Best Bunyan Poems
Thump, thump...thump, thump
Your heart beats with internal impediment
Making each breath a struggle.
I see your pain, I feel your anguish,
I dearly love your determination to endure.
I can only imagine how difficult it is to
relinquish days of youth when your strength
was the marvel of the men you worked with
side by side...celebrated as the Paul Bunyan
of the shipyard whose power knew no bounds.
Advancing years have garnered fears of
imminent shadows from the Grim Reaper
inching closer day by day until you can
feel his breath on the nape of your neck.
Past regrets loom before you of missed
opportunities, and so many things left
unaccomplished, unattended projects that
act as brutish reminders of failing health.
You think I don't understand the dilemmas
you face in just getting through another
hellish night of insomnia to sleepwalk
through another day plagued by doubts of
Time slipping away like a thief in the night.
I want to be here for you...with you.
Please let me be.
7-26-18
A Dedication To He That This Old Poet Truly Admires
Hardened was his sad heart when a mere lad-
Never a kind word, all seemed very bad-
Born a true and strong athlete to behold
Into slavery and dark he was sold,
Emerged an honest man of mighty girth
A living Samson, a man of true worth.
As gentle friend one could truly thank God
Woe to those that felt his wrath or his rod!
Such great prowess one should never deny.
Always willing to give others fair try.
Stone-hard product of American shores
With hand axe, a slayer of savage boars
A majestic hunter of no small fame
Savage man or beast he could and did tame,
A hero returning from the great War
Proof as was seen, his many battle scars.
Never had he ever failed to show might
victor in every hand to hand fight!
Such great prowess one should never deny.
Always willing to give others fair try.
Never one to fear world's darkest powers-
A hard worker, no lover of idle hours-
Racing to do that which others so fear
Holding mother and siblings very dear,
Lover of horses, cats and faithful dogs
A Paul Bunyan one stroke, splitting huge logs.
Rock steady and never once defeated
punishing those who had his friends cheated!
Such great prowess one should never deny.
Always willing to give others fair try.
Rewarded to live to a ripe old age-
Some called hero, others a wise old sage-
Myself, I just loved him as my best friend
True chap that is faithful until the end,
Bright red roses adorn his earthen bed
none daring to walk paths he had once tread.
His life and memory are treasured gold
kind of brave man, I long to be when old!
Such great prowess one should never deny.
Always willing to give others fair try.
Robert J. Lindley,
July 11th, 1993
Rhyme, (Dedication poem)
Note- Presented as was originally composed, no edits to the verses(body of the work).
I was tempted but then I thought may be best to leave as was felt
and written the first go....
Added the word - "Old" - , to the Title, as seemed fitting since that describes the current state of the author
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers Minnesota
Before Paul Bunyan flattened it
To resemble North Dakota.
Paul's blue ox Babe was equal to
Most anything he'd ask.
A job that takes machines today,
Babe found an easy task.
When Minnesota was cleared off
To Paul's high satisfaction,
He looked around for more to do.
His huge ox needed action.
He came out to the great Northwest
Where he found to his surprise,
The trees grew taller and so big
They matched his ox for size.
Babe struggled just to clear a path
For wagons to get through.
Paul, fearing for his valiant ox,
Said, "I''m retiring you."
As I said before, no man's alive
To tell the end of story.
It's said Paul and his ox went home
To bask in their past glory.
My mountain man was born in June.
He could do everything, even lasso the moon.
No problem was too big for him to undertake,
Even if it was a fixture that he had to make.
He was like Paul Bunyan, chopping trees and cutting wood,
To keep his little house as warm as he could.
In business he was about as hard a worker as they come.
To be astute and shrewd was his rule of thumb.
He and his wife owned a business and did all right.
Lots of good things were bought to their delight.
But the most important thing that had the highest cost,
Was the love they had for each other they somehow lost.
Now the two people that loved each other for years,
Cannot be in the same room without valid fears.
What happened to their love that began years ago?
Greed crept in, and they did not even know.
They should have been retiring together, holding hands on the beach.
Instead they are going separate ways, and thinking of the breach.
Money is not everything, there is only so much life you live.
Value the love you have, and in your heart forgive.
Hope, a window
in which to see
tomorrow's sunrise.
The door in which
to enter the kingdom
of possibilities.
The balloon floating
over a stygian abyss.
The wheel
in which pregnant dreams
are spun.
The bridge that links
the trying present
to an auspicious future.
The thing
to steadfastly cling to
in the midst
of pessimism;
in the midst
of trials and tribulations.
On his pilgrimage,
Christian clutched to hope
as he traveled...
from the City
of Destruction
to the Celestial City.
Hope was
all that remained
in Pandora's box
When the ills of the world
flew out
with a gale-force wind.
The deus-ex-machina
that swooped down
when sucked into
the vortex
of a catastrophe;
when calamity
roared like thunder.
Hope, Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire (Winner: 5th Place)
Date written and posted: 10/18/2016
A STUNNER 2017 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date written and posted: 10/18/2016
References:
The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan
Pandora's box refers to the container opened by the Greek mythological woman Pandora releasing all the evils of humanity into the world -- Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia
9/9/17
Don't f*****
Push my buttons
Really, really buzzin
Often high and drunken
Just trying to function
Stand in the way, and your ship will be sunken
No time for interruptions
If it is not about cash, end of discussion
Cold blooded
Leaving others gutted
Especially those that can't be trusted
A bunch of gluttons
And so much corruption
By the hundreds
Not dozens
They've been bluffin'
And frontin'
I wasn't
Really came up from nothin'
Did my own thing, got somethin'
And my name buzzin'
I blame myself for any self-destruction
No time for assumptions
Even after disruptions
And conundrums
Experiments continually conducted
Tools eventually rusted
Volcanoes erupted
Animals got hunted
Areas flooded
What some people just did
Left me disgusted
Which is why they quickly got punished
Since no one else did, I stood up to such rubbish
I was way down in a dungeon
Then clarity, came all of a sudden
Got out of there, and reached the summit
Way above it
With no intention to plummet
Or kick the bucket
While saying "f*** it"
Got strong like Paul Bunyan
Inside and out, no matter the obstruction
There once was a mule named Samson
He was as strong as he could be
He won all the strong mule contests
In the entire state of Tennessee
That old mule could pull anything
He even pulled a house or two
Now, this was quite unusual
That's just not what strong mules do
Now one day, a stranger came to town
Paul Bunyan was his name
With him was an ox named Babe
Who challenged Samson to a game
See, Babe had a reputation
For being the strongest in the land
So, if anybody could beat old Samson
Babe thought he surely can
Now, before they ever got started
They had to lay down some rules
Babe wanted to make sure it was fair
And he'd heard about those sneaky mules
They decided a tree was the test
To see which one was stronger
But old Samson was determined
That Babe was champion no longer
Babe would be the first to go
As they tied him to the tree
He pulled and pulled with all his might
But still no victory
Samson wasn't even watching
As Babe admitted defeat
He was thinking about his dinner
How he just couldn't wait to eat
Now Samson was a confident mule
Like no other mule around
And when they tied him to that tree
It started tumbling down
But before the contest was over
Babe yelled out in protest
"He didn't even pull at all
And I gave it my very best"
Now, something indeed was fishy
For the tree was gnawed in two
The judges talked to Samson
And found out it was true
For Samson had really cheated
He just couldn't stand to lose
A beaver was found behind a bush
As the crowd awaited the news
Samson had been disqualified
Babe was declared the winner
And in a show of sportsmanship
He invited that ox to dinner
Extra weight no longer a problem for shallow water,
We bulked up for the next leg of our journey,
Water containers, even some canned goods
An acceptable luxury in our seventeen foot canoe,
A canvas topping lashed everything in securely,
Offered some weather proofing for sensitive gear,
Our sleeping bags, some staples, and clean clothing.
Cameras were kept in waterproof pouches
That stayed within easy reach of paddlers,
Fishing rods and car mounts for the canoe,
In case we burned out, topped the load,
With ice chest and Dr. Peppers easily accessible.
In high spirits we set out on the next leg,
Destination Cass Lake's Boy's Camp Chippewa.
I had traveled this leg before as a twelve year old,
By canoe, but with less luxury, until Bemidji,
Where each of our crew went to a late movie,
And downed a Paul Bunyan Special banana split
One banana and seven scoops of ice cream,
Camp four miles across open water long after dark,
With only a fire on a distant shore to guide us home. (4)
Poet's Notes:
(4) People die pulling stunts like this. In fact strong winds arose forcing us to shore shortly after we started, light rain and lightning flashes high in the sky! We had to pull our canoes wading in the dark along the shore for 3 hours to reach our camp. Our counselors pledged us all to secrecy for they would have been fired had management known the danger they put us all in.
Pro Patria Mori
Missouri volunteers bit bullets, watched
as Santa Ana's baggage washed
their brazen hair, hip deep
in the Rio Grande.
The ancient river moved across the land
Like slow drool down a leather cheek.
Bang! Paul Bunyan's balls
rolled down the Great Divide, rattled
across the porcelain sea.
Oh, the girls!
Hair hot and black, Whoopee!
Their tongues as pink as baby fat.
Now tongs drop a hissing crepe
on the defoliated plate. Butter complicates
our fingers, soils the bib.
We crack a claw. Like a crib
at Benin, wary and dull,
the eagle fills his nest with skulls.
Here's the story of Paul Bunyan
But I'm gonna tell it my way
Some people probably won't like it
But I guess that'll be okay
Paul Bunyan wasn't really a giant
But he did have an ox named babe
Paul was known as a man of his word
Just exactly like honest Abe
Anyway, Paul liked to cut down trees
And he simply was the best
He'd cut them down and send them down river
Long before any of the rest
But Paul only had one problem
Chipmunks scared him to death
When he saw one, he'd scream like a woman
Til he used up all of his breath
Now, you might think that's funny
But Paul had a fear of rats
Possums, Squirrels and flying rodents
And yes, I'm talking about bats
And he was just a little bit squeamish
When it comes to other things
He didn't like taking fish off his hooks
Or any kind of bug that stings
And at night he liked to wear lingerie
He liked the way it made him feel
Now a man like Paul couldn't buy it from a store
So he only had what he could steal
Now, Babe thought Paul was crazy
What was he trying to hide
But Paul just told that big blue ox
He was in touch with his feminine side
Well, now you know the legend
About Paul, and his ox babe
Bet you never heard it quite like this
So aren't you glad you stayed
©2010 (Jim Sularz)
Was it by chance or pure circumstance,
that the path I took, led me far out West?
An island hop, a drifting castaway,
with treasured moments, of bygone yesterdays.
Where family, friends, who all grew old,
there, one by one died, as I was told.
Faint northern lights, where Paul Bunyan swings,
I’ll take back from time, my boyhood dreams.
I’ll renew the love, my heart holds high,
and celebrate in life, what remains of time.
I’ll turn back this vessel, that’s been adrift,
to a warm embrace, a last-forgotten kiss.
And when this journey draws near complete,
I’ll feel the soft Earth, cool, beneath my feet.
On that final hour, deep within my soul,
will live a place I once left, I’ll still call – home.
So, bury me high within the hills,
with the purple lilacs and the daffodils.
Where loons wail, and sighing willows weep,
where Hiawatha, rocks us fast asleep.
Suns fading across this sky while the clouds weep to noone passin by,
And still I think of the days we made out of dignity, grace, and pain,
and it never seems to speak the same.
So tell me why the tears don't come easy even when the heart is ripped apart,
Yeah, its hard workin' in the end of days of a romance and love gone dry,
But the blood remains on the hand and in the eyes, cuz who else knows we're buyin
empty time.
Tired of the walled-in cities cuz the tragedy echoes closer an the sins don't care who they kill,
And you in your diamond mansions with ivory and marble splendor throwin' your arrows,
Aimin' for the depths of my spirit, but u ain't good enough to burn these memories,
So do we wait for the flames or the war outside these walls to destroy us from within,
But i couldn't find the freedom of the skies from your tantelizing grip, so i learned to burn,
In the wild abandoned throes of what we thought we knew was real, but I played
the hand too hard, and I couldnt keep the demon quenched in the shadows and
before I knew it, I found myself fallin' from heavens throne to the wastelands I once
roamed.
Now im high on the hills of the north country, lookin' out from the mists of of a new morn,
And the birds singin' a new song as only he can cuz he already knows about the outside world.
Yeah babe, its been a long time rolling, but the tears of yesteryear are all the more
sweeter for the lesson learned for tomorrow.
well, I saw you some time ago on the edge town, where only the mystics go
speakin in a voice so soft and low that I could'nt run an I didn't try,
but my name wasn't in it, and on your arm was paul bunyan of the suburbanites
and a new life glowin from the sidelines had claimed you for its own,
but the ancient gaze you gave spoke all too clear, an my soul was too pained to cry,
but my walk and my heart are strong, so maybe we'll meet again
on the borderline of the city of lights where we first felt the angst and sweat of new
life and love alive and thrivin, where nothin ever really dies but sleeps.
Tell me mama, do you sleep?
Yeah.........I know.....
Neither do I.
©
Form:
As I was about to enter the frontier of a forest
I was greeted by a Bunyan tree at the very entrance
It started talking to me in a language audible
That could be wisely deciphered as follows;
“I am a Bunyan tree, full of magic and grace
Nestling among smaller trees in our forest kingdom
From a tiny seed dropped by a bird, I grew
Into immeasurable size with a verdant crown
Now a vast territory is under my domain
I stretch and swing my arms all around
Support my body on a hundred legs
That no storm or gale can uproot me
My leafy arms are curved to the ground
Forming a maze of arches and tangy knots
With an enigmatic darkness hovering
Where birds roost and squirrels run about
When I bear fruits, the feathered folks come in flocks
Green parrots, bulbuls, mynas and crows
Squabbling with each other for my scarlet gems
Leaving me noisy with their mad crescendo
I proudly host these denizens of land and air
Never resisting their obtrusive invasion
I offer them shade and shelter, making them joyful
As they hop about and romance among my branches
I never set any boundaries as I find joy
In exploring and conquering
And into newer and newer realms, I move
With none hindering my encroachment
Sad, when we are grown, men hack us and cut us down
Now my only prayer is that no axe should fall on us
As we trees supply tons of oxygen for man and beast
And without us, life never can thrive or flourish”
____________________________________________
Placed Second
May.19. 2022
Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anoucheka Gangabissoon
JOHN BUNYAN anticipated future, OUR neutral nomenclature
Some say God is "too male" - 'twere better "goddess" and "Mother"
My "preacher" saw sins since Adam and Eve, Face of Salvation:
"Such a comfort to call Grace, 'Abba, Father' - beyond ONE generation."
NOTES:
1. J. Bunyan, Works, I, pp. 627 ff. He adds, the one word spoken in faith us worth more than thousands filled with pride, "Father"
2. I am a Christ follower according to the Scriptures (both Testaments) but I empathise with those who, for want of a sensitive father in Earth, have doubts about the Goodness of our Father in heaven
There are scanty men of tasty rhyme.
Shakespeare is dead and Marlow has gone with time,
Tennyson is under the soil and Holmes is no more;
Bunyan will never live again, and where is Poe?
I miss the verse of Nahum Tate,
A man stolen by the tides of fate.
I wish I could behold the mien of Coleridge,
Or see Longfellow musing upon a lonely bridge!
Now the uncoursed apprentices of this superior art
Have been left to dash hither and thither,
Knowing not which word to choose,
Chasing in vain some erratic Muse.
They say that little boats ought to keep the shore
And that larger ones may venture more.
I vote to labor on hot days and lonely nights,
I choose to rob myself of sleep and such basic rights
And attempt to fill these gaping gaps.
I seek no gain on this sorrowful earth,
I labour to earn some mystic mirth
When warmed by the blissful wings of death;
When its vanished the deceitful pride of breath.
Let no man recognize me for my plaintive works
While I'm on this earth of muddy murks!