Caching Poem

[+Confucius' Cat]

I'll start it off:

 

I may tweak this a little. Any suggestions?

 

Gather round folks and I shall spill

The sad, sad story of Cacher Bill.

He cached for fun and he cached for keeps

And he piled his travel bugs up in heaps.

And word went round from dale to hill

There weren’t one man could out cache Bill.

 

When from out of the direction of Bear Claw Creek

Came a Garmin toter named Cache Pot Pete.

And the ground was plowed for miles around

Where his bag of McToys it drug the ground.

 

He came into town, laid his loot on the bar.

Some say it stretched from thar-to-thar.

And bets went down buck for buck

That Pete could match Bill’s cachin’ luck.

 

Well the sky was bold and the moon was yeller

When Bill met up with this Garmin feller.

And the ground was plowed for miles around

As Bill followed his Magellan 'cross the muddy ground.

 

They cached and cached for hours and hours

Tore up trees and shrubs and flowers

‘Twas an ugly scene like the Feds had feared

It set back PR a hundred years.

Till Bill got a solid WAAS sat latch

And Pete and his Garmin had met their match.

 

They found a cache in an old graveyard.

The Garmin they ditched in a tub marked “lard”.

And they inked the log in glowing green

“I took a quarter, left this worthless machine”.

 

©2003 by Dave Emerson

Rights to reproduce and quote without revision granted to the Geocaching community providing authorship credit is posted with each copy.

[+Peanuthead]

Okay, I'll bite. Only because I just wrote this poem a couple days ago when I

couldn't find this cache:

 

http://www.geocaching.com/seek/cache_detai...9-20E3A562BA2F}

 

and the poem:

 

I looked and looked for this cache today,

but I did not find it, I was turned away.

 

I looked high and low throughout the day,

but it kicked my tail, you might just say.

 

I did not find it in the bush,

I did not find it while sitting on my tush.

 

I did not find it in the hay,

what kind of a crazy hobby is this anyway?

 

I did not find it in the tree,

but it did look like those beavers were expecting me.

 

Not finding the cache is surely not good,

especially in this neighborhood.

 

So into the night I looked some more,

with flashlight in hand, I was determined to score.

 

I shined that light in every cranny,

there are a lot of fun things that rhyme with cranny.

 

I did not find it in there either,

not here or there, or under that neither.

 

By this time I was starting to ponder,

could it be, might it be, over yonder?

 

So off I went to hither and there,

but I could not find it anywhere.

 

Alas i did not find this cache,

I guess I will be the laughing stock at the next Pizza Bash.

 

I wish this poem had a happy ending,

but I am afraid that would involve some truth bending.

 

And tho I may not be the best cacher in the vicinity,

at least I still have my integrity.

 

- Peanuthead

[+Ed & Julie]

The other day upon a dare,

I found a cache that wasn't there.

It wasn't there again today,

I wish the cache would go away!

 

Ed

my apoligies to the original

[+Criminal]

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I found your stupid cache

And you suck

[+ChrisCindy]

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I found your stupid cache

And you suck

Bravo....bravo....well said

[+The Cheeseheads]

Searching through the woods.

Green boxes hidden in stumps.

"Signed log, left McToy."

[+Planet]

Can you say can o'markwell worms?

 

from past forums threads we have:

 

for the birthday guy

 

the geocache poem to be included with caches

 

the geocaching haiku

 

recommendations for a geocaching theme song

 

Music to geocache by (or to get to geocaches)

 

And 'tis the season to be singing geocaching carols!

 

And sung to the tune of......

 

I hope you all enjoy these golden oldies.

[+parkrrrr]

One day in the chat room, we got on a "Burma-Shave" kick. Here's what I saved from that:

 

I went looking / in a tree / missed the cache / but found the bees

I went caching / with cousin John / now I hear / the cache is gone

solved the puzzle / found the cache / poison ivy / got a rash

Found the micro / skinned my knee / too much water / have to pee

Go up the hill / and look around / and now the arrow's / pointing down

Joe was bitten / by a snake / while deciding / what to take

We'll go searching / near and far / because we didn't / mark the car

GPS / would never lie / the cache must be / up in the sky

don't like skeeters / don't like ticks / but caching's how / I get my kicks

lost my sneakers / lost my socks / but I found / the ammo box

put travel bug / in my pack / now I can't / find it back

 

And, of course, there are the virtually infinite number of poems generated by my old signature graphic, reproduced below:

 

[GeoVet]

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I found your stupid cache

And you suck

I love it! Criminal, you're my new hero. That's exactly how I felt this week-end, when I braved the gun-deer opener to go caching. Taking life in hand (with a lot of blaze orange) I went caching not in but next to hunting land. The cache was a bust . . . it was pilfered. Left a note, but I wish I had your poem.

[cool_and_the_gang]

There was another poetry thread started a few weeks ago that wasn't mentioned above. I had a good time with it while it was on the first page or two but it didn't get much traffic. http://forums.Groundspeak.com/GC/index.php...58129&hl=poetry

 

I dug it up. Here are the poems that I submitted:

 

I placed a box within the woods

and hid it at the base of a tree.

It's drab green color recalls the days

when it held munitions, tools of fear

that keep people apart.

 

It's contents are more peaceful now,

not of the type that kill or maim.

Today it holds mostly trinkets.

Souveniers aquired along the way by people

who like me

are also searching.

 

And perhaps those few who choose to find

it's home beneath the grass and twigs,

will come to know as they add thier marks

to the book of others placed before

that we are all much more the same

than we are different.

 

Here's another inspired by "Where's George?" Dollars

 

After 271 years he still cannot tell a lie:

The old man is tired and more than content to travel across the nation the helped to found in somebody else's hip pocket.

 

Crossing the Deleware was more difficult last time, and tonight he will take quarter in a box hidden on the bank of the Potomac.

 

There, he will grind his wooden teeth as he presides with a stately gaze over the wild eyed Troll figurines, mocking thier wispy rainbow hair and gaping grins with his neatly cinched tail nad paper thin smile.

 

Such is the life of the General, now.

Trusting in God as his day unfolds that his next home will be a comfortable one. That the next person will pass the buck, that the next wandering soul will care to ask: "Where's George ?"

 

There were some others there. Take a look if you'd like.

Edited November 24, 2003 by cool_and_the_gang