Best Loggers Poems
I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
My grandma was a steeple jack,
Of heights she had no fear.
The crowds would gather round to watch.
They came from far and near,
To see her swing and pirouette,
Doff her hat and wave.
And gasped and cheered each time she feigned
A slip and then a save.
Roof-toppers winced and bit their lips,
Tight rope walkers screamed.
Treetop loggers looked away
At the daring they were seeing.
Women gasped and children shrieked,
Fearful she would fall,
But at full ascent a massive roar
As she stood upon the ball!
She blew a kiss to the those below
As she turned around with ease,
Then there atop removed her scarf
And cast it to the breeze
But the crowd went wild as before their eyes
They viewed her final feat…
Into a handstand Grandma rose,
Then she waved and kicked her feet!
Whether flag pole, steeple, TV tower…
My grandma climbed them all.
For the freedom felt there in the clouds,
She was at their beck and call.
That grand old gal inspired me
Her legacy I've retraced.
Now I too dance upon a pole
At a club called Mary’s Place.
Where the forest is still virgin and the lyrebirds often call,
the bronze-wing comes to drink, and the ferns are growing tall,
there are deer prints in the mud, and there’s leeches seeking prey…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Where a pothole track goes winding through the burgan and ti-tree,
mountain ash and messmate stumps are overgrown history
from loggers in the forests, and the straining bullock dray…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Where recreation parks have forced a need for clearing of the bush,
where this grassland in the mountain now welcomes the human push,
and the platypus is unperturbed, where it’s still prepared to play…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Where lands been cleared and now the pines are planted in a row.
It’s all green but foreign and where nothing else will grow.
And king parrots or black cockies, have found their seeds okay…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Where dairy farms are greener than you ever think you’ll see,
blackberry hugs the banks with, bootlace bush and goodia pea,
and so mournful through the valley is the calling from the jay…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Where it’s back again to virgin scrub and hugging closer to a hill,
where the pools are getting deeper with backwaters black and still.
And the mother stream Latrobe, awaits the Loch, to draw away…
this little creek meanders on its way.
This little valley’s heaven for the angler coming here,
not only for the fishing, but the peace that’s always near.
Where one can reach the grassy banks of the chosen course,
then meander with the little creek, rippling from its source.
There’s a dearth of hides and cover for the trout who ‘hog’ the stream.
They chase the spinner to the edge, when they see the twirling gleam.
And where some take the triple hooks while others get away…
this little creek meanders on its way.
Scarred and Blackened
In Tasmania’s rugged but scenic South West
Lies an ancient land of pristine wilderness
Protected by a World Heritage Listing
An eco-system a thousand years nesting
A land of Aboriginal spiritual dreamtime
Where rare native flora survives, like Pencil Pine
And fauna abound on the Button Grass plains
With rugged mountain ranges never tamed
Hunter Gatherers burned to reduce the fuel load
The protectors now heading down the wrong road
By letting the fuel build to immense dimensions
A massive fire just waiting to turn the land ashen
The spirit of storm clouds gathers up high
For the rangers this is pleasing to the eye
But alas, this building spiral of cloud is dry
Just building thunder heads in the sky
The inner circle of the clouds one big mass
Intermingle, then with violence they clash
Spewing bolts of lightning to the ground
But not a drop of precious rain to be found
A searing bolt of lightning grounds
Amid the drought-stricken pencil pines
An explosion of sparks, then flames
A fire is born the lightening to blame
Spreading quickly with the brisk westerly winds
The fire races through the dry Button grass plains
A massive cloud of smoke drifts east
Alerting the protectors to this massive beast
The call goes out for fire fighters and water bombers
As the black smoke causes concern to near-by loggers
For the fire now a catastrophic inferno
Consuming the wilderness like no tomorrow
The water bombers and man-power useless
Against this cataclysm of wild fire that has unleashed
Thousands of acres of pristine wilderness
Now blackened and scared, a nothingness
For weeks it burned, some 100,000 acres
Now tamed by remote area fire-fighters
But the scars from the fire yet to discover
A landscape that will take years to recover
Global warming, to blame many think
As this South-West area was always wet
Many years of below average rainfall
Perhaps Mother-Nature having her revenge
The Hacker
Vodka
Used Dells and HP notebooks
Routers and switches
Gateways and sniffers
Kvm boxes and multi real-time data shows
My booty is plenty
No one knows the white mask of mist
They only know some monies are amiss
Bots and trojans and loggers too
Tools of the trade
As the cash is readily piled and made
2 million bit coins
400 million Yuan
786 billion rubles, there goes Putin’s new dawn
From Monaco to Luxembourg to Timbuktu
I have all the cash
Stolen from even mighty criminals too
Now I partake in my biggest heist
The crown jewels you can all keep and gaze
My prize is of more value, I shall hack all the days
I trace ip’s, and wires and protocols
Searching for patterns and rhythms and single heart beats
I shall not ever accept any defeat
I sit in my chair, monitors a plenty
Scanning and routing, probing and poking
Kilobytes and packets of data my way
Slowly, I shall hack into the device I wish to sway
Bingo, I got it, I think I am in
Pacemaker number 24-25-poet-of-things
I now control the beat of her heart
As I reprogram her love from here to the start
Pumping away, verses that sway
I shall now control her hearts desires of spring love in May
Captured her heart
Now I hold it in prisons enclave
To ancient romances and poetic rhymes
I know I am guilty of loves worst crime
However now I know her heart is all mine
I shall make it beat for eternity
So that the kiss I shall give on her sweet lips
Will be smiles held forever and a day
I hacked her heart
And I like it this way!
a post from 2014
for my beautiful granddaughter, Alexandra
After 13 days of confinement,
a caterpillar broke out of her butterfly egg,
Then ate the shell and pipevine leaf,
upon which it was laid,
A small fuzzy caterpillar,
with red spikes sticking out her sides and top,
She noticed on her middle,
a bright yellow colored spot-
Pipevine plants are toxic,
to things that are alive,
But for Queen Alexandra,
they would help her to survive,
These leaves would be her food source –
a repellent to her foes,
And if a predator caught her,
they’d vomit up and go-
Queen Alexandra wondered,
where on earth she might be,
Glancing at a tree canopy,
1,300 feet above the sea,
She noticed the thick greenery,
covering all the ground below,
And knew that only in a rainforest,
could this kind of vegetation grow-
Queen Alexandra didn’t know the name,
Papua New Guinea,
The tropical rainforest home,
to the largest butterflies that be,
Loggers destroying habitat,
collectors catching this species fast,
Predictions for her family –
only until the year 2021 to last-
Queen Alexandra as a caterpillar,
ate and grew for 120 days,
Shedding her skin six times was work,
not any fun or play,
Then she tightly clung
to the underside of a pipevine leaf,
And changed into a pupa,
the outside hardening as a protective sheath-
Inside changing her looks,
” metamorphosis” in her safe cocoon,
Forty days later emerging as a butterfly,
in hours long before noon,
Her 12 inch wings were mostly brown,
with pale yellow hues,
Her brother’s wings were smaller,
with streaks of iridescent blue-
So flying up they joined a group –
Queen Alexandra and her brother,
A gathering of butterflies together, you see,
is referred to as a “flutter,”
For about three months they’d fly,
at the top of the tree canopy,
This endangered “Queen Alexandra” Butterfly,
a beautiful rarity to see!
The Endangered Species Act
referred to as The ESA
is currently having problems
that may not go away.
Several species of wildlife
many a beautiful beast
Could very well become extinct
they're endangered to say the least!
Culprits, don't really seem to care
but they're at fault it's true
Oil Companies, Loggers, Special Interest Groups
just to name a few!
Global warming destroys their habitat,
their ability to hunt and such
Urban and Agricultural development
also don't help that much.
The aforementioned culprits and others
have undermined the ESA.
Some endangered species were left off the list,
"conveniently" needless to say!
The Grizzly Bear and Bighorn Sheep,
the Jaguar and Whooping Crane,
the Black Footed Ferret and Canada Lynx
are some that I can name.
All these animals are quite unique,
there's really quite an array.
So we all gotta do whatever we can
to support the ESA.
The spotted owl is a small thing,
A bit of flesh upon the wing,
Yet lawyers argue of its worth
With words that echo o'er the earth.
Loggers count the good jobs lost,
Saying astronomical the cost
Of saving forests for this bird,
That preservation arguments are absurd.
This insignificant, dark brown fowl,
The one we call the spotted owl,
Inhabits forests of the Northwest,
Where loggers consider him a pest.
The preservationists are just as loud,
As any of the timber crowd.
"If the owl is lost, " they loudly cry,
"The fragile eco-system will also die,
Following that the forests too.
Then what will the timber companies do?"
In a short time, it will be too late,
Two-thousand pairs, the estimate.
What gives mankind the right to say
What species lives, which goes away?
Just like a row of dominos,
When the first one falls, another goes.
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.
Arms and legs peddling struggling
I tread
In the middle of the lake
There is 300 feet of blue water
Between the soles of my feet
And the 10,000 year old dance floor beneath.
Torch Lake never gives up her dead.
The lake’s bottom is pocked
With springs bursting as jets from Middle Earth
Jumbling boulders like popcorn.
This is where the drowned bodies sink
Irretrievable by dive teams or priests
Those Ojibwa fishermen ripped from their Birch canoes
Loggers clunked dead on their heads
Great Depression titans
Still stitched to their britches
Top hats and bow ties
Pistols clutched to their hands
Wives sunk from hurt and betrayal
Factory workers snapped in two
A young girl from a rowboat
Caught in a sudden storm
Clapping for her tossed dog
She dove in.
I wonder from down there
Where they’re all doing the jig
What I look like to them
Up here?
Another man walking on his knees?
Imagine if seeds of trees hatched to Tree-lings.
Seedlings with two trunk legs and root feet
Bodies like humans covered in bark
Arm branches with finger shoots and leaves
Head with eyes, nose, ears and mouth
Like those cut into tree trunks eons ago.
Meet the Ents, pre-tree creatures,
Half-man, half-tree, destined to mature into trees.
When they are about two-score rings old and more
Their tired trunks grow roots
And Ents lose their human-like features and become just trees.
Ents can walk to establish new Ent colonies.
Ent armies can mobilize and fight against loggers
Who want to hack down their grand parents the trees.
You can stroll with an Ent on long walks through the forest
To hear their wonderful stories and legends.
Ents can talk and sing their arbor songs.
They also have ears and can hear what you say to them.
So you can talk to the trees, give them a hug
And say how much you love them.
But watch out, as Ents can be very argumentative,
Especially about how the forests are being cleared and
Roads cut through their midst, and even global warming.
Ents are too big and messy with leaf drop to invite into your home.
But they love a picnic in the open.
They hate smoke, which they fear, and so barbecues are out.
They love going to the beach where they can dip their toes and trunks.
The mangroves taught them how to swim and they love to bathe and swim about,
In the cool seawater and play with the seaweed and kelp.
They float well, and love to jump in a river and get carried downstream in the current.
They love a game of ring-around-rosy and even a maypole game.
Ents are are also very good and gentle with kids.
They love to have kids climb and play in their branches.
They are avid experts at swinging and swirling kids around their trunks.
So next time you wander through a forest
Call out "Ent, Ents can You Hear Me?"
Gently tap on trunks as you go
And don't be surprised if you hear the leaves rustle
Or hear a grumble, and see Ent eyes pop open in slits in the bark.
Ents love a chat and hug and a cuddle, and a scratch in their bark
Even when they get lazy and get rooted to the ground.
The Ents are there, you just need to believe in them and find them.
The white Kermode bear or the Spirit bear is an endangered subspecies
of the Black bear that is only found on Canada’s west coast.
Thanks to the efforts put forth by Simon Jackson at the age of 13 in 1995
and The Spirit Bear Youth Coalition which now spans 87 countries
all over the world; not only is this bear protected but its habitat is as well.
