Long Canteen Poems
Long Canteen Poems. Below are the most popular long Canteen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Canteen poems by poem length and keyword.
Wonder into the woods with ax in hand
Take care to be on time when you arrive
The forest is dark. It slumbers. Don't be alarmed
Bring an umbrella in case it rains
Rotted fallen lumber is benign. It does not harm
Never chop the big trees down at dawn
Take a canteen to a source of water
A polluted river will do just fine
With tiny creatures like parasites residing
They won't care. They need you. They want you there
Cause evocative events to occur
Tell untold stories
Let them evolve like mushrooms in the forest dark
Don't speak. The trees are listening
Capture ideas then let them go
Over canopies, mysteries and paranoia
Take one step at a time in cadence with the katydid
Noise is the awakening...WARNING: Don't walk with katydids
Crawl under rocks to sleep, to calm your nerves
They have no where else to go. They fizzle out
Go forward at first light, not in circles though
Straight is better, I guess, when looking for success
Ponder strategies to defeat the foe
It has eleven fingers and no soul
Poison claws and jagged teeth, there to meet you
Storm the monster with your hands and feet
Surprise it with some candy treats
Bite off its ear as a distraction
Run faster for a chance to leave disaster
Estimate your chances for survival
Calculus is great to plot escape
Always use a protractor when confused
To measure the obtuse
Don't make mistakes. Don't rain. That's for nature
Don't go insane. Leave the forest the same way that you came
A common thread in humanities fabric,
Sees knowledge as power that one obtains.
Even our science hints to this information,
As what is transferred along quantum cosmic lanes.
This data is constantly flowing, in a
Sea so vast that no shoreline is seen.
Although a rhythm is found among cycles,
And our thirst tries to collect in a canteen.
Just as most resources possess value,
The lessons learned aren't universal or absolute.
Since the harvesting stretches beyond boundaries,
And the farm worker's only choose the best fruit.
What this insures is an abundant yield,
That will last throughout time and space.
With the hope it will find needed wisdom,
Where mankind survives...content in its place.
Having been born in legendary Italy,a country
as old as the stones of the Via Appia,
made me recall the fiery image of Attila...
the barbarian from Hungary,
who dared to defeat the mighty Romans:
by sacking their imperial city with clanking swords!
Attila might have become the new emperor,
if he hadn't abandoned that land he came to conquer,
but golloped away...vanishing into the unknown:
remorseful or giving up on becoming great;
and some agree that he was as untaimed as a lion...
with a chilvalry to melt any woman's heart!
Many great battles were fought on this soil,
fortified by faith,valor and blood:
an Italy immortalized by Vergil,
Dante,Davinci,Michelangelo and Verdi: a legacy continuing today;
and I, as her native son, like to lead the way...
to be among these and not vanish into nothing!
Where I walked as a teen, castles rose towards
crimson skies to capture my fancy and hold me in wonder,
until dusk came with the tinkling bells; and sweet mother
called me...her voice echoing,with affectionate loveliness,
amid the pine trees and a garden of blooming roses;
there, at the gate's entrance, she waited with flowers!
From a tiny spring, flowing from the snow-capped mountains,
I drank the purest water and saved some in my canteen...
while my companions threw rocks at each other and told jokes;
and none of us were older than seventeen!
O golden days,return to vivid memory...
when we are taken by reminiscence to renew vows of loyalty!
By a bright lamp,I'll write these memoirs 'till morning,
and whenever sleep comes...I'm ready to hop in bed,dreaming
to be in Amalfi or Positano along the rugged coast of emerald...
listening to the murmurs of the gleaming sea,so old,
overlooked by the immobile stars and hear a happy mandolin play
a serenade and to be taken into eternity!
I'm finally there, retracing each footstep on a stony path,
running through the streets of my fled youth;
wouldn't I be happy to stay and find a place to rest?
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Once again
Once again I passed by the gate
I passed by the Gate of your college
My legs were fast till I reached it
But as soon as they reached their desired destination
They denied moving an inch further
As I stood by the gate and peeped inside
My eyes searched for the lovely face
The face which brings alive my dead heart
The face which brings alive my stupid art
Onlookers looked at me surprisingly
I definitely seemed a fool over there
I could hear them cracking jokes at me
Whatever, my heart just din't care
My legs felt burdened
Not budging to move
I knew I had to go ahead
I had to accept whatever is true
My heart still hoping for atleast a glance
Calling your name, It waited for hours
As the tears rolled down inside my face
I begged to God to see your face
As I still stood stranded
The memories came like a storm in my eyes
The first time I saw you
The first time our eyes met
The first time we talked
These memories always make my eyes wet
The first time I called you
The response that you gave me
Those chats in the canteen
Those chats in the library
The stupid acts I did to attract your attention
Coming to library for no reason
Coming before time to vouch for you
Bunking Important lectures to spend time with you
The smile that you gave
The laugh you had on my stupid jokes
Brought smile on my face
Though I was stranded for time unmeasured
After a long wait,
I consoled my heart
Literally pushing my legs to move ahead
I tried thinking of somebody else
Coz I needed to move
I needed to move on
But I still have a hope
One day, you will come back
One day, you will be mine
Once again we will spend time together
Once again I will see your smile
Once again my heart will come alive
Once again................
Knocking on success’ door, irrespective of its intensity
is worthy of a response and an attention.
When life smiles and nature is happy, the one who passes their estate
is embraced by favour to take luck home.
Showcased by a tale
of two counterparts of same platform but different worlds.
