"knapsack" poems
Two young brothers are left at home,
All by their lonesome selves,
The older one notices a new toy,
Sitting high up on a shelf.
He climbs up and brings on down,
What he believes is a toy gun,
He thinks about the games they’ll play,
Boy this sure will be fun.
He aims the ‘toy’ at his little brother,
And shoots him in the head,
But that gun was not a toy at all,
And soon the three-year-old is dead.
When a child dies,
All the stuffed animals cry,
Alone on a shelf,
They sit by themselves,
In a cold lonely room,
Like a final tomb.
Johnny’s tired of being bullied at school,
But every dog has its day,
Though all his classmates seem so mean,
Johnny will make sure they all pay.
The next day at school will be different,
From a knapsack he pulls out a gun,
Suddenly he starts shooting his classmates,
Shoots them in the back as they run.
Soon most of the class has been shot,
And their young bodies are lying there dead,
With one bullet left in the chamber,
Johnny puts the gun to his own head.
When a child dies,
All the angels cry,
The tears flowing down,
On the sad little town,
It’s a cold, cold rain,
But it won’t numb the pain.
For Jose this is the biggest day in his life,
It’s his gang initiation in the ‘hood,
He must seek out a rival gang member,
With a couple of shots he’ll be good.
Jose packs his piece and extra clips,
And his driver takes him to the spot,
He takes aim at his helpless victim,
And another is dead with just one shot.
But that one bullet it ricocheted,
You hear a young mother scream and cry,
As she realizes her young son is hit,
On a cold dark street he is left to die.
When a child dies,
The whole world cries,
All lives matter, big and small,
I ask you people, heed the call,
Please stop the hate, before it’s too late,
For the future of us all.
10-27-15.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
you wedge your pointer finger between your canines-
in an attempt to appear sublime- or nervous- or seductive
either way it doesn't succeed.
your tooth, teeth
speck of blood, bleed
emerging as you pierce your calloused
yellow patch of skin
(layers & layers of the girls you've touched before)
but you crave one more-
for in every sleepless night
there's a quote to be fill- a new slit to drill-
you're a man.
i can sense it-
throbbing and shaking beneath your olive exterior
how you long to drag
your now bloodied, prior prettied
finger up an off white thigh-
to disregard the things obliged-
to forge the paradigm
from faulty tools,
splintered and battered in a worn down knapsack
duct taped to a hunching back,
you're a man.
thoughts of droning monotone
quiet your hungry bones
(i can hear them)
rattling as you ****
your head and lift that heavy glance up to me.
i can see you,
flopping and thrusting and sweating, which
after years of curiosity has handed me
nothing,
but sweaty sheets and burning ***
i lay beneath you, silent
i'm a woman.
avert your eyes ( i am tempted to plead)
from the onset of premature varicose veins
(i am pale, glasslike, arched & stained)
allow me to suffocate the already immune-
girls born into the world with big black brandings
stamped onto their lightly acne ridden foreheads.
(SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE)
trim your ribs, shave off the cellulite-
turning a blind eye to accessible insight..
a salad for lunch, make it dinner too.
finger down your throat, orange acid hurling,
stick like dancers twirling,
they bring tears to your eyes,
if only {you} possessed the grace-
but there are pounds to erase.
i'm a woman.
thirteen years of advertisements stapled to your eyes
standing barefoot in a bath tub with chunks of blood
running down shaking legs
kicking off a now crimson pair of old underwear-
stuck & tangled on trembling feet
[ silence your voice and push up your *******
til they're touching your neck.
get a nose job
get a blow job
you're a woman ]
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
I read a stack of psychology books
When my mind went off the tracks
Now I’m but a therapist
With a knapsack on my back
I’ve gone my way a wandering
Through the depths of misery
I come from Babylonia
With a Bible Belt
Whipping me
Borne of milk and honey
The hungry heart is doomed
Ate my cake and ice cream
Everything I could consume
Now I’m old and thirsty
Setting at this ***** bar
Looking for a meaning
Of life as yet so far
....
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Come on over and sit right down
The storyteller has come to town.
So many stories I have acquired and that's a fact....I keep them hidden in my knapsack in a book that's white and black.
This a story about you.......It was a day just like this .....a total stranger came to offer you A gift.
It was wrapped in the most beautiful paper one has ever seen. The workmanship was awesome.....some would say prestine.
He leaned on his cane .....due to a bad leg. He hurt it one night wrestling until the early morn......he also received a gift like a mother who cuddles her newborn.
So ....as he leaned upon the cane and lit his corncob pipe ....and blew smoke in the air. The extravagant gift was placed on the chair.
He said "This gift that is contained in this box is something that everyone wants." " You have have been chosen to receive this gift." "You don't have to take it.....you can give it to another.....if you chose. Although....it wouldn't be wise to make such a move."
The gift is still sitting in that chair......should I open it or leave it there?
A potential to change my life and end the strife I face on a daily basis. This isn't a deserted scene where you will see a thirst quenching oasis.
My basis for this story is about choices.....you have so many voices guiding your every thought......sometimes we chose wisely......and other times not so much.
These are the occasions when we lose touch or sight between right or wrong......the consequences for that wrong selection.......will have me singing a sad song.
If I chose wisely the day will be a lot easier to travel...not a perfect ride.....but I will arrive with all my bags in tow.
Chose wisely ........
So....he gathered his belongings and blew a smoke ring in the air.......and hobbled off into the distance. He hummed a jovial tune and yelled back that he would return soon.
The Storyteller...........
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
Oh, how could I have been so careless with time?
Trying to catch hummingbirds with a hula-hoop.
All the un-watered whims,
planted in subconscious deep;
inside great empty tiger cages
that capture only the echoes,
and photographic negatives of dreams.
With a knapsack chock full of stars,
and clouds, fully reviewed then abandoned
at random. I have been spinning separate
from the world; wearing time capriciously
on my wrist, fully reviewed then abandoned at random.
Maybe only clocks are careful with time . . .
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"
her heart was a red
fire alarm
going off
with nobody
paying it
any mind
her heart was
an evening hillside
as the sun went down
the light stealing
into the ground
her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks
with one link
missing
or an earring found far
too late many many
years later
her heart was a lute
that was mute
unplayed for
many many moons
her heart
was a house
burningburningburning down
razed to the ground
the sneer of her
pyromanic lover
lost in the shadows
her heart was
the junk mail
that came in one door &
out the other
instant *******
she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE
her heart was
a crystal ball
that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all
her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail
that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall
her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack
that held all
she had known
her heart was
the forgotten iron
branding itself into
her nice new blouse
her heart was
a poppy seen
from a passing train
there&gone again
her heart
full of the perfume
of memories that refused
to ever
...go away.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Anyone can share their body.
But to bear ones soul to the eyes
of another is the epitome of being naked.
To expose your barriers,
to open up to that person,
knowing that at any moment they could change their mind.
Looking past make up,
skin tones,
weight and self esteem, there lies an entity all in its own.
Strong, but yet a piece is missing.
A piece where you find you fit perfectly.
If only they would allow you to cradle and nature their soul
with the care of a mother to an infant.
But then you spot it,
a hint of distrust.
There is no such thing as free lunch, or so they say.
You cut down your barriers,
Pushing past the walls you’ve built up,
And past the trust issues.
You lie there, open, vulnerable,
Just as they and you understand their distrust.
Distrust not for them but for the carelessness of man.
To carry a soul is not like carrying a purse, or a knapsack.
You swallow it.
It becomes a part of you, and you apart of it.
You find yourself becoming one with something bigger than yourself.
And it’s terribly frightening, isn’t it?
You can feel it can’t you?
Two hearts, and yet one heart beat.
Four lungs, and yet one breath.
You can feel the blood gushing to your ears as you carry
Around this burden if you think of it that way.
But it’s a beautiful burden, one you nurture, you allow to grow,
and yet it scares you as it grows.
As you can’t find yourself as yourself.
It becomes “we” and no longer “me”
It becomes “Us” and no longer “I”
The change in the air is palpable.
It’s frightening,
For both of you.
You can count the heart beats of a lone cricket until you meet again,
Until you kiss again.
But the kiss is different, not entirely in its taste but in it’s dress.
It’s like being kissed by a star.
You’re not sure where you begin and it ends.
You don’t want to, do you?
Now there’s a permanent lazy smile plastered across your face.
As if you’ve got a secret riddle that no one can solve.
But you don’t.
You’ve found it.
THE IT.
What scientists search for.
The meaning to life resting in your heart
and dancing just on the outskirts of your sanity.
It’s funny.
Soul mates always sounded like something Hollywood
Would use to get you to purchase a ticket.
Now your soulmate has brought you to purchase
An Investment.
An Investment in them and life.
*When I typed in the title, the read squiggly line came up at the bottom, I realized soulmates isn't a word it's a concept. Possibly might change the title later.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
He travels the sphere
As he sail across
the ocean of fear
He has thirst for experience
Just like hunters eye for a deer
He carries his knapsack
Ready to set off for a journey
With 2 years before his comeback
He leaves the land of brasa
Playin' his Red Hot Chili soundtrack
Enamored by her glance
He met this gal
He offers her to dance
Singing their hearts out
As if he was stuck in a trance
Little did he know she's a faker--
Alluring travellers with one deep gaze
Her ability to paralyse the sufferer
And words as sharp as knife
Makes her one hell of a lucifer
From a heartbreaker
He thought he had a chance
He swore to never wander
And to not set foot
In another land ever
again
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
the plantation that housed both my body mind soul had fallen on hard times.union soldiers had plundered the crops and taken every thing worth stealing.when word spread from plantation to plantation that president abreham Lincoln had something called the emancipation prolimantion that set us fre and we were no longer enslaved . able bodied and once docile slaves ran of in all directions but I stayed behind with the old and spirit weary faithful who seemed dazed and listless.my mistres was the only white face among us.i still wore the faint imprint of the daily chains worn like bracelets .that spring day in the kitchen while preparing black coffee and biscuits the little left for mistress and me I felt eager white hands on my breasts,than the cloth shirt hiding my nakedness was ripped away as pink hard manhood invaded my insides.the intense pain rocked all senses and tears flooded out like a dam unloosed.my screams bounced off each enclosed wall.yet no one came to make it stop.as he rode the waves of his personal pleasure my shut off mind could see visions of running through creek beds and swimming through rivers with a knapsack with two linen shirts two pairs of pants one jacket one pair of shoes one pair of socks parting gifts from my mistress tied atop my wooly head and most of al being able to sing with a loud free voice a song yet sung.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Stop.
Breathe.
Write.
My heartbeat slows as the words flow out
Sometimes I can't believe these words come from my mouth
Or my fingers should I say perhaps
Nonetheless, these are mine
I keep them in this mind I call my knapsack
In this knapsack of mine,
Are the things people never see
So to write from it is hard sometimes
These are my personal feelings
I'm tired of being true to everyone but myself
It's okay that I'm not okay, it's okay to need a little help
But don't listen to them when they say,
"You can't do this on your own"
They only say that because they couldn't
Girl, they don't know the ways you're strong
I gotta keep putting faith in these bones
I possess the only arms that I've ever called home
My soul is independent because my strength runs deep
And to be able to see that now, means a lot to me
I've come a long way
And I've still got a long way to go
But don't think I'll ever say,
"I can't do this on my own."
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
What am I?
Mother, father, (ladies first)
Can I be pretty?
It's warm in here, a green-
house of orchids. The ladies
& gentlemen come in to
have a look, woman's always
first.
At least,
give me the benefit of doubt;
Will I ever be pretty?
Doesn't matter much to me,
only, ladies first,
describe what it means to be
...human-god.
Human-god, human-god.
Jesus, and
I can carry my doubt like
a knapsack
through the cloud of eye-ful
bodies, (fellow gods)
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
A broken guitar tells me to shut it
on every rest note.
And I tell myself to
ditch old baggage
on the side of the road
to clean my tattered knapsack
of cobwebs and broken light bulbs.
So I divest,
Decompress in present
because right now, I'm at peace.
You speak over church bells
at the top of the hour
and I listen like
nothing else matters.
But I only hear the future
My future, your future, our future
the world's future.
It's not often,
but every once in a while
midnight slaps me with a sound
I can't explain.
Even if I explain myself
I ramble around the point
like an arrow with no tip.
The weird thing about time
is it's a lot like music,
or a galaxy,
but right in the palm
of soft hands and ambitious souls
It only makes sense with experience,
and getting lost in a pavilion
of nervous butterflies
only seen in lucid dreams.
The world is old. We're young.
We're lost. And so is everyone else.
Tell me about your favorite constellation,
your favorite letter of the alphabet,
what makes you tick,
and why.
One day, after learning about your spectrum,
and where it intersects with mine
we'll dance in space.
I'll come to my senses
and question nothing
Not even the silence between our lips.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
CAST a bronze of my head and legs and put them on the king's street.
Set the cast of me here alongside Carl XII, making two Carls for the Swedish people and the utlanders to look at between the palace and the Grand Hotel.
The summer sun will shine on both the Carls, and November drizzles wrap the two, one in tall leather boots, one in wool leggins.
Also I place it in the record: the Swedish people may name boats after me or change the name of a long street and give it one of my nicknames.
The old men who beset the soil of Sweden and own the titles to the land-the old men who enjoy a silken shimmer to their chin whiskers when they promenade the streets named after old kings-if they forget me-the old men whose varicose veins stand more and more blue on the calves of their legs when they take their morning baths attended by old women born to the bath service of old men and young-if these old men say another King Carl should have a bronze on the king's street rather than a Fool Carl-
Then I would hurl them only another fool's laugh-
I would remember last Sunday when I stood on a jutland of fire-born red granite watching the drop of the sun in the middle of the afternoon and the full moon shining over Stockholm four o'clock in the afternoon.
If the young men will read five lines of one of my poems I will let the kings have all the bronze-I ask only that one page of my writings be a knapsack keepsake of the young men who are the bloodkin of those who laughed nine hundred years ago: We are afraid of nothing-only-the sky may fall on us.
1.5k
I once met a man named Knapsack Jack
He never took his knapsack off his back
He'd eat with it
He'd sleep with it
I think he was attached
He was a strong man, this Knapsack Jack
Who never took his knapsack off his back
He's a scavenger
He's free to roam
Where he lay's his head
That is his home
He got got, this Knapsack Jack
They took his knapsack from his back
It was gone when he awoke
The deed was done
The bear was poked
Knapsack Jack was a kind ol' fella
But when Jack's eyes get red, people get yella
So off he went
Jack stole him a gun
Knapsack Jack gon' have some sick fun
Knapsack Jack got wild and reckless
He carved a ****** path from Virginia to Texas
Stained and putrid
There he stood
With an empty twelve-gauge
Just steel and wood
In front of him, ten men dressed in blue
This would be his last battle
But 'ol Jack wasn't through
With no shot in the barrel
He got nine out of ten
The last man in blue
Brought Jack to an end
Revered as a hero
For losing his friends
Ruined was the man
Who brought ol' Jack to an end
No longer in blue,
Soaked from tears, dressed in black
Just cause a man
Took a knapsack from Jack
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 7:46 PM UTC
An avalanche.
Rocks coming stumbling towards me. The warmth of lava makes me perspire but when I run fast, progress is recessed.
Languish buries my feet from underneath. My only supplies are useless... the desire to leave my heavy knapsack is relentless. The rush for survival going on, you think it would be first to dispose... but I am latched onto materialism
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
Help me, for I am a traveler roaming this road, troubled and worried. For my mind will not rest till I am granted my eternal sleep. Till then I roam this long road of life wondering where it will take me, and what choices I make, that make me end up at the end of my road. I am scared, worried about what my past, that paints for my future. So much so as I forget to live in the present and love with all that I am. To risk my life for a life. To cheat death again and again, and to steal the happiness that sorrow tries to take from me. For I am a lone traveler the burdens are plenty, nothing but a knapsack, a pocket book full of memories, a necklace with a cross, and determination to move forward. May some god or all powerful being guide me on my journey, to finally lay my worried head to rest. Thank you.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
He rolls like the
river,
always on the move.
I said,
"What are you afraid of, boy?"
He said,
"Nothing; I just can't stay still."
I said,
"They got meds for that."
It's in my bones, I gotta
keep going.
Knapsack ...no sack,
don't matter, just me and
those highways.
I said, well, it cost you everything;
your house, your wife,
don't you want to settle
down sometimes?
Nope, he said, as he turned
his back and headed west
towards the desert.
His face to the sun.
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
Hands gripped tightly to the wheel
Radio off, wipers on
Nowhere to go
The house is not home
Not anymore
The car was quiet
He had one passenger
His blue knapsack filled
With what he could salvage
He threw the car into reverse
And now the only thing left to do
Is drive
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 5:45 PM UTC
I’m ready
Written with the help of the opening lyrics of
Bad Company's "Ready for Love"
“Walking down this rocky road”
Pebbles stare like boulders
Detouring my thoughts
Blocking motions to feel
Curbed by jagged ridges breathing
“Wondering where my life is leading”
Checking the map for intersections
Wanting to find some sense of truth
Written on an overpass
In graffiti spray paint dreams
“Rolling on to the bitter end”
Following the signs
Watching my sneakers tear
Exposing flesh to the elements
Of wandering longings
“Finding out along the way”
That things don’t last forever
But where the shadows sit
From the lost, the new
Are waiting in the cool shade telling
“What it takes to keep love living”
And I listen, learning which each painful step
Dragging my emotions behind me
In a knapsack of desires
Whispering out of breath
“You should know how it feels, my friend”
It is enlightening, burden lifting
When I finally realized
Someone is waiting at the end of that road
For me because…
“I'm ready for love”
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
mix some shakras up in a glass and
drink it down it's a celebration a time of
times the present lives among and within our
thoughts, groping for memories we call home time and
time again as light finds us stuck full of hypodermic nonsense
shrinking from shadows until we shake hands in a corner and they're not
so bad they're quite inviting and provide all the stuff we need when we need it
like an infinite knapsack of colloquialism forever surrounded by stars
jupi tear me down.
Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
Won’t you leave me alone
No please don’t go
I mean
Just stand there and let me think a minute
While I walk backwards out the door
This is my entrance in reverse
How I’ve turned myself into an optical illusion
Like the one with the mean old lady
Or is it the princess
Or
you know
the two old people in love
no
that’s not it
It’s the wine glasses
The ones I make you drink whiskey and beer out of
Because we’ve always thought it was classy
I’ve always fantasized about the ways I might leave this place
I have this black and white photo of you
And if I stare at the center of it for 3 minutes
When I shut my eyes I see you on the back of my lids
So what I mean is
You can leave now
I got my two left shoes
And my knapsack full of road maps
I always circle back sooner or later
I mean
You have that black and white photo of me too
And one of my right shoes
I leave things places
Just to come back for them
You’ve got the part of me that’s just off center
The parallel line that redefines my optical illusion
I walk backwards through doors
And run circles in floors
And drink whiskey from wine glasses
And I always come back
For the things I leave behind
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 1:46 AM UTC
I CAN’T LOOK BACK EVER
I've taken this route
I can't look back ever
my footprints have disappeared
rain-washed and sun-burnt away--never
will my life
be the same again
though dim the horizon
and I walk in pain.
I can't look back
I won't regret, I won't look back
though the journey knows no end
and there's no food or drink in my knapsack.
Ah, via dolorosa
which traveller is without a tear ?
but I won't look back
I'll still venture forward alone--I know no fear.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
**** Her choices establish tragedies
The key that fosters felicity long since marred
But now she’s found the freedom she so passionately sought
It was gifted to her as a straight jacket
In the colour of her choice
Every evening she sleeps within such paraphernalia
As the solace pacifies her in classic tones
With the cushioning characterized as a mirror
Emulating the shape she has so flawlessly taken
Two years in the knapsack
And to your very eye I am the poster child
For used condoms and tampons
Am I not worth more than fish?
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC