Best Chain Saw Poems
I am Tim
I am Tim
Tim I am
That Tim-I-am!
That Tim-I-am!
I do not like
that Tim-I-am!
Do you like
green eggs and ham?
I do not like them,
Tim-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.
CUT CUT CUT.....That's Dr Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham....now why did I start writing that...Oh I know must have been the 500 times I read it to my 4 year old daughter last weekend...I asked her older sister and two older brothers but no I did read them Dad-I-am!
A father of four and proud of them all
Youngest is still short, my oldest- he's tall
Give to them my time, wouldn't have it any other way
Playing tennis, coaching baseball or driving to ballet
Hard worker, they say, a motor that wont quit
Adapt with a hammer, chain saw or drill bit
Not afraid to get dirty, greasy, smelly or wet
Work sun up to sun down with barely a sweat
My friends are my treasures, I hold them real tight
Each one is special but they all are a delight
If they are ever in need, I'm there in a flash
Bringing comfort, happiness, and the occasional cash
I am quick with the wit and enjoy a good laugh
Not too into vanity, a quick shower no bath
I am a lover of woman and a lover of life
I am married to nature she is a great wife
Grew up rough and tumble, clawing for scraps
Volunteer, mentor, teacher, wore many caps
Wear my heart on my sleeve, shy away from a spat
Tim, Timmy, Timothy...I am who I am and that is that
I am contest
I am male
A short walk from the road
you are deep in forest.
Tall mountain ash form
pillars that hold up space
and keep a cathedral
of shade within its walls.
High overhead, a canopy
of leaves curtain the sky
in prayerful whispers.
Tree ferns crowd a gully
where fallen giants bridge
a creek carrying a trickle
of mountain tears.
You keep your silence
not wanting to intrude
on another's grief.
Sometimes you can hear
lyrebirds perform their repertoire
of mimic song. One, they say,
can copy the sound
of a chain saw, another,
the long drawn out whine
of a siren as it races
towards a fire.
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.
The Old Oak Tree
For thirty-three years she’s been standing there,
With all her majestic beauty, without a care.
From a tiny seedling I had planted her,
The years rolled by swiftly, like a blur.
The decision was made, she must come down,
The old oak tree looked stately wearing her crown.
The tree surgeon, Jesse, came by that day,
Chain saw in hand, he didn’t come to play.
As each limb was sawed off, I felt the pain,
I stood helplessly as my big oak was slain.
Finally she stood cold, undressed and bare,
I felt so ashamed for my part in this affair.
I saw the surgeon cutting low on her trunk,
Then she began to sway like somebody drunk.
Finally, exhausted, she did a curtsy and fell,
A small tear came in my eye as I bid her farewell.
©2010 Lynn B. Glover
Villanelle: The only game solution to the human condition
The only game solution to the human condition
“Don’t nobody move a muscle” and hold your breath
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
In a billion years men will pass babies with their motion
And suffragettes will be the toothless kind with bad breath
The only game solution to the human condition
Our girls will all live up to receive the Nobel unction
While our boys will all learn to shoot crap in stealth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Lao Tse said “Reduce the size of the State and the population”
Border guards made him cough up The Way in lieu of wealth
The only game solution to the human condition
Time somebody put an end to this unfair competition
Girls have only from fourteen to barren fortieth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Naked ****-stars roam Holy Woods far cry from titillation
Chain-saw massacres take us beyond deep-freeze death
The only game solution to the human condition
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The cedar towered above the shingled roof,
Its tapered branches hiding squirrels and birds
until the day when Hugo swept the hills
uprooting poplars, whipping wind-wilted
leaves against the parlor window.
The cedar fell, its prodigious bulk
flattened against the sodden earth.
For years it lay along the gravel drive.
The neighbor though we ought to cut
the cedar into pieces--use the oval slabs
for stepping stones or perhaps for firewood.
The gard'ner groaned and said it was a nuisance.
One summer day we thought to drag it off
to slice away the limbs, the falling needles.
But the honeysuckle had wound around the trunk
as if to say how much it was not in the way.
A chameleon slithered, dark against the trunk,
a ground sparrow squawked and fluttered in alarm
while chipmunks hurried to guard a nut-filled hole.
We put the chain-saw in the shed
and planted flowers in the tangled roots.
A cedar tree, after all, is indestructible...
There he is sitting atop my favorite comforter and upon my king-sized beige recliner. He thinks he is the king of the universe, my little dog named Sunny. He often rests there for hours and most days you can't ignore the chain-saw sound coming from the living room. There he is again drifting away into his doggie dreams! ZZZZzzzz.
I sit and ponder what in the world my dog is dreaming of. He is snoring so intently. Is he concentrating in his dreams as he does in real life? Is he preoccupied by a flea on his back side, or rather is he chasing a squirrel up a tree with his wagging tail? Does he dream of reaching the doggie treats on the highest shelf in the kitchen cabinet? Or perhaps he is taking a bubble bath when the queen of the house is off to work? Oh to get into the dreams of my doggie and to just take a quick peek!
I better be more quiet now. I don't want to wake up the king of my recliner!
ZZZZzzz.
Gwendolen Rix
1-27-15
The sun's savage fingers have penetrated
the calving sheets of ice, delving deeply
beneath the blankets of the frozen surface.
And the oceans, bruised mauve and swollen
like a pregnant whore, rail against the rocks
of man's kingdoms with their bowels ripped
open by bleached coral and rising temperatures;
from which clouds rise up, bitter like a smog
eclipsed sun, only to fall back to earth with
corruption pinned to the coat tails of every raindrop.
And, across the fields, a coal-filled crystalline air
drives a guilty world's dreams towards unprotected
lungs and evaporating lands. Where oil worshipped
totums portray the sordid lucre of promised bounty,
producing lopsided views of a dying humanity
And the keeper of the rain forest's keys deals with a
polluted man, chain saw in one hand and palm oil in
the other. Leaving the abandoned trees to rage
unheard against the indignity of their rape.
Leaving embattled tribes, gentle guardians of the land, to
stand defenceless against the idolatry of the dollar; whose
spiteful colours of destruction are spreading their kaleidoscopic
tendrils across a world full of dust bowls and refugee famine
Proud are we who stand tall against a world that gave us
a garden to play in and a sea to banquet on. And proud are
we who make the toys that blast holes out of creation and
bind the full power of the sun's wrath against such a tiny emblem
"Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much. Wisdom
is humble that he knows not more" (William Cowper 1785)
Christmases and Christmases ago down where the Camelias grow
There was a family whose money was low__not so much cash flow
'Twas the day before Christmas Eve and they didn't have their Christmas tree
nor stockings in a row
Their old artificial tree was looking very used_not even Charlie Brown could give
it a look renewed
There wasn't funds to buy a new one or a tree that the stores sold freshly cut
Mom decided to the woods they would go for a cedar to hunt
The whole family piled in that tiny little truck and across the creeks
and to the woods they flew like Santa in his sleigh
Walking, searching, searching not one suitable tree_fatigue, cold and huger
began to set in
So back to the truck they did plod sadly
And there right there was one Cedar which looked green and shapely
The man of house with his strong muscles and a chain saw quickly_cut that beauty
swinging high onto the truck proud of their great luck
Arriving home with tree in tow and placing it in its stand you know
Mom in the kitchen popping up some corn, making hot cocoa for us to warm
and
a fire she lay to heat up the room _then the tree we'd all groom
With the tree in place and a roaring fire, hot cocoa to warm all desires
An odor began to permeate the air_floating over here and there
"What is that scent?" mom did despair..
From that lovely green Cedar Tree a fowl scent circled the room
Dad laughed and laughed with a twinkling eye..
"A Tom Cat had sprayed that tree with a scent not very nice."...
So out the door the tree flew and Christmas Eve the hunt repeated...
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Happy Holidays
Free Verse
I chose Christmas Eve
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
He used to hunt and fish
Shoot the bull with ease
But now he has Huntington's Disease
He could cut a right of way
For the Rural Electric Company
With chain saw and saw blade
Now he can't even feed himself
For he has Huntington's Disease
He advanced up to line-man
Learning all about electric power
Going to work handling high voltage by the hour
Now he can hardly walk down the street
For he has Huntington's Chorea
He is at times a danger to himself
At times to people he meets
But is not right for he has H.D.
Sad but true it is inherited
If one has too many CAG's repeats
On their DNA they will come down with H.D.
Whispers tale of witches on festive October,
Mother's ninety first birthday and daughter in-law.
Our 20th Wedding anniversary and sober.
Halloween dressed as Ed Gein with a chain saw.
Pumpkin Patch party and wagon ride full of straw.
10/18/2023
My Grandpa was an impatient man.
One time when the boys didn’t bring the truck home in time
And he had to move hay,
Grandpa took a chain saw and massacred the top
Off his spanking brand new Cadillac,
So he could use it as a hay-moving almost truck.
The boys didn’t have anything
to impress their dates with
After that.
And their own fault too.
Impatience is the only thing
Grandpa and I
Ever had in common
As he had a mean
Streak that used
To pinch grandma
Until she cried. I remember
Watching this and thinking
How horrible he was.
He did it a lot, and it was
Awful.
Something happened one
Christmas that verified his
Meanness to me. I had
Been promised the next
Hold with the new baby for
40 minutes while my hoggish
Gloating sister kept holding on to
Baby David. When it was finally
My turn, Grandpa
Stepped up to say it was
His turn and I said,”Grandpa
It’s my turn.”
That’s when he slapped my
8-year-old face so hard I thought
He had slapped it OFF. I saw stars.
Mom got upset, and we
Went home immediately.
I had never seen my
Mother so mad, on my account.
We left Christmas without
Opening our presents,
Verifying that
I had somehow
Ruined Christmas.
After Grandma died
My twin and I spent one
Night with Grandpa, and believe me, I slept with one eye open
I woke, it was dark and some thing was on my face,
I tried to move my arms but found my self in a confined place.
My head was spinning and I felt sick
I think I was drugged and someone was playing a bad trick
I heard a noise but could make out what it could be
I lay there wondering what was happening to me
Who could have done this, I couldn’t think of a reason why
I started to pray, “O God please don’t let me die.”
I felt the lid “O God I’m in a wooden box.”
They going to bury me naked just wearing me socks.
Then I heard the sound, a chain saw, they were trying to start.
I began to panic, I was frightened, chest pains, I think it’s my heart.
Terrified my bowels flowed free
It’s ok I thought that the last thing I’ll leave them from me
I began to whimper still trying to figure out who and why
And praying louder “O God please don’t let me die.”
Then I heard my wife, she’s in with them I thought until she said,
“I told you not to drink, now come out from under the bed.”
Raining. Ants run to there empires fulfilled
Stones. Lizards into round holes eventually
Chicks covered with maternal quills
Warm away the chilly zone of the great bird of prey
Just as the Catfishes praise their water source for its abundance
Against the long beaky birds
Young brilliant Bob holds with gratitude
His lasting saviour who before then has punished
The now submissive dumb bullies
This annum, grains shall be the name of this
Field, thought the young old farmer as he laughed at his fallow field.
Grasses move rhythmically to the tune of the gentle breeze
In locustal relieve. Above them stood the trees,
Relieved from the frightening chain saw pollution,
Breaking and gyrating with the whirlwind and also
Being thankful, through its flowers, to
The sojourning agents who have come to help, breed and sing
The parasites live well at last in their unwelcome hosts
The anticlockwise mass looks hopeful
Believes that the application of destructive weapons
By the Sapiens, who have injured its much-adored body
Would stop and that their inter conflicts will be long gone.
That it’s involuntary coughs and sneezes will die down
Is one of its believes
The greatest light shines in conformity with
The Earth and the Moon as it aids the sky
In the recycle the. willful sky covers the Earth willing
To give water when the time comes.
The wind's hot and cold breathe
Still moves around giving life to all hoping
That its anger comes not at all.
Without much of it they fall down,
Pleasing the long waiting plants with it wets stains
And freezing the plains of the north and south.