"backpacking" poems
I sit at the bar of life
Looking forward to happy hour
Another beer
A solicited romance
Something
Even a bowl of peanuts that never came
How I yearn for conversation
Warmth
I can only dream
Seated a few chairs away
Is a rainbow haired hillbilly
Backpacking possums
Gees
Can you imagine
He said he lives under
The outskirts of ****** land
He smiles
I smile
I catch a bee from behind
As the bartendress walk by
My eyes look at her behind
And catch honey
My claim to fame
Oh how I wish I were a bee
And had somebody
Like the rainbow haired hillbilly
That tends under the outskirts of ****** land
I look over at him
He's always smiling
Maybe it has something to do
With playing a fiddle and finding music, finding new paths
Goats and milk
And backpacking possums
Or maybe its sublime
Oh, how I wish I could smile
Feel warmth
Sunshine
And look into her peering eyes
Logan Robertson
7/16/18
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
My Little Black Bear
Down by the singing river
Dancing with fate
Little ducks take to the rapids
Away from your dinner table
Off to the banks
You stand your grounds
Tall as you are wide
Your initials in the terrain
Cursive is the eye tooth that reigns
I see you
Posing with the lilies,
Elves and dwarfs
As the western sky looks down
Casting whispers
Is your closet filled
With both helping
The meek and sustenance
Under the skirts of nature
You're having an ****
Robbing all the salmon
And berries
Then slumbering under a tree
Tummy full
Those big black eyes of yours
Catching shut-eye,
a couch potato, a game of the week
Your wide open mouth
Catching a bee,
A refreshment
That long smile on your face
Backpacking a dream
Mama and her cubs having your back
In some ways
My little black bear ...
hear, here
I see you, in me
Logan Robertson
8/08/2018
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.
I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.
I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.
Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.
Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.
Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.
The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.
I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
This is the mountain I'm climbing
Due to circumstantial timing
The triumphant peaks change over time
Just one of this mountain's many crimes
The rocks on this mountain are flawed
But the mountain is flawless
Nature enforces restrictive laws
So my life becomes lawless
Through this insanity
I can't find my humanity
It's gagged and bound
In the lost and found
On this lonely hill
Where I get my fill
It's an uphill battle
Getting above this mountain
My conscience rattles
My eyes pour like a fountain
When I see everything suddenly
Like halos hovering
Over my past
Lying dead in the grass
Sometimes I must traverse a log to go over a bog
Then I must do the inverse to go under the smog
There are countless endeavors
Through varying weather
That leave me very confused
And frantically panicked
This mountain provides a view
Of the entire planet
This mountain made of dust
I scale because I must
Stillness develops rust
When cliffs await us
I see dead pioneers on the ground
I see weary travelers all around
I see fellow climbers as brothers
Unless I see them as a lover
Then I want to go cave exploring
Before my grave ends the story
Things should get weird
If banality is to be feared
In order to make a mark
Even if it's in the dark
To be perfectly candid
This mountain is my canvas
I carve my face in it as I go up
But my face changes as I grow up
So I start swag jacking
The backpacking
Mirror macking
Confidence lacking
Mountain attacking
Climbers
So I can find a crevasse to fit into
This mountain is easy to give in to
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 12:20 AM UTC
Do I take you with me on this adventure I have been planning all my life?
On my journey I have dreamt of in math classes, late nights in bed,
and on lazy Sunday afternoons in the sun?
My plans for my adventure have never been static and have constantly changed over my few young years...
In my mind I have gone to Art school in Paris and backpacking through Morrocco and teaching in Costa Rica and done the Inca trail in Peru and spent time at a Kibbutz in Israel and volunteered in India and sailed all the Seven Seas...
Now as I stand on the presipice of my Epic Journey,
not afraid, but invigorated, I have a choice;
I can go alone; strong, fearless, ready to embrace the wolrd with arms wide open, wings spread and nothing and no one to hold me back from my dreams...
Or I can take you with me, share my adventure with you, and start a new journey that includes you?
We could make a path, you and I, through the world, where ever we choose to go, make our own adventure, new dicoveries... and have a very long journey together, and instead of worrying about old plans, make new memories.
Would you like to come with me on my adventure, my love?
Will you start a journey with me?
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
When backpacking, there are certain
rules that everyone knows like
take less than you can carry;
you’ll pick up things as you go.
Be careful when hitchhiking;
follow your gut instinct. Always.