He’s serious, but she’s playful,
a test defining their progress into another phase is the huddle.
From book to book, knowledge he accumulates
even sweat’s discomfort is no match
for such a determination which scares both life and death.
His living is subjected into a miserable triangle;
lectures, canteen and home is all he knows
even his dreams have been converted to a library for research
and a single spoken word from his lips
pours out a barrage of wisdom.
His understanding then gives an entire jungle
the salvation of great civilization.
Her time for merry is never taken for a joke,
her schedules are tabulated by the inventors of fun,
leisure and study share the spoil of her engagements,
pleasure tops the yardstick for all her toiling
and her indifference to progress in life
makes the demons of failure lust after her course.
Nineteen weeks of play and a week of work is her formula
on the eleventh hour, before the day of reckoning
she reads in compartments,
choosing her focus through random selection.
He commands the justification to succeed
while she queues in the long line of fate.
Passing through this is a decorated corridor to his success
raising her hands in pathetic surrender is her bullet-less gun.
He’s sure, she’s not; he’s ready, she’s frightened,
he walks confidently; she does it in a gait-like manner,
the heat of such examination he absorbs, but she gets burnt.
What next, is the short incubation period of truth
when several hearts await a straight forward judgement
and comfortable minds anticipate a glorious confirmation
with all efforts well deserving of the medal
and a prosperous finding, a worthy result of true seekers……
She passed!..................... He did not!
Man it is bitter cold, and the oar is gone floating down river fast.
My canteen has whiskey, so I take a swig; knowing it has to last.
Where are my matches? I ponder so I grab my Cuban cigar.
How many miles would I float down river before I reached that sandbar?
My moose tattoo gave a mighty laugh and held his teddy bear tighter.
The clouds were overcast now. I was not sure if I had a lighter.
The matches had gotten wet you see, when I leaned out to grab my oar.
I wish I had brought the other one with me when I left that sainted shore.
I took a puff of the cigar, ah heaven, but now I needed a snack.
I opened ma’s picnic basket, and drew out a white doily and a love sack.
She had thrown a flashlight in the bottom which I noticed as ate my food.
Chocolate donuts and ham sandwiches with pickles put me in a good mood.
Do you have your hatchet? My inner voice asked. Let’s chop ourselves an oar.
Carved myself a makeshift paddle out of canoe to take me to shore.
The moose tattoo was laughing, making her teddy bear chuckle too.
I got to land by eleven o’clock, the forest turning a nightly hue.
I barely had enough strength to pull the canoe up into the safety of the sand.
The cattails were impeding our way, my tattoo and I a pretty motley band.
Couldn’t you have just jumped in the water? My inner voice asked on a whim.
Forgetting for a second I guess, that this fisherman does not know how to swim.
Weaving before me, or was it me weaving
The palm tree seemed to shimmer
In the hazy red sun beating down
My weary eyes growing dimmer...
The desert will play mean tricks on a man
Take away his breath; shrink his lifespan...
Raised my canteen to my lips, though hot the drink
Soothed my thirst; gave me precious moments to think
But I looked up like a fool; saw the palm tree fade
Replaced by screeching hyenas, of me unafraid...
Just then the sun dropped below the horizon
Stifling heat swept away, a pale moon arisin'
I dismounted my camel and fell to my knees
Drained the canteen; said this prayer, O Lord, please --
Save me tonight from death's clutch on the morrow
That I know no more thirst or bodily sorrow
'Cos the desert will play mean tricks on a man
Take away his breath; shrink his lifespan...
Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Many birds; some small, some blonde
Few birds come as the seasons demand.
Come and visit Thor with Sanket to remand
All the known and unknown birds beyond.
Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Let it be cashew or nut or almond,
Bring any thing for birds with monde
And see many types of birds beyond
The island, colours that birds donned.
Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Few birds are black, and few blonde;
Canteen ready with food on demand,
Garden with plants having leaves frond,
Pond with birds different on demand.
Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Security guards allow us, on demand,
To take cameras to view and shoot monde
Of varied birds here and beyond.
So, visit Thor with Pari Style in a pond.
The morning woods were crackling with unknown sounds.
Then I heard a rustling sound in the leaves.
The sound of footsteps was getting louder,
It wasn’t a something, it was someone.
Suddenly a large man fell to the ground.
His leg was bleeding; all he said was “trap”.
Cool water from my canteen brought him back.
A small trap, it hadn’t broken the bone.
I stopped the bleeding, cleaned, and wrapped the wound,
then slowly moved him over by the fire.
I ask him, “do you feel like eating yet?”
“Yes, but more water first”, he muttered.
The food and water gave him energy,
Now it was time to ask what had happened.
“I was hiking and blazing a new trail.
I pitched my backpack at a bear and ran.
I got away while he explored my pack.
That’s when I got lost a few days ago.
I was getting weak from hunger and thirst,
when I stepped into the trap and passed out.
I managed to pry the trap open with sticks,
Then wandered in the night ‘till you found me.
It’s a miracle, I was guided here.
I wandered lost and hurt, but now I’m found.
Prickly cool fills my lungs,
Like a bladder canteen on a Bedu dromedary,
Sloshing the alveoli that branch, internal ...
Frozen filligree fanning my firkin chest.
I blink a tear, staring up at the belt of Orion,
Cold as the snow that wraps me like mother's womb.
Forever lost in the frightening beauty of God's providence,
I sacrifice my last breath to the naked, shimmering heavens,
Letting the night devour me, tender and bleak,
As I dream ... of sand castles.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Early March 2019 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.