Long Trekked Poems
Long Trekked Poems. Below are the most popular long Trekked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trekked poems by poem length and keyword.
The Halloween Party was in full swing
Witches, wizards and an alien thing
with tentacles and one huge eye
Flourishing a laser gun shouting "Die".
Alison and her friends Ada and Jo
Were all dressed as feline kittens "meow"
Carl and Simon had laced the fruit punch bowl
As the evening drew on it took it's tole.
Drunkenly a bet was stupidly placed
Who of them would last and not be outpaced
A nightly vigil at Haunted Creek
Where rode a phantom horseman, there to seek.
Everyone there all knew the awful tale
Making in unison a quick inhale
It was long ago in 1702
A mounted stallion there cast a shoe
The rider's name was Squire Abraham Knight
Was set upon and put up a good fight
He was then butchered for a gold doubloon
Was then thrown in the creek and found at noon
Unexplained sightings, that then disappear
have been recorded, it is very unclear
Warnings come from parents to their own child
No-one goes there, it is left to grow wild
With youthful bravado they all met there
Torches flashed around, as the trees stood bare
Alison and her friends huddled together
Shivering in the inclement weather
Bart and his brother camped down for the night
on a hillock, keeping the creek in sight
Joining them was the terror gang of four
Troublemakers, who all acted hardcore.
Two hours later it started to snow
Huge flakes falling and wind began to blow
"I've had enough of this" said Alison
"I'm all for going home. I'm all done!"
Eagerly agreeing, walked back in step
Suddenly Jo tripped up and in pain wept
"Can't go further, my ankle is wrecked"
Leaning on shoulders, onwards they all trekked.
"No, I can't, please, you must stop", poor Jo wailed
"It's agony! she gasped and then inhaled.
"Come on Jo, we can stop at Adam's place".
"We will make it there at a slower pace.
Adam's place was an old abandoned farm
"No, not there!" said Ada-May in alarm
"Afraid of ghosts and ghouls?" mocked Alison
"More like rats and spiders and not much fun!".
Giggling they arrived at old Adam's place
The moonlight showing fear on each girl's face
"We have to go in there, we have no choice"
Jo jumped. "Was that whinnying of a horse?"
On that retort they threw open the door
Stepping inside, they all dropped through the floor
Not one of them survived their dreadful doom
Trapped, without rescue, in the dark, dark room.............
From Chicago to Tampa Bay in a Ford Granada some time in the mid- 70's. Unfortunately, we were not interested in mountains, because we took interstate 75 and drove through Tennessee 'at night'. We felt the elevation but never saw the Smoky Mountains.
As we proceeded south, our four year old kept asking, "Are we there yet?" Can you blame her? We should have had at least one mountain story to tell; and why did we not take time to enjoy the healthy smoke? We arrived in Tampa by way of mostly 'flat lands'.
On another occasion we drove from northern Mississippi to Atlanta. While there, we not only viewed, but also trekked until we grew tired. The visit on 'Stone Mountain' was a good one as we also enjoyed the beautiful water fall.
Fast forward to 1981, and find me driving a '79 chevy chevette from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe. Oh, what a ride! From just above sea level to over 9,000 feet and the worst head ache of my life. Our second child who was then four was on board, but he was head ache free. Nice sceneries, and mountains aplenty, but I should have had my head examined; not because of the elevation, but because I had the audacity to drive a Chevette.
Later in the early 80's with my entire family on board, I headed up another mountain in Marin County, Ca. This time there was plenty of room and power in an 8 cylinder full sized Chevy van. Just beyond the Golden Gate is Mt. Tamalpais, but we never reached the top, because my wife changed her mind.
My most recent mountain experience was a scenic view from a Jumbo Jet. Returning from a vacation by way of Portland, I had a nice view of *Mt. St. Helen 36 years after the mountain blew its top in 1980. No, that does not make me a 'Mountain Man'; but from where I sit 30 feet above sea level, it is rather refreshing.
08052017PSContest, Mountains, Julie Rodeheaver
*Or Was it Mt. Hood?
He fell one stormy midnight clear,
His feet upon his head,
He deaf of mouth and blind of ear,
All purple, green and red.
He dined politely on a rose,
Then with a speckled hen,
He quickly drew himself a nose,
And put it on again.
He paid the hen all shiny pound,
Then gave his ear a flick,
A tiny thought leapt to the ground,
And scurried up a stick.
"Hello there little sky-fall man,
A bildog, blain and ned.
I live inside your gumble mind,
That's right, inside your head".
"My name is wonder where and how
And who and what and why,
And what you're wondering right now?
How fell you from the sky?"
Down trouble eye our little man
Shed single Silver tear,
As off to forge some further plan,
Thought flew back down his ear.
So down he stood and set he off
To answer up his quest,
His head puffed out, his feet aloft
And walking on his chest.