Stick to your budget;
you don’t wanna run dry in Kansas.
What no one actually tells you is:
Don’t fall in love
with a town or
with a boy in a town.
Oops.
A boy who is settled and nestled in a town is dangerous.
The other roaming, free-loving boys are fine, because
they understand and you understand
that, like a Lynyrd Skynyrd song, your
both freebirds who must be traveling on.
These boys are easy to love and set free.
Townies, on the other hand, are like rose-colored poison
which seeps into your every thought,
but then you don’t really mind.
They show you that their quaint little town
doesn’t just look like magic.
It is magic.
They show you that there’s something beautiful in
greeting the mailman with
“how’s the wife?”
the charming town diner
where the pie is county-famous
the declaration of love on the water tower
written in red spray paint.
The boy shows you how to fall in love with a town,
and in the town you fall in love with the boy.
They should start printing warning labels on backpacks:
WARNING: don’t fall in love with a boy
who is settled and nestled in a pint-sized town
because he will clip you wings.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
raised to be poise
to become a doctor
to have a family
to wait until marriage
to attend church every sunday
to do everything by the rules
to live a life I don't want to live
I want to be free
I want to travel the world
to seek answers to questions I don't even have yet
to donate my time, helping those who can't help themselves
to find love in mysterious ways
to finish a hundred books
to do something reckless
to have no responsibilities
to go backpacking
to learn new languages
to write a book
to go sky diving
to do a million more things
to live my own life
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
What is your touch?
It is the physical sensation of electromagnetism repelling our atoms,
It's the chain reaction set off through my nervous system,
Culminating in my cortex, where it is comprehended as your touch.
*In dim streetlight through your window,
With just a crescent of your face illuminated.
With your soft eyes, and memories of our backpacking trip mixing in
Like honey mixes with warm tea, or coffee.
With ***** brown curls around your head like a halo.*
Still, what is your touch?
It is like a ripple through me, and it ripples out into the world
It is more present in my action every day
As you take down my walls
As your lips send soothing down to my core
As you make me believe
In love
Again.
It is everything that went into making you,
No better concoction
Has ever been brewed.
And the way that you move
Makes little eddies of awe that captivate my eyes,
They cannot move.
So you see,
It's not hard to convince myself
That your touch is everything.
Two ends of the universe,
You're setting me free
That anything happened at all
Was as great a miracle
As your touch is to me
It's giving me shivers
And melting my heart--
There is nothing in this world like your touch.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake
Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek.
Our tent next to the still waters.
Eventide respite.
Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset.
Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air.
Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day.
A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind.
Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects.
The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Trudging through the rain
but still smiling and laughing
Hopelessly in love
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
I.
He carried the weight of his World on his back.
Backpacking from the house to the oven
to the house to the oven
to the house to the oven
to the broken house he called his own.
His World was a paranoid wife,
a broken son,
and a heartbroken daughter.
No one ever offered to carry his cross.
II.
She paces back and forth
in the confines of the kitchen
and finally breaks down,
slouching down against the cabinets.
The pills inch their way down her throat,
and her tears wash them down
to the very depths of her soul.
III.
His eyes are bloodshot and glazed
as he holds the blue glass that burns with
the smell of illegal freedom.
He exhales a sigh of smogrelief,
letting the real world disintegrate
and entering the Hallucination world,
where nothing can pierce his skin.
IV.
She stares at the face on the computer screen.
A young boy - blond hair and green eyes.
He stares at another girl in the photo,
her hair blond and her eyes green.
The computer screen starts to crack,
and she realizes that so is this youngheart love.
If only she knew how love really hurt.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 2:51 AM UTC
I can't help but wonder
Why
Owning
The civilized lifestyle
Is so unbearably difficult for me
I'll co-work with my adrenaline
And take flight in experience
I'll take on the occupation
Of people watching,
Backpacking country to country
Indulging in culture
Surely I would be promoted,
"Employee of the year"
I could do that forty hours a week,
Even sixty
My whole life
Now that is a career.
I could marry Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel
And hold hands with the Louvre
And make love to a portrait created at Montmarte
Now that is a vow I could make.
I could hold music in my womb
Lyrical flesh and formation
I would allow notes and rhythmic sensation to feed off of my nutrients
Pushing my body into stretch mark melody.
I could birth an entire album
Now that is motherhood.
But alas,
I do not live in the city that resides in my mind.
I am told to marry a man,
Birth a baby,
Own an occupation,
And dismiss
The yearnings of my heart,
Cursing civilization as I go.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
Shoot at the Blue white,
Moon sprouting Nevada dry desert,
An eyelash of God on a Train falls,
Pedal to Pedal,
Sand dust to Beach love making,
God is on a Train,
Crossing Afghanistan's oil fields,
Backpacking thru rubble russian poverty streets,
God,
The red pigeon,
Perched as a stone city Gargoyle,
Watches from,
Dilated pupils,
As April's blooming flowers,
Catch a winter cold,
God,
Came by himself,
A jean'd pocket of melodic junk,
Hiding in Apartment whiskey bottles,
in broom stick cupboards,
in Vinyls,
That only play backwards,
And the boxelder is,
removed from my,
Iron rust tongue,
To fly,
or.
What it ever chooses to do.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I listen for the caramel sound
of your sweet voice
sitting on
a weathered old bench
at Vista 3 in Erna Nixon park
the wind sighs where
so many have waited
I listen for the still small voice
a mosquito whines in my ear
and the lanky shadows of
late afternoon backpacking
through the swampy wetlands
listen too….
flowers bloom, long trumpets
from our ears
I catch a glimpse of the One
with lotus petaled lips and orange
robes
disappearing just beyond the
vermilion horizon
I run to catch up with You
O elusive One
always one step ahead of me
listen to the pitter patter of
my heart
http://www.sairapture.com/karunanta-ranga.html
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
In these strange lands I deposit my sleep
into a small percentage of the neat twenty-four boxes in which I can make a memory.
The clock runs 24 instead of two swings of 12.
I wish it could all be black and white
not Greenscale.
In the movement of the long white snake through the ocean of soft hills,
they glide up and down like a bloated wave in the See.
I stare blankly in disbelief at the rows of wise buildings.
As if they are unreal, like a theme park.
Rivers quietly saw through the hard earth
knowledgeable trees gather at her banks.
Vast and soft.
Green clouds of leaves.
And the airplanes slice through the heavens
leaving a trail of white blood.
Raging with accents of gold from the sun.
As she makes her journey to you, westbound, southbound, homebound.
Her last fingers of light drizzling inside me like golden syrup to sweeten the foul, rotten darkness that feasts on my starved love.
But I shall find sweet redemption, in these strange Femdlände of my blood.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
backpacking in the Jefferson wilderness
eating fresh wild blueberries
warmed by a late spring sun
the crystal blue sky captures me
and I stand, transfixed –
How could we have collectively been so blind?
pumping Co2 into the atmosphere
dropping atomic bombs
and an atoll
named after a bikini…
and the plastic island –
A wispy cirrus cloud
floats gracefully overhead
and takes my thoughts
on a journey
distant smokestacks dot the horizon
and drilling platforms stand menacingly
just beyond the shore,
and inside the bellies of sea creatures …
the plastic –
readjusting my pack
and leaning over to re-tie my shoestrings
the slow crawl of an ant packing lunch
sends me reeling
so many hungry children
just in the state I live
hopeless and *****
in run down or condemned houses
waiting, with tear streaked cheeks
for someone to show up with dinner
as the third foodless day
is always the hardest –
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
steal your own words
preach, have a cig
have a glass of water
transform
bigger gods, ya know
bigger, fatter, just ****** lovely
bloodier
god available 24/7, first 3 months free
great walls& warnings
great flood of sweat& tears
buildings higher each 500 years
( respect mountains madly
bring cross to the top of them
they must need it so there )
"your land is in for years of desperation + need
come back where you belong, where you were given"
statues crying in religious ecstasies
backpacking pilgrims so far in the street
they end up not in church, but steps of a modern arts museum
gather lucky fortunes and buy pepper-pots
live earthly walking on air
**** it - Jesus just loved water ski
**** on salt
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
Soon, we will be immersed in the woods, Along the lake and under the trees.
For 300 miles, we'll be together,
Welcoming the sunrise and
Kissing the sunset goodnight.
We will dream under the stars
And share our thoughts with the moon.
The birds will sing for us
As Spring grows.
The breeze will travel with us,
Whispering to us through the leaves.
Soon, we will be immersed in love.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
Our entire lives are spent preparing.
Prepare for high school.
Prepare to go to college.
Prepare to qualify for a job.
Write your will and prepare to be expelled from earth forever.
And then you're done. That's it.
But why?
I want to go backpacking through a European country with the friends I keep?
At 6 am I want to get on a train and stay on with no destination, but only to speak to passengers.
I want to sleep on the beach and get chased off the next morning because it's illegal.
And how am I meant to find time for that?
I need money and employment and social status to do anything that isn't simplistic.
I need answers. And I need to live.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
I’m starting to think she may have died
gone up to blue tick heaven after being verified
Caught up in a mockery of an internet led democracy
World wide fame to blame for the tragedy
Her Tightened grip on reality was merely a saga of concise works of fiction.
She tried to Reach out for profanity and found a hundred degrees reality.
Well It all means nothing to nobody now
Here comes latest trend you’d be mad not to bow.
Been inactive for days lost track of the newest craze
Whilst her exploits were insightful
They ultimately led to her downfall
Spin the wheel line up to play the game
Because nobody remembers your name
Only your handle.
I’m starting to think maybe she lost her mind
all of the tape unravelled when she tried to hit rewind.
There was no filter there when she opened the window to look outside
without the second source she was unable to decide
she went offline to go backpacking in the sky I wonder why?
It all seems so alternate
With her curtains drawn at the break of dawn it seems so analogue.
She had a shockproof phone case but I can’t say the same for her mind
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
My mind is in a constant dream
I used to dream of adventures
Solo adventures
Traveling the world
Living free
Loving myself first
Nature second
And maybe then a guy
On the occasional lonely night
Then I fell for you
and you changed everything
I can no longer dream of anything without you
My mind works you into each new dream I have
Thailand
I guess a travel buddy would be pretty fun
Boathouse
Living with our best friend is going to be dope
Backpacking Central America
We have a lot of shopping to do babe...
Adventure after adventure with you
I want to do
go
see
everything with you
My mind is in a constant dream
But it's different now
My dreams
your dreams
are slowly becoming our dreams
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
Dear Love,
I found you in the back alley way
near the barn on a bike
and swimming in the glen.
Saw you jump right in,
*** out, into a freezing pool -
middle fingers in the air
like some weird baptismal funeral.
I felt the weight of your losses on my shoulders
like a backpacking trip from hell,
and the way your lips pressed against one another
in an empty room.
Heard you laugh in an empty room
and fill cars with God-awful karaoke,
windows down and smiling the whole time.
I tasted your tears when you laughed
so hard that you cried, or cried so hard that you laughed,
bittersweet like a chipwich in a 711 parking lot.
Smelt your pain like a two-day-old dish
just waiting to be scrubbed, and
your happiness in clean clothes and roadside flowers.
They say soul mates aren't real,
its just who you put the work into.
Each day I wake up to you,
raw and real and still trying,
still learning and loving and giving it your all,
and honey that's just why I love,
Myself
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 2:34 PM UTC
Words fail to describe
My heart's lullaby
It sings a beautiful toon
That reaches all the way up to the moon
It's a promising song
One that reminds me to hold on and be strong
For many times I feel weak
But when I hear it I once again get up from my knees
I would be lying
If I went denying
My multitude of blessings spread through my years
Why did I waste so much time on fake friends and fake fears
What I've realized is right now I'm just Here
And I've learned to love being in my warm bed instead of backpacking
Those dreams may be accomplished later, or never at all...
All I can experience right now is Here...
And I choose to enjoy and revel in this very moment.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
a lost cafe hidden by the tumult of a rising
city;
backpacking through lands unknown to the ascetic individual.
in fields of flowers and small lakes kept secret from the men
of business who seek the thrill of a silent corner book store
and the the bustle of an airport at
noonday, quickly and quietly bypassing a bashful stranger
lost in lands all their own.
in castles on clouds and beds of rolling waves
only seen by creatures unseen by
man
whose joy is found through the stable beat
of feet on three am pavement and a rhythmic
discovery of wheels against earth l e a d i n g the way to a distant land
surrounded by an azure sky
inhabited solely by the deep voice of a weary guitar.
here remain the lost pieces to the puzzle
waiting to be made w h o l e
four arms four legs one heart one soul
one being too powerful
left in two
but in the end
if you were to find yourself on the other side
of life never crossing the path of another soul in pursuit
of your own
it is because you need not another
to complete a soul as your own
but only the soul you already are
and of all the souls yours is the most powerful for it is
c o m p l e t e as it was made.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC