Long Backtracking Poems
Long Backtracking Poems. Below are the most popular long Backtracking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Backtracking poems by poem length and keyword.
Minuette flew over cobblestones much faster than herself, moving swifter than her thoughts could carry her, to reach their obvious conclusions up ahead. Metal cleated tap shoes made an awful racket racing through the labyrinthine of alleyways. Sidewalks drew too much attention to themselves with the noise and did not add to the solution she was looking for.
No one must see her at this hour as she travels down the streets. Her dark green dress lifted in the wind, just above her ankles, like a mask on open oceans as she sailed in it. A hint of pure white skirt was barely visible in the dim light. It was night. No. It was day. No. It must be afternoon. No. There is too much dark. It was daytime. I'm sure of that. The sun is simply hidden by the clouds as fog rolls in.
Was it the library or the café that made her frantic? Longberry is illusive, an easy place to get lost in, along with memories which plays odd tricks that come back to her in circles.
She was heading in the wrong direction. Minuette must pivot on the moment to rectify that and so desired to run faster than her feet could take her, backtracking from her origins. Time was running up behind her. There remained significant ground to cover and to master in mere seconds.
Archeologists must also eat. She was famished. The café will have to wait. Her mind is dead set on the library, which had by coincidence just opened up before her sleepy eyes. It is more important to feed her head. New books on rocks had just arrived. She was happy and dove right in to read each one, each savory line.
A crusty old man sat next to her for conversation. He will remain anonymous for the time being. There are many reasons why but moving right along and not to place such a fine point on the matter; she caught her breath somewhere between his bad breath and a smile and the color red, which welled up inside of her like fire.
An angry index finger came up to touch her cherry lips which parted with a simple "Shh." "We are in the library." She signaled to him to gaze upon the SILENCE sign, prominently on display, Pointed at it confidently to add to his enlightenment. Such evidence was hoped to change his behavior and his manners. Enlightenment was not his claim to fame. Not much could be done to change his odor either.
Isolation, confined, suffocating,
Life's unbearable silence constricting,
You scream but not a sound escapes,
The struggle is real but no one relates,
Not progressing, but not backtracking,
The stillness violating, movement lacking,
Life's burdens weigh heavy on ones heart,
So much so you beg for yours to depart,
The sunshine dances across the sky,
It's something that always passes me by,
Then the moon rises ablaze in the dark,
It's beauty soon ended by the singing lark,
The brakes of dawn marks a new day,
You pray its less grey than yesterday,
Disappointment lingers in the the air as a foul stench,
I thirst for happiness that I'm unable to quench,
Depression, anxiety, heart ache its all pain,
Dark thoughts lurk inside my insane brain,
Only cold blood pumps through each vein,
Is it to late, am i dead inside, from such pain.
Poetry is good for the soul.
Discrediting plausibility
by shredding their humility
to a place of vulnerability
devoured by inabilities
cowardice incompetence
showered into consciousness
empowered causing confidence
validation found in compliments
a false sense of accomplishment
resort to intense punishment
to knock down their competitors
who speak of truth not metaphors
that could reverse their actual course
see them falling through floorboards
far from craved credited applause
a status low as though blackballed
on salaries always needing more
survival gifting no rewards
a personality to be ignored
social skills which leave them bored
testing humans to their core
needing a win but cannot score
electrical without a cord
no plug socket or power source
as management you were assured
entitlement had power stored
defensive walls they reinforced
the canon fire rains then pours
constant drainage of resource
when liars reign without remorse
demonstrate through acts of war
axing allies no friends of yours
switching sides ending support
backtracking and invasions fall
forward thinking backward thoughts
two faced fronts fights are fought
defend positions within the fort
saving supply routes to the port
lowered standards poor results
lose respect face the onslaught
enclosing can’t escape assaults
laced with disgrace of dense insults
unsatisfactory falling short
the cost of power steeply soars
run out of bullets fight with swords
sticks and stones not canon balls
back to basics of infant schools
learning how the mighty fall
turns out you might be a fool
from the authority you adore
to unemployed and lost it all
from big and powerful to small
once important not anymore
once arrogant above the law
apparently now unloveable
a tyrant silenced by rivals
the outlaw downfall locked indoors
freedom within the prison walls
abusing boundaries horribly
so far beyond authority
explicitly and vicously
fully of inefficiency
faults and inability
soulless animosity
dethroned without the sovereignty
lost lonely in unpopularity.
“Practice makes Perfect”
It‘s we’re all told.
That if you work on one thing consistently and for long enough
You will have such a solid hold that you cannot get it wrong.
So by that logic, pretty soon, I should be a master at poetry.
As long as I perfect it.
It’s ironic.
While I was writing this poem about perfection
I kept deleting
No, backtracking
No, erasing
The work I wrote down
like the message I want to convey
Doesn’t want to live on the page I put it on.
It’s like what I think
Won’t put
No, place
No, inscribe
Itself onto the document I'm using to write this.
The letters don’t seem to string themselves
Together like they usually do.
My mind continues to blank
Even though my thoughts were planned out
Even though I knew what I wanted to say
Even though this topic
No, idea
No, dilemma
Is so controversial.
Because we can all agree
Perfection is harder to come by than we first thought.
The definition of perfection is
“The state, condition, or quality of being free or as free as possible from any and all flaws or defects.”
Many people compare themselves to what they believe is perfect
But that’s the thing,
Perfection is different for everybody.
Yes, the word perfection has a definition.
But that was one of dozens of variants
I could choose from.