He walked through woods where gilbroks played
Upon the purple moss,
With trees all trunked of plasticine
And leaved with candy floss.
For three long days but not so long
He walked on through the wood,
Until he heard a silver song
that tickled 'neath his hood.
The song it came from purple rock
Amid the Numbum trees,
Upon the rock, the Dandy-dock
Sat singing to the bees.
"All hail the Dandy," our friend cried
Before the purple stone,
"Hello there!" Dandy-dock replied
"My haven't how you've grown!"
"I am afraid I cannot help"
The Dandy softly groaned,
"You must search out the Bollynelp
Near the lake of Sollynoad"
So off he trekked to find the stream
That led out to the lake,
Across the lands of pink ice-cream
And plains of chocolate cake.
The stream ran on and skipped and played,
And sang it's tales of old,
But in the lake the waters stayed,
All tinged with green and gold.
High in a tree beside the shore
The Bollynelp sat chatting,
He talked a little then some more
Of chalk and cheese and matting.
"I'm sorry," called this strange old bird
To our hero down below,
"A quest like yours I've never heard
But the Dumble dog will know"
"The Dumble dog I'm sure you'll see
Upon that distant beach
Where our fine land does cease to be
And the jelly ocean's reach"
He thanked the Bolly with a sigh
And turned towards the shore,
And off he walked, still feet held high,
And chest upon the floor.
Trekking The Unwary
The beauty of this day, or is it the night
Cynical her way, Alaskans weathers her blight
The touch of her nature, the chills from her bite
Broken mobile, lost alone, this plane of sight
My family thoughts, as it renders me warmth
For the hardened ground, this snowflaked swamp
Alone, and here upon this land, Alaskan cold, the Northern sand
No helpful hope, no rescuing plan
The point of center, it's the no man's land
Which direction I go, two choices in hand
Continuing towards, the summer home abode
Or turn another, towards the Trappers, journeying road
For now into the forest, between the trees
A cozy nest to find, simple spot avoids the freeze
I'm awakening in morning, now it's time to go
Head towards the Trapper, I remember this fellow.
As my hunger grows, I look upon the trees
The vines, the berries, their frozen leaves
The day goes by, I trek some more
Weary I thirst, hearing a river, the sounds adore
I follow its sound, more and more, closer profound
A watering hole, and the animals around
Quenching my thirst, I see my dish
Beautiful is nature, offering me this fish
I made a stake, from the branch I break
Into the stream, I go, as I stab and take
A quicken fire, the scent of roasted fish I make
Now fulfilled my desire, my stomach won't ache
In a corner my bed, sweet dreams tonight relate.
Awakened by the sound, loud and frightful, miles around
A dreaded bear, larger than a car, his territory I fear
Without a thought, with my stake I flee
The sounds of his victim, his saliva tasting me
Luckily I see, standing, a life-saving tree
I leap upon, I climb this one, bruises gained, my hurting knee
I gained some height, and below my plight
This animal gazing at me
"Go, and leave me be!"
"Leave me alone, get away from me!"
And in his failure, attempts to push this tree
Growing weary after, his brawl subsided with me
Trembling I was, but not of the weary cold
But delighted, I'll live today, as tomorrow my story's told
I trekked each day, all of the 200 mile
Towards the Trappers home, hopeful feelings inside
Through forested cold, and the fearful wild
This guy I knew and handshake we do
Greeting me, a warm, and welcoming smile...
S
F
B
Trekking the unwary
January 3rd, 2017.
headland harbored primitive biota abut
mint for exotic sole terrain sustaining
sole terrain sustaining seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova
seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova , et cetera gut
preserved within mine follicular pores, sans
I secured per woof and meow wing warp organic matter
heir in to fore shielded from elements akin to thatched hut
aware wrenching kamikaze eradication
of countless critters from many Godaddy longlegs;
creepy crawlers, hops scotching,
shimmying with schmaltz, moon walks, et cetera
lost when germ warfare obliterated vast majority
since advent of civilization ordained Proletariat and Plebeian Primate
(cherishing, fostering, insulating bon mot infinitesimal dot re: future mutt)
dogs and also cats off limits
asper demise of other creatures decimated – tut tut
atop thine noggin housed (within thimble size nut)
rare and near extinct flora and fauna, what
species of plants and animals, whose preserve comprised
equivalent of indigenous village people huddling within microscopic yut.
Thus, this bipedal simian angst riddled at experiences
forced at figurative crossroad
when itching scalping a dead giveaway clue
to lather up hirsute growing via bald faced code
at further expense invisible life forms such action would erode
fast dwindled diversity, hegemony, longevity
i.e. population except *****Sapiens who didst goad
forefingers needed to massage and scrub thine scalp
as like a field getting hoed
sometimes applying solely cold water knob to un load
a healthy plethora, where gushing shower head would send them
down the drain perhaps displacing their meal times,
or feasting on louse see pie ala mode
aware that survival odds regarding
getting thru water treatment plant, premonition aye node
and greater chance to avert total mortal kombat avoided
if I trekked to Antarctic anti pode
so...similar to other occasions necessitating me
to lather 50 shades of gray –
as if subjected to being snowed
quite aware many people would avoid me like the plague
(which reaction eagerly embraced) if knotty,
oily, straggly natural headresss
hence, this outlier surrendered and got gently toad
value of hygience – and lost as if playing tictactoe x/oed.
(do enjoy frolicking gently imaginatively)
County seat, of Mason County,
Washington, United States
westernmost city on Puget Sound
above ground sans tectonic plates
population 9,834 per 2010 census
end result from biological mates
maintains commission form
of government drafted by mandates.
Shelton served by small steamboats
comprising Puget Sound Mosquito Fleet
Old Settler, Irene, Willie, City of Shelton,
Marian, Clara Brown, & S.G. Simpson
logging, farming, dairying, ranching
& oyster cultivation for populace to eat
Simpson Timber Company mill
on Puget Sound's Oakland Bay over yon
dominates landscape of the down
town area as essential heart beat
Shelton identifies the "Christmas
Tree Capital" sold by the ton.
47°12'49?N 123°6'22?W (47.213702,
-123.106088) coordinate bench mark
total area of 5.9 square miles (15 km2),
of which 5.6 square miles (15 km2) land
0.3 square miles (0.78 km2) (5.60%)
water laps with an occasional errant shark
in a pinch captured, processed and canned
a delicacy that fin de siecle bony
illegal booty fined by the oceanic narc.
well nigh two and a half decades in the past
this poet trekked across America
beginning in a place called Gap
Pennsylvania - where stockpile
of Amish goodies barely did last
and vanished in a gingerly snap
of fingers, which necessitated
sustenance when van fueled i.e. gassed
up while myself or the other
driver stole a short nap
seduced to sleep by syncopated tires
as highway miles passed
inching closer to youngest sister
via this linear transcontinental lap
destination Seattle Washington
indigenous iconic statue cast.
Ronald Strickland a fine companion
(posted bulletin for traveling fine companion
at Hostelling International - Chamounix Falls Mansion
West Fairmount Park),
and boone story teller to boot
about my age (now five decades plus nine)
then trying to rake in some loot
by writing about his travels,
yet unpretentious and not able
to square an Apple pi circle
nor, calculate square a root
perhaps one day, I will surprise him
with a call and give him a toot.
Born in Ireland in eighteen seventy four
He was a remarkably brave explorer
Three times to Antartica he did go
To that barren wilderness of ice and snow.
Once with Captain Scott and twice on his own
And it was on his third visit that his bravery became known
The expedition was to reach the southern pole
For all the great explorers, it was the ultimate goal.
The Weddell sea was freezing and tightened its grip
And crushed the Endurance, the expedition ship
The crew saved all the equipment and food stores too
They were stranded on an ice floe there was nothing they could do.
But the floe breaks up and on the sea it floats
So the order was given to launch the life boats
They set sail for Elephant island in the southern ocean
And with worsening conditions approached it with caution.
It was a temporary move, they knew they couldn't stay
Shackleton had to get help, there was no other way
Except for five crewmen all the rest did remain
On the island for four months with its inhospitable terrain.
South Georgia was the place that they needed to get to
From there they would be able to launch a rescue
Eight hundred nautical miles they had to row and sail
Through gigantic waves with snow, ice and hail.
Stromness whale station, it was their goal
But on their boat the harsh conditions had taken their toll
South of the island they had to land on a beach
Thirty six hours north was help, they needed to reach.
Three of the crew were taken ill, no more could they take
So Shackleton and two others, a long trek they did make
They trekked in conditions that could have caused harm
But they reached the whale station and raised the alarm.
The three sick crewman were rescued, thankfully still alive
And the twenty two on Elephant island were struggling to survive
Penguin and seal meat was what they had to eat
But they kept their hopes up not admitting defeat.
On August the thirtieth in nineteen sixteen
A Chilean navy ship on the horizon was seen
It was Shackletons fourth attempt to rescue his crew
Their ordeal was now over, but hell they'd been through.
Written 9th January 2018
this paean to the place name sans title of poem actually mooch oh years decades? ago, when my youngest sister began her decades long residence along the Pacific Northwest.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
county seat, of Mason County, Washington, United States
westernmost city on Puget Sound above ground sans tectonic plates
population 9,834 per 2010 census end result from biological mates
maintains commission form of government drafted by mandates.
