Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 178

I’ll have to be quick today, because I’m working Cub Scouts day camp all week. Speaking of camp…

For this week’s prompt, write a camp-related poem. It can be about day camp, training camp, or outdoor camping. I guess you could even write a “campy” poem.

Here’s my attempt:

“Day Camp”

Late to bed and early to rise
makes a leader have sleepy eyes.
Look for coffee to get some caffeine
and the cub scout has Ovaltine.

*****

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278 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 178

  1. Walt Wojtanik

    CAMP I-DONT-WANNA

    My youngest never liked to camp,
    the separation gave her cramps,
    and the campground was “always rather damp”,
    she told me, “I Don’t Wanna!”

    All her friends went off to play,
    but my daughter wouldn’t go away
    and stayed alone day-after-day,
    my Princess “I Don’t Wanna!”

    “That place is way out in the woods,
    they think Franks and Beans is real food,
    and the Counselors are just no good!”
    explained Miss “I Don’t Wanna!”

    So, her camping skills were rather lame,
    and it was such a stinking shame
    to go forever by the name,
    Andrea “I Don’t Wanna!”

    © Walter J. Wojtanik -2012

  2. tunesmiff

    IT’S GOOD IN THE WOODS (A Camp Song…)

    VI:
    Let’s go off where there are no bars,
    And spend the night out under the stars;
    Get away…
    For a day…
    Or so…
    We’ll build a fire from a little spark,
    Catch some fish before it gets too dark,
    So hey…
    Whatta ya say…
    Let’s go.

    VII:
    Watch the moon rise, count the fire-flies,
    Constellations dance before our eyes,
    Cricket song…
    All night long…
    No TV…
    Soon it’s back to the same old grind,
    So let’s explore and see what we find…
    Star light…
    Star bright…
    And you and me…

    CHORUS:
    ‘Cause it’s good… in the woods…
    Let’s get out of the neighborhood;
    If we can rought it, we can tough it… out,
    No matter whatever may come about,
    You want s’more… s’mores…
    Here with me in the great outdoors?
    Yeah, it’s good… so good… in the woods.

    BRIDGE:
    You’ll love this lil’ spot I’ve found…
    Nobody else for miles around…
    Sleeping bags rolled out on the ground,
    Things heat up as the fire dies down…

    CHORUS:
    ‘Cause it’s good… in the woods…
    Let’s get out of the neighborhood;
    If we can rought it, we can tough it… out,
    No matter whatever may come about,
    You want s’more… s’mores…
    Here with me in the great outdoors?
    Who could ask for anything more?
    Yeah, it’s good… so good… in the woods.

  3. taylor graham

    ESSENCE OF SUMMER CAMP

    Little black paint, Papoose
    ain’t no sissy’s cayuse.
    So mount that saddle, hup!
    Astraddle way high up.

    Black crayon trace you can’t
    erase. Just call it Ant –
    the bug that’s everywhere –
    or Bats in twilight air.

    Sunday morning hymns rise,
    an eagle skims the skies.
    Young campers in bare knees
    breathe incense-air of trees.

    She’ll dream an elf-garden
    on the stream. Rocks harden
    a daughter’s steps each day
    as water runs away.

  4. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Camping
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    There’s just something about
    camping under a night sky,
    fluid constellations at your fingertips,
    a dimpled moon staring back down.

    Occasional comets streak past us,
    oblivious to the layers of
    still-life trapped below like
    Trilobites in a riverbed.

    Fingers locked behind my head,
    I am reflective but content
    lying here next to a crackling fire,
    a plume of woodsy smoke mesmerizing.

    Listening to the soft pull of grass
    by our hobbled mounts somewhere in the
    darkness, we all sigh together, feeling
    the pull of Jupiter and Pluto within us.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  5. Mystical-Poet

    Camping: A Sense Of Direction

    above and beyond all things essential
    water bottle, flashlight, tasty midnight snack
    there’s one bonafide camping credential
    to guarantee your adventure stays on track

    where perils await a wrong selection
    a woodsman trusts his sense of direction
    inborn possessed not thrown in a sack
    a requisite faculty not charlatan quack
    many educated and cultured most surely will lack
    skills of outdoorsman who’ve acquired the knack

    In mid-day shade the oaks are inviting
    just use your green ban if mosquitoes are biting
    just when you decide its time to quit
    redouble the effort and go for it

    simple coarse plotted leads back to camp
    to be extra safe, leave on the lamp
    just a keep those lamps trimmed and burning
    and it won’t be long till we’re returning

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  6. taylor graham

    LEARNING TO FLOAT

    The pool is a camp’s blue eye
    unblinking aqua watercolor wash
    in ripples with a dark screen underlay –
    wire mesh on slick tile bottom
    lest a small foot slip –
    and the drain – a young girl knows
    that dragons live in drains,
    and if she stubs her toe on wire
    under noonday sky unblinking, those
    myriad tiny black-hole shadows
    swallowing – she holds her breath
    by lung-fuls drowning-blue.