So if the word perfection can’t even perfect itself
Then how are we meant to dissect the infection
Of perfect perfection.
Booking assumptions and travelling
Be aware that when changing flights you may not get your checked luggage and it may just travel on without you when stopping over. Australia to Dubai, to Africa, the stop over kept our luggage and we were stranded in Dubai with only our carry on. It was unclear where our luggage was being stored or whether it had abandoned its handlers for its own adventure - jet setting off to Africa for a 24 hour carousel ride by itself. Like stray animals escaping the ringmasters and navigating the globe alone. Mostly my friends were put out. Yet I always travel with a spare pair of undies, toothbrush and personal items just in case and this trip was no different. Hygiene habits of the weekend camper who lives on the road and by the guise of 'ya just never know', paid off well. Luggage was not sent on, just stored for our flight the next day. But I had fun giggling about random suitcases, the world of terrorists and lone bag drops and other peoples fear of stray luggage while we sat by the pool.
Paid off again as I left my bag behind in Nairobi, as we travelled 6 hours to our next destination. Realisation, and a bit embarrassed, but Sisto offered to share clothes - best driver ever. But luggage was organised to be picked up and delivered to some random midway, backtracking location the next day. So all was good. Not really used to people picking up after me, carrying bags and loading the car, so I didn't think to check when I pointed out where my bag was. Lesson learned and all supplies returned without too much of a hitch or personal inconvenience for the man.
I'll Follow His Tracks
By: Tom Wright
11/23/98
Upon my door a but faint knock,
came late one night.
With door ajar, glancing at the clock,
there stood no one in sight.
But on the ground for me to see,
were footprints, in fresh snow.
They were as if compelling me,
to quickly dress and go.
I sensed at first some childhood game,
but seeing clearly their one way flight.
Whose they were and whence they'd came,
had me curious on that night.
They led me to a distant place,
which was likened unto a cave.
Causing me anxiety and my heart to race,
having the appearance of someone's grave.
I hurriedly left, backtracking still,
through the nights cold breeze.
The tracks appeared going toward a rocky hill,
where I found standing three lone trees.
The tracks seeming now to be smaller,
as farther along I went.
It was as if someone taller,
was somehow being spent.
Following the tracks beyond light of day,
to a lowly stable nearby.
I knew not what I'd have to say,
where I had came, or why.
While feeling quite lost and undone,
and being somewhat cold and worn.
I was told by others of a Son,
who was born this Christmas morn.
Those tracks were left for me to see,
that when this life I depart.
Heavens road will wind through Calvary,
it began with a change of heart.
Tunnels cut through a mountain chain,
an unending chain,
a chain that binds;
that twists and turns on itself again,
delivering pain
and darkness that blinds.
At the end of each there is a hope,
a ray of light to which you grope.
When you reach it at tunnel’s end
the next begins as if to portend
the coming of others, unending nights.
The mouth of one the other bites.
As you slip into this endless void
you turn right back trying to avoid
the pitch of blackness and faster than fast,
your wheels turn and pistons thrust,
until the image of the turning wheel
first slows down and then stands still.
It starts again, but spinning back
taking you deeper into the black.
Your whole life becomes this blur,
past, present, future become a slur
and the yearn for eternal rest
becomes a fantasy, a dream at best.
Tunnels cut through a mountain chain,
an unending chain,
a chain that binds,
that twists and turns through another plain
through the living brain
of unsound minds.
Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
Society getting worse cracking due to stupidity
Impropriety online so terse lacking any civility
Notoriety as attacking the diverse with hostility
Perverse aloof piety sacking truths no humility
Climate crisis averse backing fossil fuel futility
Oligarchs ransacking coerce with total impunity
Fracking to fill their purse another commodity
Snacking on the universe… despite its fragility
Hijacking but won’t reimburse any community
Whacking any protest…disperse in perpetuity
As hacking bots traverse at every opportunity
Migrants a curse sent packing as no immunity
No backtracking won’t reverse just absurdity
Won’t converse smacking those in impecunity
Kayaking above while immerse us in toxicity
Stacking Mother Nature on a hearse duplicity
BUT
Democracy averse just gerontocracy senility
Sacking due to perverse hilarity over polarity
Chapter & verse stop the slop no complicity
Won’t let curse of divinity go on for infinity
Clarity only charity ends gravity of depravity
Be a friend and nurse so can end the sterility
Go on rehearse and then will find tranquility
Don’t be adverse beyond lies some serenity
Intersperse with small wins…such simplicity
Happiness love & kindness is the holy trinity
Don’t hate frivolity has ability to create jollity
Does enhance...Americans say happenstance
Generosity and lovely luminosity of curiosity
A delightful dance of chance I call Serendipity
Fifty years ago this December, I was taken to the nearby foothills, by the scout leader and his right hand helper, to complete part of the tenderfoot test. It involved successfully tracking the two of them, as I would have studied that part of the scout manual. It included the elements of backtracking, animal print recognition, and other tracking basics. Similar to the childhood game of, "hide and seek", I had to close my eyes and count to a hundred. After the allotted time, I looked around and saw their tracks heading off into the newly snow dusted landscape. Thankful for the white stuff that made it easy to see their footprints, I easily followed along, even through the heavier made backtracking tracks. When the tracks took me under a large evergreen tree, the footprints suddenly ended. I searched carefully every direction, and scratching my head I was completely confused, until I heard their muffled laughter... just above my head!
pictures of Sherlock
show him inspecting the ground
never looking up
date:12/18/19
contest:December Haibun
sponsor: Caren Krutsinger