I do not know?
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
All the nuts fell to the ground
The sane ones on branches hang
Long line from many countries
My family tree
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012
Mountain Lake is my favorite place to write
under shade tree are my pencil, paper, and pole.
Scribble down words while waiting for a bite
fishing my most popular angling hole.
Fish are jumping all around hook and line
small cork sits still and does not move or fade.
Patiently I sit in wait for that fish to dine
beneath weeping willow of cool tree shade.
Inspiration overwhelms biding snare
while creative mind laggardly transcends.
In far distance I see lone grizzly bear
and leave a good fishing pole to his friends.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fourth Place Winner ~ "Inspired” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Miranda Lambert
July 20, 2011
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011
Two poets who couldn't agree
Raise their voices to their loud pleas
One wasn't able to stop
His zip open, out pops!
Haha, it's a pea, not the size of a tree
©J. A. Fraser and O. E. Guillermo 15.18pm, April 07, 2015
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
I HAD A LITTLE NUT TREE
I had a little-nut tree
Nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg
And a golden pear.
The King of Spain’s daughter
Came to list me:
She'd heard about my little-nuts
And simply wanted to see.
Her list was entitled “little-nuts guys”
And there were guys she’d missed.
Asked her if it was a crazy-guy survey
Or an anatomical-query list.
She said, my young man
I’ve never seen such a little-nuts display for free:
I’ll put you at the top of the crop,
You and your little-nut tree.
Well, I love to win contests
And be in a top position;
Nothing gives me more pleasure,
Far beyond the competition.
But I’d rather be on her crazy-list and be kissed
Just like Jack Nicholson,
Than on her anatomical-list
And studied by a freak-physician.
My apologies to all lovers of the original, traditional nursery rhyme.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011
Folks avoid that spooky place 'specially on dark and stormy nights!
Heard are eerie moans and shrieks and seen are mysterious lights!
A driftin' hoss thief by the unlikely name of One-Eyed Buck LaHore,
Was strung up on the 'hangin' tree' way back in '72, accordin' to local lore!
Now, ol' Jedge Stern, renowned as the 'hangin' jedge' in them there parts,
Owned the hoss that Buck stole, showin' no respect and lack of smarts!
Buck vanished in the night a-high-tailin' it fer the Mexican border,
Trailed by a posse to bring 'im back dead er alive upon the jedge's order!
He was found carousin' in an El Paso cantina havin' a grand ol' spree!
The sheriff said, "Son, come with me! You've got a date with the 'hangin' tree'!"
There was little Buck could do with a dozen forty-fours starin' 'im in the face!
"Boys, you got me! Don't make a scene! Let's git outta this here place!"
Hauled before the jedge, Buck admitted he'd been a hell-raiser all his life.
"But, jedge" he pled, "I didn't cause no harm like molestin' a feller's wife!"
Judge Stern saw things diff'runt 'specially since 'twas his hoss he stole!
"Son, you're to be strung up on a tree and may God save yer rotten soul!"
To this very day on moonlit nights Buck can be seen swingin' in the breeze,
Clawin' at the noose about his neck yellin', "Jedge, have mercy on me please!"
That stern ol' jedge has shown no mercy as is evident from all indications.
Alas, the ghost of that wily thief will haunt local folks for many generations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
There was a lady that I once knew
She met her love she felt was true
He carved their initials into a tree
As she leaned closely on his knee
Trouble in paradise soon they learned
When her initials he wanted to burn
Her middle name he did not know
Until on the tree he wanted to show
Her initials spelled a body part you see
For her name was Linda Elaine Greene
When he burned it into the tree
He was concerned exactly what would be
When also carved his name into the tree
His name spelled a body also you see
For his name was Armond Raymond Moran
Now what was seen Leg Loves Arm so he ran
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"
He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!
He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue
The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect
So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance
He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree
Copyright © Catherine Devine | Year Posted 2005
What would it be like if I were a tree
Just how different my life would be
Standing still for years on end
Perhaps it would drive me round the bend
Back and forth I’d sway in the breeze
Then in the winter my branches would freeze
In the autumn I would be naked and bare
But I’m just a tree so who’s going to care
I’ll attract all the birds when it turns to spring
They will sit on my branches and then start to sing
Building their houses they fly too and fro
Too bring up their young I watch how they grow
When it gets cold they’ll all fly away
The sign that its winter with a sky that is grey
Alone again not one single bird
The sound of the singing not to be heard
All the little animals have all hidden away
I’m stuck in the ground that’s where I will stay
I see the odd person who’s out for a jog
Then there are others out walking their dog
Then they will stop to let the dog pee
But why do they have to do it on me
Kids swing from my branches till they fall apart
If only they realised I do have a heart
Then there are others who give us the chop
Just to make furniture to sell in their shop
I wish I could talk then I could explain
That I do have feelings and I do feel the pain
So next time your out you’re bound to see me
Maybe you’ll realise I’m not just a tree
Copyright © TANYA CANNING | Year Posted 2015
Pre-lit Christmas trees are great
As long as all of the lights burn
But when the lights begin to go
There's a lesson to be learned
Though you admired your pre-lit tree
So beautifully all decked out
When the lights go out, the glow is gone
And your wife begins to pout
So off to Wal-Mart for replacements
Which you must carefully thread
Among the ornaments and pre-lit strands
Where all the lights are dead
After the holidays have passed
The tree now must come down
Minus all the pre-lit bulbs
Once all the connections are found
You finally get them off the tree
In a tangled mass on the floor
Dare you try to test them
To see if they'll burn any more
You decide the trash bin is better
And my advice to you would be
Save yourself some trouble
Don't buy a pre-lit tree
6 January 2012
Copyright © Curtis Moorman | Year Posted 2012
follow on facebook,
adore on pinterest,
fall in love on instagram,
kiss on a hunch,
all under a tree.
Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016
As I wait for death amid the calm.
I see through the window all of you.
No one can see me and the hearing is dying.
Ring in the New Year and my limbs reach for the warm.
Help me make one last stand.
I love the rain and your food for thought.
I wait patient , youthful and my sap stretched.
I long for your cool breeze and like a dog I bark in warning.
And as the axe falls I shudder and am diminished.
That door slammed angrily and while I wait the rain washes me.
No longer do I feel my age, I see your reflection and your sadness.
And as I slowly die I am placed on the stretcher and I drink my last drop.
But as I lay quivering.
You bathe and place me at the door.
I am no longer naked as you dress me.
A light blinks on and the glitter and charm works.
The clothing is your finest saved by generations and my balls are hung.
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011
Lookin' after pests
Keepin' a CLOSE eye on 'em
"Those wild animals!"
Roamin' around zoo
Searchin' for sneaky monkey
Hidin' in a tree
Zookeeper gets mad
"Where's Marty, the smartypants!?"
"He TOOK my cage keys!"
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013
I check my little lemon tree every day with delight,
The new baby lemons are just growing out of sight.
The lemon tree lives on my patio and loves the sun,
And picking those giant lemons is such fun!
The last one picked was like a grapefruit, huge in size,
And the wonderful taste it did not compromise.
The luscious lemon went on facebook for my friends eyes,
Then it had a date with a pie, and met its demise.
Copyright © Brenda McGrath | Year Posted 2016
George and his stupid acorns.
He has no sense of boundaries--
danged things falling on my head.
And Celia. She thinks she's all that
with her new clothes: red, yellow,
green, orange. How passe!
And then Baldy, the coward,
so afraid of winter he went stark
naked even before fall started.
And here come those helicopters again,
courtesy of Myrtle the maple.
They get into absolutely everything.
Sometimes I think I'm the only one with
any sense around here. You won't
see MY leaves going all psychedelic
or turning brown or flying helicopters.
Me? I stay green all year round, and
I don't go dropping leaves and nuts
all over the place. Sure, I have cones,
but they're actually more like accessories.
You can use them in arts and crafts
and as Christmas ornaments,
Speaking of Christmas, what month is it?
November you say? Late November?
Wait! What are you going to do with that ax?
Hey, let's talk about this...
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along,
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.
Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall,
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.
Mama cat was even so bold
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.
Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws.
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.
Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run.
Written by: Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place
Copyright © Carolyn Henderson | Year Posted 2010
When you have fallen fast asleep,
I'll crawl toward your hall and creep
out through your door...
Advancing quickly through the gloom,
I'll prance into your living room
and as you snore,
I'll pulverize your rug and purr,
while sizing up your Douglas Fir,
then... I... Will... LEAP!
And dangle ever frantically,
until each spangle from your tree
is in a HEAP!
I'll SLASH your floppy socks's toes
and GNASH your boxes tops's bows
in savage bites!
Then lift, at last, my pretty tail
and spritz a blast of 'Kitty Male"
...to wreck your lights!
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015
I was walking in the park last week,
when to me, a young boy did speak.
'Excuse me mister can you tell me,
where can I find a cookie tree?
I know that there are some in here,
and I've been told that they are near,
yes, before I was the age of three,
I knew all about the cookie tree!
I've never seen one yet, although,
they're definitely here, yes this I know,
as from a very young age they've told me so,
that cookie trees in this park grow.
So come on mister, tell me please,
where in this park are the cookie trees?
I have to find them before I'm old,
and they're definitely here, because I've been told.'
I answered him in the following way.
'Since I was young I've come to play,
and wander freely all around this park,
but your question leaves me in the dark.
Because, never once in all this time,
have I come across any sign,
to tell me that cookies grow on trees,
where did you get your info please? '
Straight away, the kid replied.
'Oh well, you're the first one that I've tried.
I didn't think I'd do it with ease,
you know, find the orchard of cookie trees.
So I'll carry on until I find,
someone who believes, and isn't blind,
yes a person who really, truly agrees,
with the fact that cookies grow on trees!
Copyright © Tom Higgins | Year Posted 2012
We were so pathetic our first year of marriage. They say that being poor builds character, maybe that explains it.
We were married way too young to ever have much money,
The thought of spending for a Christmas tree seemed to be too funny.
We decided that we would do without to save cash on which to live,
Because the cost of even a meager tree was more than we could give.
One night on my way home from work I followed a tree barring truck,
A pothole hit and a tree flew off it seemed I’d had some luck.
I took it home to my new bride and the sight lit up her eyes,
She decided to make decorations for this Christmas tree surprise.
So while I went to find a stand, she started to pop some corn,
She took a needle and threaded them and soon the tree adorned.
She cut out cardboard stars and bells in foil they then got covered,
I set the tree up in its stand and that’s when a problem was discovered.
There was something wrong with the trunk of our little Christmas tree,
It curved so badly that when it stood up it made the letter “C”.
Without some help it couldn’t stand so to the top we tied a rope.
To the closet rod it got fastened to hold it upright was our hope.
When the door to the closet slid shut tight the tree stood proud and tall,
With its aluminum decorations and popcorn strands it really had it all.
When we opened the door to get our coats the rope would always slack,
And the little tree would bow to us and we would bow right back.
Many years have passed since then and now our house is full of trees,
But none of them are as polite as our first that was so eager to please.
Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011
Luke was building a tree house
He was building it all by himself
A rusty old hammer, several bent nails
And wood that used to be someone’s shelf
We could all hear Luke working so hard
Hammering and sawing away
He was such a busy little bee
He didn’t even have time to play
He’d get the job half completed
Then it would all just fall apart
But he’d just pick up the pieces and start again
The kid certainly does have heart
Finally the tree house was finished
Luke was as proud and as happy as could be
He’d done a good job, but there was something missing
And unfortunately that was the tree.
But Luke shouldn't get too upset
Shouldn't let it get to his head
He may not have made a tree house
But he had made a lovely shed.
Copyright © Gary Wayne Hill | Year Posted 2013
I'm locking up my house, because it's that time for thieves.
I need to Santa proof my place, because It's Christmas Eve.
If he does get in, I'm going to run and hide.
I left out some milk and cookies with rat pellets inside.
While he's eating the cookies and he's starting to sweat.
The reindeer will be caught in security nets.
"I'm sorry boys and girls, but Santa has to retire!"
I'm going to tie him to the tree and set poor Santa on fire.
Then I'm going to take the toys and keep them all to myself.
Even though I've been bad, no coals will be on my shelf.
Merry Christmas to me! This year is going to be grand!
I'll get whatever I want, if Christmas goes as I planned!
Wearing Santa Claus' suite I'll get in houses without keys.
In twenty seven minutes I'll rob twenty seven trees!
So all you little brats, don't you cry and sob.
With the recession and depression, I just needed a job.
A lot of things are going to change, but you all shouldn't be sad.
Now that I'm the new Santa, It doesn't matter who's bad.
I'll use the elves as my slaves and the toys will still come.
Instead of a Nintendo, you'll get a gallon of rum.
Toy guns are for babies, how about the real thing?
A candy neckless won't impress, I'll make sure that it's bling.
You said you wanted a pony? How about a deer that can fly?
No more lousy presents, no more socks, or bad ties.
Wait... Wait a minute... Was that all just a dream?
Why do I only have coal under the tree and in my stocking?
Santa please come back! I promse I'll be better next year!
I promise I'll be good and I'll spred more Christmas cheer!
Did Santa Claus come back? Did he come like I thought he should?
No Santa didn't, but next year I'll be good!
I'll only do what is right, aleast to his satisfaction.
So he comes back to my house, and my plan goes back into action!
Copyright © Travis Flasnick | Year Posted 2009
This summer was so crazy with a drought but still where mosquitoes multiplied.
And we’re leaving behind a hurricane that attacked the Midwest from all sides.
The crops were lost as months of over 100-degree temperatures, drove us hard.
They were Months that steadily held us captive within our own house doors.
I was soooo looking forward to Autumn where every thing would step aside.
I was dreaming of cool nights so mellow and days where I could walk my dog.
Yes, where the dogs feet and our shoe bottoms, would not be melting off.
Where leaning over the fence while talking to neighbors could be done.
But then, BOOM, along came Autumn, and I do mean with a capital B-O-O-M!
Our acorn tree decided for the first time in 30 years…to go forth and bloom...
And the gumball tree with its little spikes, doesn’t ever want, to be outdone.
The trees are very old and big at more than three stories high, you know…
I shouldn’t have watered them soooo much during the drought and heat, with glee.
For those cute little acorns are now shooting off the trees at mock ten, I do believe.
They hit the house and ground, then ricochet with a force that makes me grieve.
Dozens come down, at a time, bouncing with speeds even planes can’t achieve.
Umbrellas don’t seem to work as they bounce off the house and patio below…
Lord…help me Jesus… I say, as I dodge back and forth, under the rain below…
My dogs won’t go outside… and even my birds have moved a few yards down…
To a more docile terrain we’re all bound, as we were steadily run, off ground.
Even the squirrels stopped trying to bury them, and have left it all behind, so forlorn.
They're hanging a few doors down as my ground has become, wall-to-wall acorns.
Acorns have hit with so much force, that I’ve had to cover my windows for once.
I no longer sit by my window to write… Yep… Bazinga! Won, with a vengeance...
Once the acorns finally end…the spiky gumballs will be gleefully awaiting, to begin.
I’m looking forward to winter, though I begin to believe it’ll be an unusual clincher.
As I’ve learned to say… You never know when life will send you a… Bazinga!
And that... sometimes Autumn's fruitfullness isn't so mellow after all.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
He really was as dumb as a tree stump
Carried all his weight in his big old rump
But I fell for his line
And made him all mine
'Cause he was as sweet as dear Forest Gump
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010
The Happy Little Bee
Was Busy In His Tree
Copyright © Jess Link | Year Posted 2016
Two monkeys laughed their heads off in a tree.
It was because of the sight they did see.
There was a hole in the ground.
Three moles scratched and jumped around.
They were bitten by a lunatic flea.
© October 9, 2011
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2011
Samantha once scampered a tree
To see whatever she could see.
So far up did she boost
That an owl came to roost
On Sammy's precarious knee.
Copyright © Richard Breese | Year Posted 2014
yogi under the banyan tree
yogi under the bodhi tree
bikku under the banyan tree
waiting for release
bikku in blissful nibbhana
yogi in extinguishing moksha
Penniless poet under the tenement roof
Jazz organist under the pavement sky
Struggling novelist under the Riviera blue
Russian ballerina under the American umbrella
Apprentice painter under the Sistine Chapel
waiting for the agent’s call
burning Anne Frank manuscripts in an air-raid fire
singular melodies drowned in the descending drone
Kafka writing without a morrow
van Gogh dabbing his tormented palette under the Arles sun
Sartre turning the Nobel Prize down for teenage girls
Siddhartha abandoning his body’s palace for the people’s pain
the common man unable to abandon his workload family
bikku under the bodhi tree
his body shrivelled under the saffron robe
his begging bowl filled by karma-earning hands
the last trichinosis-filled moksha meal
bikku rising on a thousand-petalled flower
bikku piercing through the cakras’ splendrous colours
bikku on a burning pyre
April 29, 1997
[from the collection : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999]
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012
Snowflakes falling, falling all night
My pine tree adorned, now illuminating under snow
I brush and brush off, unveiling Christmas twinkling lights
Giving the white ground a colorful glow
An appearance of a Hallmark card, I must say
My children gather around the tree in merriment
Then one by one they form fluffy snowballs
Laughing mischievously they begin to throw them at me
Well you can guess what happens next
Yep, before I was done they are covered in white
Red face and cold we all go indoors for the night
In front of the fireplace tired, beginning to warm
We look at each other and started to grin
Deep belly-laughs replaces the grins
You can't have enough of a good thing
For Nathan's "Christmas Joy" contest
Copyright © Connie Gildersleeve | Year Posted 2012
"The Kitty and the Bunny" is a children's song, sung to the tune of "Pop! Goes the
'Round and 'round the dogwood tree
Kitty chased the Easter Bunny,
'Til Bunny tossed an egg
That broke Kitty's leg;
And Kitty cried, "This game ain't fun-ny!".
Bonus activity: Give children some crayons and paper and have them turn this poem into a comic strip. Tell them you would use four boxes for your comic strip: one showing Kitty chasing the bunny, the next one showing the bunny tossing an egg, the next showing kitty holding his paw, and the last one showing tears streaming down Kitty's face. But, tell children they can use as few or as many boxes as they like for their comic strips and even change the storyline. The dogwood tree becomes an apple tree and bunny is seen pelting Kitty with apples. Perhaps squirrels join in the fight and start throwing acorns at Kitty.
Copyright © Cherie Durbin | Year Posted 2011
One two three silly old me
Went for a walk, walked into a tree
Who put that there
A conspiracy I swear
Or maybe a pretty girl distracted me you see
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2016