  7. LaurieK

    My summer camp experience can best be summed up in haiku form:

    Rain, endless and gray
    Pounding hard on trees and roofs
    Dreams of home, far off.

  8. Marjory MT

    Camping the other side of the globe, a Loo-o-o-o-ong time ago. 🙂

    School camp at Gleason Landing
    A beach camp in good standing
    Teachers and school board
    Agree kids can afford
    To learn of land and sea while camping.

    I went along to teach art
    A curriculum a part
    With camping skills
    And camping thrills
    Hoping a nature’s love to start.

    With one planned excursion day
    The bus hauled the kids away
    I stayed behind
    I did not mind
    It was my day to simply play.

    I came up with a good plan,
    By the beach with serf and sand
    I took my art stuff
    Picked out a good bluff
    All set to paint the vivid land.

    The day was unreasonable hot,
    A lot of clothes were welcome not
    My bikini was small
    Better not at all
    OK, if one’s not caught.

    The sun’s too hot to abide,
    Inviting was the sea’s fresh tide,
    Calling one to slip
    In for cool fresh dip
    Bikini left at easels side.

    🙂

  9. Miss R.

    Late again! Ah well. here’s my attempt at a camp-centered complex alliterisen. Hopefully I actually got the form right . . .

    Flickerings Around the Fire

    Flickering firelight dies. Daydreams remain,
    Twinkling in twilight of marvel and memory.
    We wish, woeful, for summer’s stretching,
    As it idled in cheerful childhood.
    Now time ticks more maliciously,
    Leaving little behind to clutch or cling,
    Burning bygone days with fathomless flames.

  10. Bruce Niedt

    Camp Verbum

    My son loves the outdoors, and every summer
    he heads off to Boy Scout camp, a week or more
    in a wooded state park. I’ve camped too,
    in my younger days, but it’s no longer
    my idea of a good time.

    Instead, I’m leaving for Cape Cod
    for a writer’s workshop. I load my backpack
    with survival supplies: dictionary, thesaurus,
    poetry books, spiral notebooks, and pens.
    I’ll meet a dozen fellow campers
    and our counselor, a wise and experienced poet.

    We’ll pitch our tents on the field of language,
    gather our firewood of words, symbols,
    and metaphors. She’ll show us the best way
    to stack and light it, and each night,
    while the stars smile down
    (more stars than I’ve seen since childhood),
    we’ll build a bonfire and dance around it,
    chanting the words as they burn
    and send sparks into an unsuspecting world.

  11. kathryn

    To me, ‘camp’ resounds with glitter
    fake long lashes and fathers bitter.
    Boas, feather
    Fires for passion
    Pinkies raised in fabulous fashion.

    😉

  12. cstewart

    Camping, River Watch

    All our days involved camping.
    Sun, rain, overcast, in the snow,
    Along the river with circular fires
    Fortified with large, found rocks,
    On the big island with Tarzan vines,
    On the small island with silver rapids

    We sometimes inspected the old cemetery
    Up high on the hill above the river
    Beside the creaking 12th street bridge
    With Civil War patrons reclined, resting,
    Their companies written out for posterity.
    The weather-worn stones recorded birthdates
    And the close, death dates of the very young.
    All, sunken in graves with limestone markers.

    We saw evidence of foxes, mink,
    Muskrats and deer.
    We didn’t like it when the trappers
    Told us they had found a mink
    We were young but we saw attitudes and
    We knew these animals were not long for
    This part of the earth.

    The man who owned the hardware store,
    Took in all the skins the youth brought in,
    We didn’t know what he did with them,
    But we distained his bartering business,
    Knowing protection over killing was right,
    Along the river where we camped and lived,
    We watched time change the landscape.

  13. JRSimmang

    It was there
    in the woods
    mixed with the silent buzz
    of the huffanpuff
    and the clinking clacking
    of the overturned liquid
    that I lost my virginity.
    My oh my
    the screaming wailing
    staged dancing and flailing
    deep six in the heart
    of a neighborhood farm.
    I had never before driven myself mad
    and I cannot promise I won’t do it again.
    It was the only place
    where I could die
    and be reborn.
    She, the one with the hair
    on her head and the siren’s wail,
    spied me from the lights
    and sang to me that night
    while I swam
    splashing splashy
    through the blue and gold
    and red and yellow
    washing up to find myself at the feet of the
    eggmen, koo koo ka joo.
    Lefty guitars
    hefty Mars
    I never came back.

  14. Domino

    Camp Meeting

    The summer I was twelve
    I stayed with my father’s mother,
    whose husband had recently
    passed.

    She needed the company
    and someone to take care of
    and I needed to learn
    compassion.

    She was a lovely, dear woman,
    Grandma Hart,
    and she was a vegetarian,
    so I became one, too,
    all summer.

    She would go to her church
    revival “Camp Meetings”
    every summer,
    so this summer
    I went too.

    She rented a tent cabin,
    which was a wooden frame
    with a canvas roof.

    It was mostly fun,
    but I discovered that
    although I liked vegetables,
    I loathed vegetarian food.

    At camp meeting we sang songs
    for hours it seemed,
    and us youngsters
    got to do craft after craft
    while the adults prayed
    and worshiped
    in the revival tents.

    And by the end of the summer,
    she petitioned my mother
    to let me stay full time
    which was slightly
    gratifying,
    but also slightly
    horrifying
    because that meant I would
    never get to have
    a hamburger
    or chicken
    or corned beef and cabbage
    or bacon
    ever again.

    My mother said “no.”
    I talked her into getting
    a dog
    instead.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  15. RJ Clarken

    (And speaking of writing home from camp…with apologies to Allan Sherman…)

    A Letter from Camp

    Hello Faddah, Hello Muddah.
    This stupid camp just sucks so much.
    I will be a total nuttah…
    Hello Faddah, Hello Muddah.
    There’s no X-Box, and I ruddah
    watch YouTube, text my friends and such.
    Hello Faddah, Hello Muddah.
    This stupid camp just sucks so much.

    It’s raining and the food is gross.
    The counselors make out without cease.
    My bunkmate got a lethal dose.
    It’s raining and the food is gross.
    Please take me home. Camp – adios!
    I promise I will give you peace.
    It’s raining and the food is gross.
    The counselors make out without cease.

    On his privates, Jimmy Baines got
    poison ivy. He’s so itchy!
    I think my tent is full of rot.
    On his privates, Jimmy Baines got
    poison oak, too. Yeah…a whole lot.
    Now he’s cranky and he’s bitchy.
    On his privates, Jimmy Baines got
    poison ivy. He’s so itchy!

    Our lake has alligators and
    some bears just ate Gil’s arts and crafts.
    Just heard there is – oh yikes! – QUICKSAND!
    Our lake has alligators and
    Michael Braddock just got banned
    for setting fire to all the rafts.
    Our lake has alligators and
    some bears just ate Gil’s arts and crafts.

    Why did you send me off to camp?
    I mean, c’mon. Do you hate me?
    While swimming, some kid got a cramp.
    Why did you send me off to camp?
    They say that Jill Benz is a vamp.
    I think her bra’s up in a tree.
    Why did you send me off to camp?
    I mean, c’mon. Do you hate me?

    But wait! It looks as if it might
    get better. Maybe in the morn
    my situation will get right.
    But wait! It looks as if it might
    become all sweetness and all light:
    another camper’s got some porn!
    But wait! It looks as if it might
    get better. Maybe in the morn…

    Hello Muddah. Hello Faddah.
    I am all right. Don’t come for me.
    Seriously, please don’t baddah.
    Hello Muddah. Hello Faddah.
    This camp may not be such a rottah:
    We’ll have such fun. (Illegally.)
    Hello Muddah. Hello Faddah.
    I am all right. Don’t come for me.

    Love,
    Johnny

    (Hehehe! That’s outta do it! I can probably guess how fast they’ll make it up here to get me.)

  16. RJ Clarken

    Not a Happy Camper

    My camping experience was
    just nothing to write home about.
    Really. Dirt? Mud? Mosquito’s buzz?
    My camping experience was
    on the whole, disappointing, ‘cuz
    bites and poison ivy? No doubt
    my camping experience was
    just nothing to write home about.

    ###

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