The poem rotates from the voice of the bear to the voice of Simon Jackson.
where are they now?
my brothers and sisters
clad in snow- white fur
our life supporting rainforest
loggers, extinction on the horizon
passion born of the wild
vision beckoned me a B.C boy
my strong will, a voice became
protect the white one, Kermode bear
save its precious, fragile home
our numbers just hundreds, dwindling
Simon Jackson, hear my plea
your empathy I sense
see deep sadness in my eyes
ensure our salvation
Spirit Bear, your plight will be heard
by CEOs, boardrooms, halls of government
with my friends I’ll lead the campaign
you will not stand alone in the night
“The present shouts…the future whispers”*
your promise, resonates through these woods
hope emanates from my soul
Spirit bears, place trust in Simon
our love for the forest he shares
our lives he cherishes
to keep your sacred land
our youth rises hand in hand
we listen and hear your cause
fighting for a greater good
our spirits unite as one
*Quote from The Spirit Bear Coalition website.
Poem written by Carolyn Devonshire and Sandra Stefanowich
Woodsmen Day ( Poem)
Sport using handsaws
With a toothed edge blade
One or two handed sawing
On a woodsmen fair day
Traditional log rolling
Is a lumberjacks technique
Style used in river driving
The illustration is unique
Springboard tree is branchless
With live action you can’t beat
Platform board is dangerous
A risk if you compete
Block ax chopping
Is a loggers sport indeed
Hard on your back swinging
Be careful of your feet
Woodsmen day activities
Is part of the fair you see
I bring it all to my channel
Cause that’s the place to be
By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
At : https://www.youtube.com/user/Viewwithme2
WHALING SHIP CAPTAIN’S LOVER
(Part 2 of 3)
Now Jorgie was a fierce one
Widowed ‘fore she wed
The object of her passion
A Sea man lost and dead
Jorgie had a small lad
Swaddled piece of sun
And her lovers parents
Coveted this tiny life begun
They didn’t care that he was born
Before the two were wed
They claimed that he was theirs now
A whaling lad- True bred.
The parents of the lover
had an only child
On his death they lost their hope
Twas like a dream defiled.
Jorgie begged her father
"Keep us out of sight!"
But her father made a traitors deal--
Oft Gold dissolves what’s right.
She quickly packed her bag
And off the two did fly
She sold gold jewelry and fine clothes
And kissed her land good bye
Upon a third class ship
She bought a third class bed
The sickness hit her in a storm
She puked until she bled…
Spring Winds they blew black fierce,
the poor men all were cursed
The scurvy struck them all
There was no last or first
The ship was tossed --the wind blew bad
A wretched ugly sight
Despite the stink ,despite her fear
She battled with her fright.
Didn’t know the language
Didn’t know the style
But Jorgie was determined
To prosper with her child
When she reached the New World
She found cross country trains
And as she crossed the mighty land
She wracked her weary brain.
To organize a new life
And work the whole day long
She came up with a daring plan
She hoped she wasn’t wrong.
She jumped the train at Minot
She had a cousin there
She’d pay his wife to watch the babe
‘til she could raise him fair.
The cousin’s wife had lost her babes
She welcomed the small joy
Jorgie smiled and kissed him tho
Her heart ached for the boy.
She ventured West to logging camps
Set up her fire and pans
Cooked for Nordic loggers
The boldest of bold men.
========to be continued (too long for the site...sorry...)
Note: Jorgie : (pronounced Yor’ gee) was a nickname
Her name: Sena Jorgine Larsen
From my chair
Through the air
I want my info now
Truth or dare
I don’t care
Give me info now
Hip wired infolites
Something bout usage rights
Whereas my info wow
Flying flags ever knowing
Looking back never going
Here’s my info now
Meaning without content
Exists without it being sent
The contents meaning slowly dies
Contending feeds on sorefull eyes
Mercy typo pings brindle blogger
Immortal mention 2 NSA loggers
Wikimaster with google goggles
Seeks truthess acknak for boondoggle
Give me just a little push
My parental burning bush
Life lite the snippet deluxe
Youtube the world gone amuck