Long Back pack Poems
Long Back pack Poems. Below are the most popular long Back pack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Back pack poems by poem length and keyword.
A Bloody Tale
a vampire bat in the weeping willow tree
hanging upside down created an impasse
a fat faced full moon highlighted it
its beady eyes focused on my warm neck
in hopes it could get a taste of my sweet blood
I needed to deliver the brown leather satchel
with the Irish curio—a stolen sample
of the Blarney Stone tucked neatly inside
my way blocked by this flying mammal
I needed to distract it
my back pack contained a rare beef dumpling
for a snack while on my way
I pulled it out—some blood dripping from
its cold center
I tossed it to the side of the trail
mr. bat took the bait
I exhaled a sigh of relief and
resumed my trek. As I left
I heard a chirping sound behind me
I turned and saw the bat waving its webbed wing
in gratitude. I had to pass this way homeward
I hoped he would remember me
First you take the girl
up on the southern Downs -
on a day with light wind
and bright sunshine.
Then you unpack things
from your bulging back pack -
with emphasis on those
Picnic goodies.
Next you ask for help
stretching the fabric out
to fit the sticks inside -
looking in her eyes.
While she holds the tail
you touch her hand with yours
as you tie up the string
ready for the air.
You give her the reel
and offer up the kite
to the heavens where her
presence transports you.
Place your hand over hers
and show her how to let
the string free the kite to fly.
When she turns, kiss her.
It's very simple.
© Griffonner 2024
If one is hungry
And bored
Of watching over Mecca,
What better place
To steal an apple
Than from another country’s orchards,
With fighter jets
Twanged in the sky
Like flying bottle openers,
Diving down
And peeling back a tin can roof
Of a school bus
Loaded with 40 children,
Whose shoulders are all
Strapped
With blue and red back packs
That look like little lunch boxes,
One of them
Surely containing
The sweet temptation
Of the perfect apple.
Mistaken identity, can happen.
So, a few bombs,
True,
Have to remove
The dozens of windows
And deposit
The million shards like razors
To flay the skin of the girls and boys
And, in an attempt to remain civilized
About this,
First cook
With fire and oil
The cheekbones from the skulls
Of the five year olds
Who are still alive,
And it’s important to keep fresh
The liver, tongues and hearts
Shish-kebobbed
With splintered ribs, white as serpents,
And finally, then
There it is,
The well done slab of lamb’s meat
Still clung, red as a beet,
Limbs and noses,
To be stripped
From that one buried back pack
And within it, zipped,
The fine taste of a ripe apple
Polished by mom
As a snack that was packed,
That day,
For school.
He then told him he put a fresh set of clothes
On his backpack, turned around and didn’t look back.
So he put on his new clothes and out the door he went
Thinking that this man was heaven sent.
As he walked a mile down the road
He felt guilty that he didn’t thank him properly
For being so kind to a man in need.
He ran back to the farm house and knocked at the door
To be greeted by someone he had never saw.
“I am looking for the farmer who owns this place!”
That would be me ! What can I do for you?
He said : no ! that can not be ! It was a younger
Man, not as elderly with a beard and shoulder length hair.
He gave me dinner and invited me in, let me bathe
And to have a good nights sleep, then gave
Me these clothes and breakfast to eat.
I don’t see how here you could have stayed
When my wife and I were in another county far away.
But there has been stories going around
About someone helping people when their luck was down.
As he said that - the strangers back pack fell
to the ground ,and he heard a clatter.
The man looked at him and asked what was the matter.
He opened his backpack and a wooden name plate fell to the ground
And broke in three- when he looked he could not believe what he saw.
The three parts said : J.CHRIST-HIS-SON
And a cross and rosary laid alongside with a note with one word.
HOPE
Now who could this man have been ?
Another four years and
you finish right where you began
These are the stories
No one really wants to tell
But I hope you make it better
Once your journey saves your life
It’s a moment in the mist of love
Take your time and pick your flowers
Laughter
It’s a scent that lies between you and I
Do enjoy the days that pass
I’ll only say goodnight
So take your road trips
Back pack across Europe
For goodness sake
Just live your days until they go
Laughter
It’s a secret that lies between you and I
Do enjoy the days that pass
I’ll only say goodnight
A photograph, a memory
Up’s and downs that you found
Mark and be eternal
Set for coarse an early rise
Lets not forget the sun set
All the new faces that we met
Morning came from behind those mountains
covered with a thin mist so void of harmony...
waking up the robins, the cardinals and bluejays,
who gladly provived the notes for my symphony.
Around eight o' clock the alarm clock rang,
I gulped down my cold glass of milk, picked up my back-pack...
making sure I wouldn't leave any books behind; I usually left
it on the leather recliner where my dad rested.
Springtime was a delight...smelling the aroma of the lilies,
I loved the whistle of the clanking train leaving for the big city,
and the lovely countryside was a garden of beautiful blossoms;
I often stuck my head out of the window and got stung by a bee.
Under a shady, tall oak tree, I spread my wide blanket
and ate delicious red apples as the hunting dogs barked from distance,
rifle shots followed...some birds fell on the thick grass;
and I thanked God they weren't those who visited me...I would have wept!
The warblers' songs have an unusual sound of their own,
I copy them down note by note with extreme anxiety and passion,
trying not to miss one...and they are happy to share it without doubt or greed;
and if we would appreciate them, they could become our very treasures indeed!
