Tramping Poems | Examples

Soaring Affirmations

 I Am a TITAN, Solar Helmet Steady
 I Am a Golden Phenom of Self Mastery,
 Burning Bright, I Am a Diamond Soul of Opulence
 Rising in Hyperborean Confidence,
 I Am Heaven Blessed and Royally August
 I Am Valiant, I Am Gallant, I Am Robust
 I Am a Lion Blooded, Eagle Minded Conqueror
 In Total Freedom My Wings Flutter,
 Solo Ponderer, I Soul Cypher the Great Mystery
 Tramping these Legendary Victories,
 Kindling the Spark Of Hope, Ignites the Phoenix Epitome
 Golden Born, I Rise Like Joshua Over Jericho
 Fortified like Iron Pillars, I Stand Tall
 Where the Stars are Blazing, Suddenly Blazon, Suddenly Enthralled
 The Shine is of Jubilance
 I Am Shimmering in Luminance,
 Ecstatic and Exuberant
 I Am a Phosphorescence Of Exuberance,
 I Am Enlivened by the Resuscitation of the Searing Blaze
 I Am Alive, I Am Sublime, I Am Stoic in Archaic Faith,
 Star Gleaming, I Am a Metric Ton of Glorious Gold
 Blazing the Noble Path of the Eight Fold,
 Belief, it's an Absolute Must
 Full Speed Ahead, the Inner Fire Combusts
 This Luminous Torch Within I Trust
 Got me Soul Drifting Wanderlust

I'm a Great Warrior

 Shielding Darkness with Virilities of Light
 One with the Sword of the Most High,
 Promethean by the Thunder, Supreme by Rain
 Forever Rising on this Quest Uncaged,
 I AM the Blazing One, Soul Glowing like I'm Galilean
 Marble Forged, Spirit Gleaming Herculean
 Swinging Boons like Viking Maces I ride for the Great North
 Tramping the Heroic Course,
 Purged through the furnace of the Eternal Awe
 I Rise Upward above the Dross,
 I Am a Great Warrior, Solar Rexus by name
 Set Ablaze, I'm a Bonfire of the Sacred Flame
 With the Blade of Thy Will, Thy Kingdom Come
 ZIN URU by the Might,   I'm the Blazing Sun

Going to Semaphore Beach

Hot summer afternoons 
and the call 
of glistening water lapped
a child's mind with a want.
Just home from work
we would pester our father
until he relinquished
and took us to the beach.

At low tide,
feet had to splash through 
what seemed like a mile 
of ridged and rippled shallows 
before the water was deep 
enough to swim
and wheeling arms 
could be swung 
without touching the bottom.

Heated all day 
by a January sun,
the water was as warm 
as pee. Long tentacles 
of dead, brown seaweed 
clung to arms
as if trying to snare
a soul in revenge 
for some storm torn horror
that had ripped it out its bed.

But all too often 
it ended the same.
Tramping back to shore
across the endless shallows,
feeling hotter than when
you first went in. Flies clouding 
sweaty faces and then
there was the hot vinyl
back seat of the car
to burn bums
on the way home.
All washed micraclessly 
from memory when, next day,
the mercury nudged 100
and a want
beckoned us to the beach again,
still no wiser 
than the day before.

Pennine Chain

Pennine Chain
                  by Bob Moore © 2021

I’ve camped in the hills of the Pennine Chain
in the cold, and the snow, and the pouring rain
and if I was young I would do it again
but the days of my youth are behind me

Beyond Hayfield, at Kinder Scout
each weekend I would be, out and about
tramping and camping, and seeing the sights
free as the birds all around me.

Follow the road, the Pennine Way
built by the Romans, back in the day
Climb the downfall, and Jacobs Ladder
enjoy all the peace travels with me

Now back home to reality, the week is new
money to earn, and work to do
back to my life, and daily toil
with friends and family around me. 

Bob Moore.

Heart-Shaped Clouds

Clouds playing around
In the sky tramping above the ground
Dangling in merry-go-round
Smiling at you year-round

One cloud zoomed outbound
Glittering ice flakes fall in mound
Flowers and trees have all found
Heart-shaped clouds in pieces on the mound

Crystals in diamonds plodded on the ground
Stayed and freezed like a heart spellbound
Prayers in hearts everywhere that astound
Heart-shaped clouds in you, dwell pound for pound

Soldier of Fortune 1919

I’m a soldier of fortune 
Just home from the War
Begging for food from
The woman at this door.
She took me to her kitchen 
Fed me cold pie and beer
Looked at me intensely
No anxiety or fear.

She murmured very quietly 
There’s a human under there
Then she took some scissors
And barbered my hair.
Then with what it seemed
Was a practiced grace
Produced a cut throat razor
To carefully shave my face.

She looked at my quite shyly
Surprising  me when she said
Such a handsome gentleman
Deserves a night in my bed.
We shared together then an
Hour of pleasure and delight.
And then she held me tightly
For the rest of that night.

She asked me to leave
Just as dawn had broken
One kiss goodbye,  very
Few words being spoken
I think perhaps she’d lost
Her beloved in my war
But I’d never asked and 
She never said anymore.

I now carried more rations
In my much heavier pack
Which was again slung
Hanging from my back.
And I’m back tramping the roads
Knowing they’d call me back when
It suited their interests to make me
A Soldier of fortune once again.

In the Chilly Month of December

In The Chilly Month of December

And so comes Winter, after late Fall,
Where from ashen skies of low-lying clouds,
Snowflakes fall enshrouding the town
And piling on people tramping around,
Who are out and about embracing nature,
In the chilly month of December.

Snow fills footprints extinguishing traces
Of icy stares glinting on smiling faces,
From people uttering steamy graces,
When encroaching upon each other’s spaces,
Expressed gaily with warmth of timbre
In the chilly month of December.

And this I say to these venturous kind,
Who are enjoying the wintry weather,
“Beautiful the sight that enthralls my eye.”
In the chilly month of December.

Marianne

Marianne.

Where are you, Marianne stealing my heart
tramping it in the mud, yet still, I asked for more
Marianne fell in love again. I saw her kiss
another man, the green monster of jealousy 
tore my mind asunder.
In the forest of darkness, I lost my way.
“Let her go,” a friend said she is not for you alone.”
I had planned, next time I met her to say
“I hand my love back to you to keep” the idea
was for her to cry.
It didn’t work out that way when I met her
with her new friend, I asked her to return the key
to my flat; leaving the pair, I said, in sudden
anger: “ off Marianne.”

Pasipaaro - Exchange

Pasipaaro
- Exchange

 

He envisioned a dreary end
Swaddled in mystery

clouded in mischief

warding and wishing away
the gathering mist
outlined over his head
He is tramping

as he is toiling

Trading places with shifting feet
Stealing glances from clad faces

eyes blinking to the streak of dawn
He fell on his knees
Unthreading laces
with awon eda orun" heavenly beings

Ponte Vecchio

Ponte Vecchio

Gift of history, an ancient relic
Clutter of the curious, devotional caravans
Different tongues, riot of voices
Spectrum of colors, collage of faces
 
Tramping hoards where horses galloped
Swarming the breadth and treading the length 
For the glitter of diamond and gold or
A cavalcade of the fleeting folklore

Majestic arches in a stance
Of a gymnast on the stage
Behold the glory cherish the glow 
Path is marked history shows

Perched on the banks, center stage
Remember the bridges east and west 
Crumbled under the weight of time
Bit by bit and grain by grain at a time

Bridges in the depth of Arno
Stark reminders to us all
Fame and pomp have passing allure
But your role in history shall endure

Personal Vicissitudes Pronounced Irrepressible Self Loathing Part Ii

Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws 
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor

diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.

Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide 
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.

Over the Moorlands

Sullen would be onset of grey, indivisible-dawning;
Soon, lifting mist dissipating beneath the brae.
Comes then a gentle heat arising with the morning...
Thus the remaking of another new, glorious day.

Sun-kissed slopes now aglow with purple blaze,
Vast moorlands slowly stirring from quiet slumber;
Clamorous whaups, hanging above the veiling haze,     
Burbling down to disappear into the tangled tundra.      

Together, paired oystercatchers pipe in rapid flight;      
Skipping wheatears explore dry-stone walls.
There, old Barjarg, aglow in Junes vibrant light,
And I awakening to the hidden otters whistling calls.

Oh! to stroll once more upon the Cree's hallowed banks 
Inside the sanctuary of her jealously guarded hills.
When tramping through the myriad of dew-drenched ranks
That had across the sheep-strewn meadow spilled.

If I but could joyfully follow the meandering course,
Again, of those rocky, gurgling, opaque, amber waters.
Thoughts, such as these, that surrender to a remorse...        
Nought but wistful memories that provoke to taunt us.

Rods of Steel Will Bend

I heard the steady cadence
The drum roll in the street
A thousand tramping soldiers 
Tasting of defeat.
The sound of occupation
I thought it could not be,
A flag so full of justice
Would always flutter free.
I had dreamed a thousand dreams
And cast them to the wind
But often had forgotten
Even rods of steel will bend.
Raucous laughter melted
In the wake of dust and steam
Then suddenly awakened
I found it all a dream.

Nomads

March field
       snow patched scars
       deer forage
       green stubble flirting
       the ground parsimonious
       its fast food scarcity

Deer raise their heads
       regard my presence, murky
Their eyes clear, deep, almond round
       shaking something in me
       solemnizing freedom

Nature's rated stature
       flecked streamlined beauty
       compact torsos
       triggered taunt launching

A thought that trophy room plundering
       could cut nimble hoofers
       complicated narrative
       the jagged edge of hunting

Deer holding my fixed attention
       that slips from boxed corners
       making space for reconsidering
       to forego what's crushing
       a blend to nomadic tramping
       competing urges

Rippled cues of wishing
       to know life in rhythmic movement
       to singe bits of living
       blurred escape
       like deer in hurdle leaps
       to flee,
       light flickering vanity
       that craves invisible spaces
                                        







Poem revised: April 22, 2021

City Park

The park empties
inside a nightgown of dusk.
They have talked
yet only now are they speaking
through a rhythmic articulation
of the unsaid. 
She a trembling levee through which
a river seeks a sea,
he a plow
in the hands of dark angels.

There are groves of trees,
shadows in hiding,
places buried deep
into the crux of earth-ripe passions. 
There they peel the layers,
conceal and reveal,
utter body prayers,
swear to retain and preserve
every demanding ounce of themselves
as one being.
The park glides into a dreaming starlight,
they leave, holding a tenderness
like a frail child between them.

A garish daylight glares, reshapes the park,
with a stark and angular graphite.
Walls and barriers are duct taped together,
the sky patched and reeling,
hideaways questioned and scuff-marked
by a tramping tread.
The city reclaims its grout and mortar
crouches above a grey and  concrete claw.
Crumbs of an ill-defined regret
are left out for the sparrows.

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