Best Logger Poems
For "Show Me the Funny (part two)"
There once was a fellow a woggin'*
Who bumped into one who was loggin'
They had quite a spat
The ax was a bat
And the first had a lump on his noggin
* Woggers are those who get all dressed for jogging, but only go at walking speed, while vigorously pumping their arms to delude themselves that they are jogging.
A Renga for Poetry Soup:
Meander
Time and the river
Endless silver morning
Autumn leaves float by
Shimmering streaming mountains
Pines swaying in constant winds
Morning mirror
Another gray hair
Ah! the wind of time
Spring's last daffodil
Plucked for a dinner paty
Diamond blue fragments
Reflecting off stream waters
Another moonrise
Sunset colors disappear
Shooting stars
Campfire sparks
Fresh fish and conversation
Embracing shadows
How many friends have vanished?
Canyon echoes
Retirement time
Facing all the could-have-beens
Tears in whiskey
Quietly at the gravesite
For her long dead daughter
Rolling ocean waves
At the sunset horizon
A ship disappears
Dry pine needles underfoot
In the distance, tolling bells
The sound of a car
Approaching - disappearing
Sleepless night
Between the windowsill plants
A single moth, dry as dust
Cloud shrouded moon
Moire patterns fill the sky
Wandering ghosts
Great grandfather's photograph
Fading before my eyes
Dried flowers
Holding a spider's web
Sunrise
Children building sandcastles
The sound of waves and laughter
The old phonograph
A song from long ago
A shaft of dust-light
Sitting on a redwood stump
A logger counts his wages
Stopping to listen
An unknown bird's mournful song
Fern embroidery
Seeds on the wind drifting by
Tea kettle whistles
In the dazzling sunlight
Achingly white billow clouds
Ring of blue
A drone of mid-day falling
On the autumn wind meadow
A hawk ascending
Call of triumph echoing
A trout in her talons
Smoke from the hermit's cabin
No one remembers his name
Winter rain
The dry emerald brook
Resurrection
Waking from a flight filled dream
Facing the machine filled day
Watching the moon set
Chaotic starshine appears
Orion's embrace
Singing satellites sparkle
Between the winter branches
River of wonder
Filling the child's eyes
Christmas morning
Bright snow on the open field
Melting in the winter thaw
All that I can find
Of the homesteader's church --
The empty window frame
Spring breeze rustling the old tree
The sound of grass and lilacs
The old woman
Serves herself a cup of tea
With her memories
Forest boulder
April rain
My soul and body have never been good friends
They are in enmity, constantly at logger heads
When my body aspires to have riches and fame
My soul strives those tempestuous desires to tame
When my body seeks to have fun and frolic in whole
My soul yearns to see me freed from their deathly control
It recognizes, there is a life higher than this earthly life
Free from ego and all bondages of conflicting strife
While great currents of bodily aspirations perpetually rise
The soul longs to capture the eternal heavenly prize
As desires come crowding like rising waves
To wrest dominion from them is what my soul craves
From all tumultuous passions, it wishes to stay free
Also, from all agonizing and enslaving thoughts, flee
Though life is one of crippling chaos, struggle, and pain
From adversities, soul strives to have everlasting gain
The pleasures of the body can only ensnare me
So, my soul, from all incarcerating passions, wishes to flee
It keeps a wish list like Love and Compassion to fill the breast
Also, Kindness, Thankfulness and Composure to calm me to rest
As the river seeks the sea, when life comes to its end,
I seek Thee my Lord and in you, my soul wishes to blend
Then in pure bliss and deep content, I will sing a joyous song
Freed from all sorrows that once throttled me in throng
Dec.17.2022
~ Placed First~
Our Soul’s Wish List Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Seeking Seeker
Ten doggone years I've sawed your trees.
I quit. I'll saw my own darn z's.
I'm done with blood and sweat and tears;
I've sawed your trees ten doggone years.
Right out that door I'm marching on.
No use to look, 'cause I'll be gone.
I'm done with aches and blisters, for
I'm marching on, right out that door.
I'll never feel this weary back,
Nor sleep in such a leaky shack;
I'll go and find a decent meal --
This weary back I'll never feel.
With some sweet girl we'll settle down
Two thousand miles west of town.
I and my mule, named Mr. Merl,
We'll settle down with some sweet girl.
I've lived in hell, Mad Merlin Green;
Now I, like you, am strong and mean.
Once shy and kind, now hear me yell;
Mad Merlin Green, I've lived in hell.
Tomorrow’s history makers
Future record breakers
Are the infants of this day
They should be taught well
In order to lead the way
They should be taken forward
In the fear of God
By the responsible one’s above them
Ye parents, guardians and lecture givers
Train them to keep of boozing
Instruct them never to go logger heads
Improve their knowledge of moral uprightness
So as not to make their regime
Bite the just
Our guardians of later days
Subtract yourselves from the disguised devils
Less they turn you into a bag of disgust
Make yourself confident in yourself
And keep a cold shoulder
Of relying on them
Or at last you become failure’s hosts
Disembark from the plane of the unjust
And board the plane of the just
Desist from hitting below the belt
And permit fairplay to rule
For it is a praise worthy value
Let the truth prevail in all you do
Let your attitude be reflected in your records
So as to be known as an accountable man
And a scrupulously honest woman
Always be on the level
So that they would be your face saver
When the doubting Thomas talks
Deprive yourself from going against the rules
Even when you fail
But move on gallantly
Till you win the race
Lend a helping hand
To those who lose
When you win
Cease to get satisfied
With where you are
Escape from the clutches of laziness
For it hinders your success
Put your best foot forward
And work as if your whole life depends on it
Don’t mask yourself from your responsibility
Express love and care to your mother land
Show her all the beauty
She possess inside her
Give her the strength of pride
To be a gallant bride.
Omebe Rita
Partnachklamme
The most beautiful place
Above the Bavarian resort town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen,
There winds a country road which leads to the Partnach gorge.
Hikers are passed by less hearty tourists transported in hay wagons.
On the left side of the road, a river can be spotted through the lindens.
The river water looks like it was drawn with aquamarine pastels,
Having been super-oxygenated from the gorge’s rapids and cascades.
Playful locals built miniature dwellings and piers along the banks.
Loggers used to hike up the dangerous gorge to unblock log jams,
So safer paths were tunneled in and along the walls of the gorge.
So many sight-seers used to sneak up the loggers trails for the views,
That logging ceased and the gorge became a tourist destination.
At the mouth of the gorge, a guest house sells carbonated buttermilk,
Weiswurst, and other Bavarian specialties to fortify or refresh.
During the holiday season, pilgrims carefully hike the trails
Carrying torches which reflect from the icicles and frozen walls.
Waterfalls, narrows, bridges, and a logger chapel
All add to the charm of Partnach Gorge.
Ways, means?
My shopping list?
My billfold; my bank card?
There seems to be inadequacies’
somewhere.
Today
the sun is bright.
I need to cut my grass
but the sun is so bright today
I can’t.
from you
flows the sunshine
from you the wind is touch
from you runs the river of life
for me
fireworks
will fly and we
will rejoice at the end.
If the end comes and with it a
new start.
and Crocs,
Alligators,
Cotton-mouth water snakes,
and those large Logger-head turtles;
all bite.
Accept
this tone, this word
as it is printed here
and pass it along to the next
player.
We love to make lists,
To describe, name, number.
How can it have value,
If not on my list.
As logger I stand
Before the green forest,
The numbered trees
Are ones to cut.
The forest cut down
Is only to me
Bigger box to live in,
A shiny new car,
The species I slaughter
Are not for my count,
They appear on
Another mans list.
Naturalists say
We'll not care to,
Protect animals
We're not taught
To love.
But lists stand appalled
At life in the forest,
So long they peter
In our dismay,
Jaguar, Lemur
Capybara, Agouti
Blue Morpho Butterfly,
Tree Toed Sloth.
Tapirs, Ocelots
Even Kin Ka Jous,
Countless insects
Eagles and bats.
Scarlet Macaw,
Reptiles, amphibians,
Snakes and lizards
Too many to count.
Epiphytes, bromeliads
The Bougainvillaea
Ferns, moses, lichens,
Quite without number.