Entered in Jenette Fisher's contest, " Sounds Familiar "
They said that he's a genius
Called him a Wonder kid
Which made the whole town wonder
Why he did the things he did
Why he climbed the water tower
That early morn in June
After all what makes us all
Do the things we do
He took a rifle with him
A back pack full of shells
When he turned the town that day
Into a living hell
His mama always warned him
A soul is never free
That is why he sold it
To the devil that day for cheap
He'd always been the perfect model
From his early days of youth
Teachers thought that he was special
If you must know the truth
There was never any talking back
It was always sir or ma'am
No ones sure why or when he snapped
You'll get no answers from the dead
He packed himself a brown bag lunch
Expecting to be awhile
To quench his thirst a Capri Sun
As he sipped he smiled
His mama always warned him
A soul is never free
That is why he sold it
To the devil that day for cheap
His very first victim
He selected randomly
Never did they find out
What knocked them off their feet
As soon as the shots rang out
It was madness and mayhem
It took the town a little while
To find from where the shots they came
By the time it was that registered
At least fifteen were down
From mothers holding babies
To couples holding hands
From the central park to the school yard
And terror in between
He left a trail of pain and sorrow
Mixed with misery
Was it a curse or a blessing
When he suddenly stopped the way he did
With a back pack still full of ammo
He stood and stepped off of the ledge
His mama always warned him
A soul is never free
That is why he sold it
To the devil that day for cheap
One year passed, since BB broke my heart.
On 2025.09.25, EC told me,
His favourite song was "Top of the world"
I promised I would play it,
When I see him next week.
EC was one of my piano loyal fans.
From memory, he first found me in February this year,
After I played the piano at MC for half year
Since then, every week,
He made efforts visiting and listening to my music.
He was also the first person,
Who tipped me with a note,
Again and again, until I stopped him.
Six months on, he told me his favourite song
I promised I would play it on his next visit.
I have been listening to it in that evening,
And wakenup by it in the early morning.
Some how, I felt I could not play that song,
It did not go well with my feelings.
It was not the kind of melodies I would play.
Don't get it wrong,
It was a beautiful song,
It was just not my type of music.
While listening to it,
Somehow, it provoked me to read my diary,
All those that described my feelings for BB.
Strangely, I felt blessing from our friendship,
Missing his caring and helping.
Longing to ask him to fix
The damaged firmware Apps.
Which BB installed a while ago.
I knew very well, our relationship could not live
Beyond what it had already reached.
That was our fate and destiny.
On Monday, 2025.10.06,
It was Chinese Autumn festival,
I visited BB second home.
There he was, sat at the desk,
Surfed on the internet.
He was wearing a black jacket,
A light dull green padded back pack
Which rested on the computer desk.
His curved back seemed to get worsen,
Other than that, his appearances,
I would say, it had not changed a bit.
Good luck to his tragic stories searching,
Good luck to his voice raising,
Good luck to his soul mates and life meaning finding.
I loved to say, I have not missed him at all,
Since when I could not recall.
Timmy Jimmy O'Blimey was a boy who loved Christmas and joyful happy faces
So when he saw an old man living on the street with nothing to eat, he felt sad
Though small of frame his carousel mind was gigantically full of good thoughts for his next of kin. He had to do something to help Dippity Do man with sticky hands find a home for the Holidays and he knew, just what to do.
Inside the pantry he found oodles of bags of peppermint chocolates from mom's private stash. He filled his back pack and returned to the street to find his Project.
Leaving a trail of chocolates behind he kept walking "there is more where that came from" The old man frail and boney started walking behind the young boy.
Into a shower he was shoved while Tim ran to his fathers room and picked
an old suit that had been discarded in the back of the closet.
Holding hands they came into the dining room spiffed up. One had a toothy smile and the other was a toothless vision of grace under fire.
"Meet Uncle Bob," Timmy said, then sat him down at the head of the table.
Dad scratched his head thinking "who the hell is this" mom knitted her brows
" dam I forgot the mashed potatoes "
Diner was sweet, Uncle Bob's eyes were like two bright copper pennies of tinseled light. Between mouthfuls of food Uncle Bob leaned over to Tim and whispered, " By the way son, its Uncle Steve." but then he realized his name was of no concern to this nice family. Dad picked up the carving knife and quietly began to cleave the turkey.
Building a relationship takes time.
A slow becoming of each other's identity.
A steady student in a firm desk where attendance is vital and homework isn't necessarily done with pen and paper.
To willingly give until nothing is left, to get on each other's nerves and have the courage to look each other in the eye and admit that your wrong, to say I love you deeper. Finding compromise in the smaller things.
Discovering new meaning rather than dismissing yourself every chance granted.
The building blocks to a firm foundation.
To create a support system that relies solely on devotion.
The care of another through sickness and in health.
To humble yourself in another, to find wisdom in sharing yourself.
Falling inside and out of problems without knowing the combination to every lock.
Each locker holding something different.
The impact found in arms reach of each other.
Where communication is vocalized in a different tone.
Every moment is precious, allowing yourself to be yourself with another.
A student whose back pack otherwise empty, now filled with knowledge.
Finally finding to solve for X when different variables are thrown in parenthesis.
The Y no longer important, finding a deeper meaning.
The things otherwise they never teach you at school.
Finding a love that never takes constant glances at the clock