Shelton served by small steamboats comprising Puget Sound Mosquito Fleet
Old Settler, Irene, Willie, City of Shelton, Marian, Clara Brown, & S.G. Simpson
logging, farming, dairying, ranching & oyster cultivation for populace to eat
Simpson Timber Company mill on Puget Sound's Oakland Bay over yon
dominates landscape of the downtown area as essential heart beat
Shelton identifies the "Christmas Tree Capital" sold by the ton.
47°12'49?N 123°6'22?W (47.213702, -123.106088)
coordinates bench mark
total area of 5.9 square miles (15 km2),
of which 5.6 square miles (15 km2) land
0.3 square miles (0.78 km2) (5.60%) water laps
with an occasional errant shark
in a pinch captured, processed and canned
a delicacy that fin de siecle bony illegal booty
fined by the oceanic narc.
well nigh two decades in the past
this poet trekked across America beginning in a place called gap
pennsylvania - where stockpile of Amish goodies barely did last
and vanished in a gingerly snap
of fingers, which necessitated sustenance when van fueled i.e. gassed
up while myself or the other driver stole a short nap
seduced to sleep by syncopated tires as highway miles passed
inching closer to youngest sister via this linear transcontinental lap
destination Seattle Washington indigenous iconic statue cast.
Ronald Strickland a fine companion and boone story teller to boot
about my age (five decades plus two) then trying to rake in some loot
by writing about his travels, yet unpretentious and no square at root
perhaps one day, I will surprise him with a call and give him a toot.
On the 1st Day of Christmas I trekked in the Sikkim high mountains
along the tortuous but exhilarating track
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 2nd Day of Christmas I reached an idyllic hospitable hamlet,
cradled picturesquely in the deeply cut green emerald valley
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 3rd Day of Christmas I ambled through the pine and spruce thicket,
that reminded me of the Christmas time I spent at home.
They gracefully stood tall and erect on the sloping ground
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 4th Day of Christmas I got up early in the morning,
saw the scarlet sun splash gold on the Kanchenjungha peak
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 5th Day of Christmas I saw the turquoise night descend
on the snow-clad peaks with silver sequins to shine,
and my joy reached the great heights
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 6th Day of Christmas I reached a creviced indigo glacier.
The cascade of ice crept imperceptively in the U-shaped valley
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 7th Day of Christmas I stood on the shore of a transparent blue lake,
reflecting the shade of the spotless azure sky
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 8th Day of Christmas I walked up the hill up to
the towering Shivling, the static symbol of God.
Saw enthralled its magnificent divine image on the calm lake
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 9th Day of Christmas I saw a flock of yak slowly climb the steep slope.
They dislodged the loose boulders that made
rolling rocky music that echoed in the valley
of the heavenly Himalaya,
On the 10th Day of Christmas I saw a red-breasted rapturous robin
fly out of the ticket, the wings fluttered
in the flow of the fresh mountain breeze
of the heavenly Himalaya,
On the 11th day of Christmas I crossed a slim stream surging on sculpted rock.
The splashing water made leaping pearls in the dulcet domain
of the heavenly Himalaya.
On the 12th Day of Christmas I sat still by the lonesome lake,
got immersed deep in the sublime state of meditation,
felt the divine touch in the silence
of the heavenly Himalaya.
What knowledge do you have of my home?
Have you taken a walk through the cemetery?
Walking on my tracks, footprints of eternity.
Have you read about the deserts?
Thus roar, thus blow filth,
Have you, met the survivors?
Felt have you, their struggles?
In The dusts that destroy,
That whistled as they sizzled,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
You believe in the reporter,
Who experienced little of a quarter,
Of the life he broadcasts,
You let the television fool you,
Have you walked the fine line?
Have you let hunger define you?
I did. Oh I did sweat in the dust,
Trekked through the cracks,
And I, stood face up with the sands,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irritating me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
I breathed within a twister of dust,
So you wonder not of my eyes as they carry,
The memories of the old struggle,
So wonder not of my skin either,
As it bears the manuscript of my old life,
Yes I move immaculate, but do you know of my heart?
Let you not be fooled by my slenderness,
My strength far flows beyond my weight,
So I lift a whole continent with my pride,
And if I have to, I will put my life aside,
Just to fix a smile on mama Africa's face,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
A fool that I am not- is the fool that is you,
Mama is beautiful, yet you only see,
As far as her horn, and the slums,
Where the strongest among us might've been born,
Yes mama is beautiful, yet you neglect to see her exquisiteness,
How could you go to my house,
To only document the cracks on my walls?
Couldn't you walk in to my living room'
And maybe peek in to my kitchen?
Thence you might see the beauty that is my home,
How long will you only look at,
Just the color of this book's exterior?
When will you ever walk in it,
To see the beautiful illustrations within?
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're unreasonably riling me,
Cause the fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.