Best Tromping Poems
I try not to read
other people's stuff,
too much.
Cause when I do,
I'm left with
this disquieting feeling
that it's all been said,
and much better.
That's why I hate
that damned Bukowski
so much.
For days after
I am derivative
and imitative.
I can't live with him.
I can't live without him,
and I drive him out the door,
and his overdue books are taken
back to the library and paid for
with a vengence.
But if I can just keep tromping
across this poetic veldt,
recklessly mixing metaphors
and crushing sentences underhoof
like some adolescent rhino,
I might, in my innocence
of what is proper,
find a clearing by a gentle pool,
where no one's been before,
and I will sink to my knees
in the mud,
drink deeply of waters
that have never been described,
breathe deeply the scent of flowers,
that no one knows,
and I will tell you about it,
and you will come
Categories:
tromping, allegory, imagination, love,
Form:
Free verse
Rough and tumble
Playing tricks and having fun
Picking on pig-tailed girls while
Tromping through the snow.
Boys are like that, yes they are,
Full of vinegar and mischief too.
Climbing trees and falling down
On unsuspecting human beings.
Picking green apples all day long
To munch until their bellies cry,
Rolling in the dirt with laughter while
Finding bugs to chase the girly-girls.
Rough and tumble they may be,
But when harvested men full grown;
Brothers are loving, loyal and protective
Turned into strong good men through and through.
Previously Published: Shattered Moonbeams 2016
Categories:
tromping, brother, childhood, children, family,
Form:
Free verse
*This poem was written for Nikko's contest. The letters "H E A D S" weren't allowed. I won 1st place in the contest :)
Pimp, Cowboy, Gigolo willfully confirm Cook off
Vow to cook juicy concoction!
Pimp forgot cumin, Gigolo forgot flour, Cowboy forgot corn
Gigolo plotting to corruptly copy Cowboy concoction
Cowboy growling “You forging fool !!!”
Unruly Commotion!!!
Cowboy flipping Gigolo; Gigolo tromping cowboy, Pimp crying “knockout”!
Conflict fizzling…Cook Off Critic got nitpicky….Implying civility
Critic nibbling Gigolo gyro concoction…critic crying
Critic nibbling Cowboy wonton concoction…critic vomiting
Critic nibbling Pimp minty concoction…critic grinning
Pimp winking, flirting
Critic wiggling, winking, flirting
Critic confirm Pimp Cook off Victor!
Cowboy mournful
Pimp ogling!!! Glitz...Glory
Gigolo crying, “You floozy!”
Unruly Commotion!!!
Cop cuffing Gigolo to go to court
Tick tock…tick tock….Tick tock
Jury confirm Gigolo guilty!
Pimp, Cowboy, Critic go clubbing
Categories:
tromping, adventure,
Form:
Free verse
Depression greets me like an old friend.
Setting her things down on the driveway
And waving.
As if she will be here for a while.
Stomping into my brain with dirt
Covered shoes.
Tracking mud all through my
Happiness.
She draws the shades and
Complains that it's to bright.
Sighing she sits me down,
Clucks her tongue
And cooks me meals of self doubt.
Serving them with a smile.
She doesn't know she's unwanted.
Bustling about my brain she
Fixes the straight paintings
And shoves the furniture into a
Heap. Throwing out old magazines
Of confidence she claps her
Hands. In a cheery voice she
Gathers her things.
"All done, see you soon!"
Tromping out the front door.
She's off to terrorize someone
Else.
And i'm left with the
Remnants of my
Life.
Categories:
tromping, anxiety, beauty, depression, evil,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, the day was bright and sunny
How the birds both chirped and sang
While the lads and merry lasses ran and played
On the hills their laughter echoed
O'er the lake their shouting rang
Vibrant joy upon their faces was displayed
Some were splashing in the shallows
Others yet were skipping rocks
While the rest were loudly tromping through the green
They appeared supremely happy
With the water in their locks
'Twas in all the merryest sight I've ever seen
All too soon the light was fading
They were surely loth to go
But the dinner bells were sounding far away
And before they ate their dinner
They had chores to do, you know?
But they'd come again and play another day
Categories:
tromping, childhood, friendship, happiness, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
tromping hooves beat down
darkened, tear-stained earth below
battered, beaten, bruised
inside walls too thick to show
my true nature crouching low
© 10-10-2012
For: SKAT's Tanka me this/that Contest
*about poem
Categories:
tromping, sad,
Form:
Tanka
Don Johnson’s Heart Attack fix
Oh he drank and he smoked and lived through a war,
His arteries were blocked so they said,
Massive heart attack got him, almost for sure,
Chest tromping horses , walking the more,
Almost crushed him to death,
Driven by ambulance hundreds of miles,
A truck sideswiped it, a pest,
Up onto the footpath under awnings with style,
We aint got to the hospital just yet.
