freedom or so they were told
Under the glow of the Vietnam sun; dead...stone cold!
Categories:
tromped, bereavement, courage, eulogy, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
when it comes to baseball
there was one team that we shall
remember from it's past
it's the nineteen twenty seven
N.Y Yankees
amidst this legendary collection
you shall find the hotest team
that ever played baseball
starting with their owner Jacob Ruppert
followed by his general manager Ed Burrow
not to mention the players
starting At first base was Lou Gehrig
rounding second was Tony Lazzeri playing
shortstop was Mark Koenig and
heading for third was Joe Dugan and
at home plate was their catcher Pat Collins
And in the Yankee outfield were right fielder
Babe Ruth center fielder Earl Combs and
left fielder was Bob Meusel
Now let me introduce you to some of their starting pitchers
we have Wait Hoyt or you may like to see in
Herb Pennock or even maybe George Pipgras
and if thats not good enought then they had
Dutch Ruether and Urban Schocker and don't forget
about the releif pitchers Myles Thomas and Bob Shawkey
along with Joe Giard and Walter Beall while
closing their games with Wiley Moore
As one Washington Senator named Joe Judge said
when they got tromped 21-1 in their game
was these fellows not only beat you
but they tear your heart out
So From the chilling mocking Murder's Row
of the dead ball era comes to you a great
team of players that is now safe at home
In Memory Of The 1927 Yankee's
May You All Be
Angels In The Outfield
Also Entry To Matt Caliri's
On Baseball Contest
Categories:
tromped, adventure, childhood, dedication, education,
Form:
Free verse
When my heels tromped down the dark narrow path
Where the buck- even – trod
It was early fall, and the trees were half trimmed.
The sun flickered through the barren tops,
and the greenish- brown canopy hung low and half dressed
However, it was not ashamed
The leaves crinkled and they crunched
where my feet and I traveled
And not too far, as I lagged along
I came upon an empty nest
It lay in decay
from the wind and the rain
For how long,
only as long as the eggs were gone
And while I stood there with my head half cocked
I looked close at the old dilapidated twigs that rot
I remembered the boy in the velvet red vest
O’ how nicely it was weaved
it fit snug around his delegate chest
I see him every spring
And no matter how old I get
He still wears the same velvet red vest
Categories:
tromped, life, nature, old, old,
Form:
Free verse
She grabs the tree topper and begins to climb the Christmas tree
We stand back and watch, no longer surprised at her audacity
Not family, not yet an in-law, yet she has tromped all over us today.
Enthralled cousin Louie brought this woman wearing too much makeup
I hope you know what you are doing, I think but dare not say it
He is not the same man he was three months ago
before she became his chain master, finishing his sentences,
telling him how to think, and worse, telling us what to do.
I especially loved it when she began telling me how
I just did it wrong because it was not her way.
The tree cannot hold her weight.
She is a large muscled woman.
It begins to fall.
She screams down enough swears to wake up grandma
Who has been dead for twenty-four months,
cremated twenty-three of them
The rest of the family is still trying hard
to not to notice her arrogant ways, her sass, her bravado,
her pompous, despicable, ugly attitude.
Grandfather Jake shakes his head and gives me his ha-ha grin.
She is just like grandma, Cousin Louie says,
admiring the disaster of a sub-human he brought to Christmas.
I have had enough. I begin to take his head off.
They leave in a flurry, Louie in a hurry.
I do not see her again ever,
Which is not long enough for me.
I do not mind if they sneak back to see Grandpa,
as long as it is not on Christmas Day.
Categories:
tromped, irony,
Form:
Prose Poetry
THE DEEP MYSTERY
The biggest animal species on earth was ever been,
the dinosaurs roamed proud the land of the Jurassic.
In fierce fights they were the ones to always win,
everything surrounding them seemed so very weak.
When they tromped sloth on massive legs of pillar,
pounded the unstable landforms getting torn apart,
enacting for all the meek animals around a thriller.
The ground shook, in fear they scrambled to dart
Some 65 million years ago dinosaurs disappeared
in an abrupt extinction event in the earth’s history.
If an asteroid strike or volcanic eruption engineered
the fatal catastrophe, is still buried in deep mystery.
Their fragile fossils in rock strata will show the way
to the scientist Holmes to solve the enigma someday.
June 25, 2019
Categories:
tromped, earth, imagery, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
A grayish blue beluga whale arrived two minutes too late.
The whole committee yelled "no" before half past eight.
Fifteen minutes later, a filthy, smelly camel tromped in,
Making the whole committee laugh out of their skin.
A lion tried to enter, roaring with all of his might.
We knew we couldn't get him back out without a fight.
So we barricaded the door, and we shushed each other,
And we tried not to argue, which was hard for my mother.
There wasn't any problem until three days ago.
We had no beefs, and it had not yet snowed.
Our ideal window washer has been here forever and a day.
He’d be here still if the good Lord had not taken him away.
He was here yesterday, the big, giant cad.
But he's dead now, and we're all spitting mad.
This committee was hastily assembled in the aftermath.
Fred had been here forever and a day, our own smart giraffe.
He’d washed our windows, he’d sorted our mail, he’d spoiled us rotten,
And now he was resting outside in a soft fluffy field of cotton.
“No, sorry, we’d say quickly, without fear.
Wishing Fred would wake up and come running back here.
But the giraffes cannot go on after they're dead,
So we ended up hiring a stack of monkeys instead.
Categories:
tromped, 6th grade, 7th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Boots with attitude
Tromped into the marketplace
Chopping up parquet floors
Approaching me
Stomping closer and closer
I backed away
Terrified of this woman
It takes super confidence to wear boots like this
And these boots are not just made for walk’n.
Categories:
tromped, women,
Form:
Free verse
She was a rainbow faerie
in a butterfly world.
Where faeries were shunned
Considered gossips, thieves,
Ignored, pulled down,
jeered at
due to the butterflies’ preconceived notions
and belief in antiquated myths
They had grown up thinking their rights
were the only ones that mattered.
They had been taught at mama’s knees
that rainbow faeries were pussies,
who despised butterflies, moths, and damselflies.
They had been taught to hate rainbow faeries
with a passion that can only be taught by butterflies.
Some thought that rainbow faerie was a throw
back from the times when rainbow faeries crossed
the picket lines and pulled off butterfly wings,
crumbling them into a delicacy
which they ate on oatmeal pies
and hot fudge sundaes.
Others had no clear stories
at all, just knew to loathe her kind.
Rainbow faerie tried in vain to find
at least one butterfly who would believe in rainbow faerie goodness.
Who would give her a chance to show her kindness and empathy.
She made it her mission to find one
butterfly who would listen, and she found Bulba, a newborn
Who she educated secretly to see her soul-self,
who was going to give rainbow faeries a chance.
Bulba loved her, and adored her, and was the
only butterfly who could see Rainbow Faerie.
They were happy together for five years.
Then Bulba went to school.
Due to the pressure from her
peers, Bulba had to let go of her knowledge
of Rainbow Faerie. She was tromped on and spit on.
Her classmates rebuked her, and jeered at her.
She was an outcast until she came around to their
way of thinking. She became a fierce loather of
Rainbow fairies, so she could fit in.
She soon was telling them fantastic stories
of what she had done to rainbow faeries.
Her brain turned.
One night after school,
to prove her worth, she took an assault
rifle and killed Rainbow Faerie in front
of the school, showing her deep respect
for their preconceived notions and fear of
rainbow faeries. She felt sad for a few
seconds, but then she went back inside to
shape her playdough into a beautiful sign
for an NRA rally, and she was a hero, and all was well.
Categories:
tromped, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Political Verse
Do not….
I repeat…
Do not not not not not
Have brand new carpeting put in
The same day as a rain storm and an 8-year-old girl's slumber party.
I am usually the fun-loving, happy, excited birthday girl’s mama.
I was yelling my head off within hours as thirteen girls tromped mud
onto my brand new carpeting
in the dining room where the sliding glass doors were
through the living room
up the stairs and into the bedroom.
My eight-year-old daughter straightened me out.
Remember Mom, all of these girls are not as smart as I am.
I can tell them and you can tell them, but they are excited.
Some of them have never been to a slumber party.
They need a bit more fun and less drama from you.
I stopped yelling at that point, feeling badly about my behavior.
Categories:
tromped, mother daughter,
Form:
Prose Poetry
He is a Benscar, a burly, beastly, bellowing, befitting ugly bug troll.
This was said by my older cousin who fibs, his name is mean mole.
I do not believe you, I said, because I was aware cousin Ruth.
I think for once in his life, Grandma said “He might be telling the truth”.
We all tromped down to the river to meet this troll named Benscar.
He was taking the carburetor out of grandpa’s 1972 red and white car.
What are you doing? Grandma asked, “To Leroy’s Four Four Two?”
I thought I would clean it up and give it as a gift to the two of you.
Not so mean I told Mole, who looked sheepish and sick.
He had been hoping that his relatives would be a little more thick.
Neither grandma, grandpa or I ever believed Mole after that.
Neither did Benscar, who stayed around to play with our farm cat.
Categories:
tromped, 2nd grade, 3rd grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Broken battered angry deranged parents
Try to break their children at an early age
So they will not be alone in their misery
It works with some, however, with others
It completely backfires.
They take their pain and shake it into poetry, and art.
They write it into songs and musicals that become world-renown
They ease their sad experiences into ways to help others
Think Oprah, Shirley Temple, Maya Angelou, Tyler Perry and Ellen DGeneres
Children who shine the brightest as adults were often the ones
Who were put down, tromped on, slapped, whipped and
belted when they were children.
Our most proficient writers, authors, poets, singers, dancers, and actresses
The ones whom we all look up to, were often put down as children.
Listen, you broken battered angry deranged parents
Beware, your pain-inflicting will not work.
Worse, when they become rich and famous,
They may wipe their shoes of you
And not help you at all in your old age.
Categories:
tromped, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
When my identical twin sister and I were about nine, there was a little brooklet
in our backyard. It started out kind of like a tiny stream of water in a marshy bit of grass way back down by the alley and the two double cottonwood trees.
My sister and I discovered the brooklet while wearing red shiny rain boots,
yellow plastic rain jackets, and matching yellow plastic hats that tied up under our chins. The rain outfits popular in the 60’s in small town Iowa. We delighted in stomping around in our little brook for several days. It was so much fun listening to the smack smack of the water as we tromped around in the muddy muck.
When the little brooklet began to disappear in May, we had a terrific idea. We got out some shovels, and widened her. We used the water hose to replenish her. We wanted to keep her always; we named her Singing River. She was the best present we had ever made for ourselves.
We spent another week or two stomping around in her muddy muck chanting “singing river” songs to her. But alas, in May, gardens are put into play in Iowa, so she was soon tilled up, and planted with peas, squash, radishes, beans, carrots, and two rows of flowers which our mother always insisted upon
planting. So a new game was on, and we re-named her “The Flower Garden of our Heart.” If anything, we were flexible and adjustable, and equally delighted in our new friend’s transformation. I often think of that back forty, and how much fun we had there.
Especially after Daddy built a tree house in the crook of one of those double cottonwood trees. I used to lug seven library books up there with a sandwich and a glass of Kool-aide, and I would not come down until my mother screamed my whole name ending with “Get in here IMMEDIATELY!” Seven books is the limit of books I could check out of the library every day. I was about ten at the time.
Categories:
tromped, 5th grade, 6th grade,
Form:
Narrative
Three-year-old traveler.
Excited story.
Filling my mind.
My soul feels the strong truth of it.
He is reliving a lifetime over and over
He assures me
We will be a family forever.
Each page turned delicately,
some parts torn out and tromped on.
Reincarnation easy.
Categories:
tromped, spiritual,
Form:
Light Verse
I think of him, a thunder of regret floods my throat.
Trust given, taken and tromped upon.
I think of us, existing in half portions.
Glass clear I stood, unaware of the shatter of half-truths.
Decidedly elephant gray, his lies loom large, passively yet powerful,
Clouding our lives, seeping out, an unstoppable fog.
I think of him, a book without words, no black nor white, just a cover.
Forgiveness far from his narrow lips.
I think of my heart, rainbow potential, waiting for the certainty of sunrise,
And the healing rain.
Categories:
tromped, girlfriend-boyfriend, hope, inspirational, nature,
Form:
Verse