Two thirds of flowering
Plants are found
In rainforests
Going on lists adinfinitum
But do you really care.
Capitalist drivers
Economy must grow
Making it cheap
To maximise profit.
Palm oil a desert
Hard wood for looks
Till next years fashion
Changes the rolls.
Who can make lists
Play the accountant,
If the bottom line
Only shows human worth.
How many species are
Bought for ten dollars,
Balanced in columns
Of profit and loss.
What accountants
Hand or eye could
Frame the aeons
That go to create
The beauty
Of the ecology of life.
Tiny movement
On the wicker chair
Jumping spider
Catches the eye,
Instant spring
Strand to strand.
All its being
Compact perfection,
Taut intent
In the moment of life.
Awed to wonder
Begs the question,
How can anyone
Cut the rainforest
That I learn is,
Though never will see.
You are still the one,
I thought you didn't exist,
I thought it was an illusion
Until I met you....
Wow! Who is that, was my thought,
Puzzled for a while I was.
Exchanging our common difference ,
I hoped to get an addition.
So it did happen.
Felt my heartbeat,race faster as I heard
Your voice.
I couldn't, because I couldn't control it.
It was so deep, I bled
My feelings? It was that deep!!!
Like a farmer who can't do without
His cutlass.
Like a mother who can't do without
Her child.
Like the sun who can't do without
The moon.
Our love is nameless
Our love, classless
Our love, unconditional
Our love, priceless
Our love thriving in the face of hardness.
In your love my faith grew stronger
In your love I found a partner
In your love I fear nothing
In your embrace I find solace
In your presence I find comfort.
In your love I bid loneliness goodbye
In your love I want to be bound.
I would look at you and wonder like the stars.
Countless times, at logger heads we became,
Make it easier for me, I plead.
But with more love to settle.
Let bygones be.
It hurts at times, because its true love.
But you are still the one.
As a pair we sail....
Ours is the definition of love.
Let me say that the family involved still tend the grave to this day;
There in the brook, face down he lay;
While the log train slowly continued on its way.
When he fell, he had hit his head.
Yet no one realized that the man was dead.
He'd been to town for some fun and drinking,
(Or so those who found him later were thinking.)
The ride back to the logging camp was pretty rough,
And the train's vibrations probably threw him off'
Two hunters in the woods in a light rain,
Came across his earthly remains.
Who he was they had no idea,
But they knew they couldn't leave him there.
They dug him a grave in the midst of the wood,
With a river rock for a headstone, it looked pretty good.
Every year, these two returned to care for that site,
Clearing the brush and making sure all was right.
They continued this task as long as they could,
Then others took over tending that grave in the woods.
The annual trek requires about an hour all told,
But the satisfaction of serving is worth more than gold'
His name, his family, or the place he called home,
Have, for more than a century, remain unknown.
Only God knows whether he was lost or saved,
But be certain that He knows the man in that grave'
We will all end up like that logger some day;
We will also be forgotten in a similar way.
Our lives should impact the lives around,
So memories will linger, once we're placed in the ground.
Tooting our own horn isn't the point of this story,
But rather, being remembered for displaying God's glory.
Arthur Ball(H.S.L.P.)
June 15, 2006
God Bless all at poetry soup.com keep up the great poems, Amen Robert.
For external use only-
enter the dragon and the spore.
The mold.
Allergen and Alopecia.
enter the giant ceramic logger and the ballad of the
blown fuse.
This is the outtage of power
interim
buds begin to flower and birds breed where
apple blossoms shower on
the living pretense of
Astroturf.
Sweating now, the
father of the flame
the serf draws his kerchief from his shirt and
wipes his brow
raises his axe and slaughters the
pregnant sow.
The Universal Man by
Ted Davinci. or was it
Leonardo Kazinsky?
Just like football I am passionate for my team
When we score a goal the fans faces beam
Bellows from the stadium like a echo bouncing from the ball
When the other side score our echos gravely fall
Wild as Liverpool and Manchester fans are logger heads are go
Football is the game of England and not only a sporting show
Messi, Rooney, Ronaldo all stars of storming knights
Ladies standing aside with classy heels, skirts and tights
The scores flood people with excitement and fans up to their feet
Some say it’s a religion and some say it performs the heart to beat
Touch wood Baby! wish you a happy new year,
Blowing cheerful cacophony in your ear.
Fling aside the sadistic sorrow my dear,
Let us clear from your mind, the infertile fear.
Life is not a cuban cigar,
As time passes you wont wear,
So, stop the clarion cry that you are on sear.
A black suite with diamonds studded as they appear,
To heal it, bald sun works restlessly and he might retire,
Raise yourself there, as a glowing sapphire.
Set your standards farther, bigger and higher,
Insurrection against all odds, maketh you not to cower.
At logger heads dont stagnate as a fence sitter,
Decide once, move ahead, iron hearts never jitter.
Resusciate the bloodied life and place it safer,
Reinvigorate the mummified hope and make it merrier.
Prove your antagonists rants as a classic sattire.
Sunny days ahead, dont roam around without a nice attire,
As you will be noticed as a superstar of this year.
Raise the toast, once again, happy new year,
Nothing on earth could belittle our cheer.
I might be able to bring an end to all of the world’s turmoil and strife,
Because I think that I have stumbled upon the one true meaning of life.
It seems it all began a long time ago when Adam got his Eve,
Let me tell it to you right away so that you might soon believe.
The Lord made Adam fall to sleep and then He took from him a rib,
He said “From this I’ll make a woman,” He wasn’t trying to be glib.
If there’s one thing in this world I know it’s that ribs should come in racks,
And they always should come in one of two ways, St. Louis or baby backs.
I prefer the baby backs although St. Louis style has its fans,
You should be able to enjoy either one you like with dry rub or sans.
You’ll need to coordinate the type of wood you want to use for smoke,
That reminds me I wanted to remember to tell you this woodsy joke.
It seems there was this young tree hugger, who chained herself to a tree,
She told the logger who came for it that you’ll have to cut through me.
He said, “Lady, with the chest you’ve got I’ll need to get a bigger saw,
You shouldn’t be aloud to wear a shirt that tight at least without a bra.”
Now that I think of it, my own shirt is getting kind of tight,
I think that the time to start a diet might just about be right.
With what I’ve been through I’ve added on one or two extra pounds,
Maybe this weekend I should try to golf one or two extra rounds.
But golfing is the kind of sport that takes up so much of my time,
Perhaps to get myself in better shape a stair master I should climb.
When I climb the stairs to go to bed at night, I really am so tired,
Sometimes I start to think about the things to which I have aspired.
And I wonder if the things that I’ve done will ever add up in my life,
Then I turn out the bedroom lights and I kiss my ever-loving wife.
That’s when it dawns on me that no matter how my mind is leaning,
At that precise moment it’s the thing that gives my life its meaning.
That gauzy speculation may be as fleeting as a whisper from a dream,
But the next inspiration waits in line for its turn, in my eye to gleam.
So please remember that the life you have is a gift from our Creator,
Enjoy every second you’re given and live it like there won’t be any later.
I hope the meaning of your life is clearer to you now and this can be a sign,
But if you’re even more confused, at least you’ve found the meaning of mine.
The Minstrel
Sweet opiate flavour from the minstrel’s voice,
Will lure the depth of emotion to waft allure.
This same melody will strip the kingdoms astir.
When the singer decides to singe our creases in sinuous,
The last time you blared,contentment remained unmade.
I learn the song-mill has trailed the south,
Where the sparrows are twittering in style.
At the clasp of the sought,the North will sprout,
And only the laps of tenor can do the forte content.
Behind the reels of strings will accolades ring.
The brass and the bass compete for mood,
And the mass of praise,alas! Compels the move.
Per occasion, you will knot the sounds as though,
The percussion were there to merry the tango,
And the rhythms unfurling rolled out in tannoys.
We have learnt to wait upon your leisure,
When we burnt the gait of youth logger
Among the flavours of life,you reign especially.
Only the favours of your lyrics are rife amidst,
And the concert is alert as the tune exudes.
As the tides of the ocean cart the galleon along,
The waves of your gem bestows garland aspread.
O fig of melodies; let the days revel above,
And the league of choreographies do relics demand.
Sweet opiate flavour will do the minstrel attune.