Doctor he said “stay in your bed,”
“You know them big bloody stop signs,”
So he went to bed for 2 years or so Fred,
His heart was a thumping those lines,
A book did appear that altered his fear,
Vitamin E and the heart,
It was around 1973, oh dear,
Grabbing at straws from the start,
Two thousand milligrams did he take,
The daily dose fixed him,
Went opal gouging at Lightening Ridge,
Almost buried, death by whim?
The side effect was energy bent,
You now felt so alive,
Your little friend beat you out of bed,
Pre viagra’s sexual drive.
Don Johnson
ANTIOXIDANTS ARE GOOD FOR YOU AT THE CELL LEVEL REPAIR...
I was amazed in the improvement in my Dad he got another 20 years out of that
worn out heart, his hardening of the arteries improved. He was always one for doublng treatments for best effect, the Book should still be in production in the US. "Vitamin E and the heart" The book got you back on your feet and sent you back to work:)
My mum is annoyed that she cant take vitam E with her wolfren medications,
she was on Vitamin E almost 40 years.
Seems the arteries improve the flow of blood and it thins the blood too like asparin.
Ask you doctor can you do it?
I worked with a guy in the eighties who had a heart attack, I told him of Vitamin E,
he was rejuvenated by the vitamin, and very pleased with himself!
Categories:
tromping, adventure, heart, heart, mum,
Form:
Ballad
( "There is no other in the world- Mine was the only one..." - Emily Dickinson )
Uncounting by bird-song in a morning wash
in a mango copse by the low hung melting fern
and I, a clown watcher
espy the tromping doers
the morning dove's coo
and the monarch in his rounds
left unmeasured, the banana leaves
and how the waxy-night grew
left unchallenged, the drinking-soil
the dry leaves awaiting the rain
and I, hope unavailing
fall through every image of her voice
the white of my closing eyes
breaking again
__________________
Categories:
tromping, depression, loss,
Form:
Free verse
A Threat of W A R
So weep, dear world, as
The bear advances.
The bear with his trainer named Putin,
Loved by none, now not even his own.
So end your roar, dear bear!
As Putin thrills to cause disarray,
Loving his terror — that weapon
He’s loosed again, yet again —
On the world’s lesser…
His finger on a trigger,
Making the world tremble…
Against all sense, all reason,
Whipping the bear forward
Out of his rest,
Resisting, but
Still tromping forward, growling
And the world wailing.
Stay struggling, dear world,
To keep the mystery of peace working
Against more than a war to end all wars:
A war in these days, which would become
A war to end our world.
———————————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 1/24/22
Categories:
tromping, anxiety, conflict, future, international,
Form:
Alliteration
In life when I’m running a marathon race
on the rough and rocky road traversing the heath
across the rolling mounds, low and high,
I remember my childhood days
that flew away far in the virtual space
on the wings of an astral dove,
disappeared like a star in the galaxy.
I now search it in the milky way
as starburst chunky clouds float on the sky above.
In the good times like that of the jolly rancher
still alive in me in wraps of whoppers,
with my pockets full of goobers
and my hands grabbing bars of Kit Kat and Tootsie Roll
I got from the shop of Mr. Good Bar,
I still see me as one of the three musketeers
of the 5th Avenue whom people called smarties
tromping the streets in fancy snickers,
who played skittles and acted as lifesavers of the nerds,
telling them to not empty their 100 Grand pockets
on spending spree on pay day.
As my time approaches the zero hour
I go back to those candy days,
try to live in the sweet memory
lest I lose them now and later.
September 26, 2018
Contest : How sweet it is
Sponsored by : Carol Connell
Number of candy names used : 27
Categories:
tromping, candy, childhood, memory,
Form:
Free verse
Temerity has become the greed-follicles that puncture peacefulness in human life.
Extruding tangled spires across the earthen lands like trees ready to fall and crush.
Power seekers boldly trample upon the complacent, seldom knowing meekness.
Tromping over the forgiving folks like a huge social machine rousting in life’s brush.
Uninvolved masses passively watch it all on the news through biased reviews.
Frantic citizens of the world live in economic quandary…seemingly helpless.
Leaders frame in their wealth maneuvering their way through the very laws they created.
Self-service at the expense of taxpayer’s, trust lost to dishonesty while honors regress.
Intentions once professed become lost inklings of wholesome promises forgotten.
They walk upon the souls of those they were chosen to lead abandoning emotions.
Tears fall, but they are not their own. Not now.
When, then can the righteous man find solace and escape from life’s commotions?
Is it only death that brings a tortured man to peace as he stands before his creator?
As long as there is hope that good will overcome evil, man can survive the dread.
Hope lives as mortals pray that greed be set aside and understanding lead to peace.
Meanwhile, altruistic hearts work to promote better living as millions are fed.
Where is the reckoning that surely must bring a just end to temerity?
Can self-control contain the angry masses when indifferences prevail?
No relief is found except what comes on that final day…the last judgment.
Forgiveness frees; God is love; sing we then, “All Hail Let Peace Prevail.”
© May5, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Categories:
tromping, people, politicallost, peace, lost,
Form:
Quatrain
Carnival without merit, affinity, and association
Brash, bellowing band bleeting notes in oscillation
Circus creatures cavorting about with every unseemly provision
Cascading, carnival chorus clanging through every subdivision
Haughty, kilted henchmen trotting in front of the procession
Decadently-dressed damsels fawning at mock adulation
Coarsely-clad clowns tromping along in derision
Freaky, festooned floats fluttering through every alley and intersection
Ghastly garlands strewn about with every drunken petition
Teaming, throbbing townspeople on marauding mission
Corrupt Councilors culled and paraded about in degradation
Frugal, free-loading foragers scraping up every token donation
Vacuous, votive vendors profitting from their abnegation
Ebullient, enterprising entrepreneurs scalping without aversion
Categories:
tromping, fantasy
Form:
Rhyme
The loud fastest growing
non-thinking hand-it-over
flowers are abrasive
to some who feel they are truly weeds,
just messing up us real flowers
Their gnarly appearance is
off putting because they
are not the approved people, they are clover.
They look different, they dress
different, they advocate giving
away stuff to so-called poorer flowers.
They are way too giving with our flower seeds.
This is our seed; we made it.
You cannot take it away from us.
Our gardners purchased it online or in stores.
it is ours until we throw it in the garbage.
We do not like the
abrasive irritating selfish
non-thinking hand-it-over
flower weeds who
are screaming for our seed,
who want our well-earned pollen.
Sit in the sun yourself, you poison ivy leaves!
These give-it-all-to-us weeds sometimes become
abrasive in our gardens. They are overbearing,
disrespectful, trotting over us flowers in a mean
and arrogant way.
We are so irritated with them,
they are covering us up quickly and thickly, loud and proud.
We stick up our noses and try to push through their
hard-headed, do-it-our-way-and-give-us-everything ranks.
Then when we are mortally wounded, and we see
little hope, when we lose our fight, and become weeds
ourselves, our perspective changes. We become the
arrogant and rude take-over types, tromping over each
little marigold and lavender slice, silencing them.
We are now the desperate, take-over weeds,
screaming for our due. We become the bullies.
I have no idea how to rectify the approved
flowers with us weeds, but we weeds soon
get our own way, we become
incensed, and crafty, and our dendrites kick in.
Some of us dandelions have developed magical powers.
We figured out how to look and sound less weed-like.
Some of us are running for political office,
telling the loveliest most naïve flowers what they need
to hear to get onboard and give us their seeds.
Knowing they will soon be joining the world of
weeds, and loving the knowledge we have done
it with little bloodshed, only craftiness and stealth.
Oh, it is fun to be on the bad side.
Categories:
tromping, anti bullying, bullying, corruption,
Form:
Prose Poetry
In all you accomplish, in all your beautiful schemes, your lovely lifeless tromping through the
muddling life and struggling existence, you continue along,
In the end you are, you are a dreamer, you are one that wakes up in the morning and grabs
his coffee, puts a smile on the tensed up cheek muscles of a joyless facade, and crawl into
the muck of every day life, you are you.
In the end, after you fight the paper tigers, after the war waged fiercely is lost against your
desktop computer, after you uncommittedly skate along the thin ice of a forgotten cause of a
relationship, you are you.
In the end, when the doves pull you somewhere and the hawks in the other direction, when
the monsters of your imagination manifest themselves into your society as friends, as
neighbors, as family, when the mountains get to steep and you stumble and can't pick up
your feet and you see that only more sleeping giants and mountains await you, remember
that you are you, a special entity worthy of a thousand yous! no price can be given to
measure your worth, because you are you,
And in the end, you are you, just that, three simple words that mean so much, you are you,
and the universe wouldn't be the same without you, from the tip of your head to your
gorgeous feet, so take comfort, you make the world a new and better place, you are a light,
You are a light to follow, lighting up the path of the crooked wanderer, useful no matter how
crooked, being guidance in the tumultuous darkness, tossed and turned like ice in a blender,
mixed for those to feed off your fruits, but you muddle on, because you are special, you are
you.
Don't let anyone change you, you perfect little person, because in the end, you are you.
- Trey Capello
Categories:
tromping, identity, inspiration, universe,
Form:
Free verse
accumulation
choking the room bitterly
an embarrassment
carefully tromping through it
side-stepping junk gingerly
My pack rack eye-tis
surrounds me untidily
disturbing eyesore
jumping over largest pile
not inviting company
Categories:
tromping, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Tanka