Best Lumberjacks Poems
Announcing it in the paper that day,
the LGBT club soon got under way,
meeting at Bruce's bike shop on their harley's,
is where they'd all meet before going on their journey,
some newcomers arrived as well,
and from the looks of them couldn't
tell if they were a woman or a fella,
some looking kind of like Mrs. Doubtfire,
while the younger ones like a Caitlin Jenner,
Bruce started scratching his head
and started to wonder,
why all of a sudden his club was so full of transgender's,
then he realized when he looked at the paper ad,
that he had to change the clubs lettering just a tad,
because his Lumberjacks Go Biking Tuesday's club,
was not going to be used anymore after that
coming out masquerade fad!
Categories:
lumberjacks, confusion, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
Tinnitus tinnitus, innocuous by name,
invisible tasteless, sounds pretty lame,
Ears hissing, snakes inside my head,
Growing louder, causing turmoil in bed,
Room’s spinning, feel like getting sick,
Banging kicks off, rhythmically quick.
Tinnitus tinnitus, pneumatic drillers,
incessant maniacal machine gun killers,
Thumping smashing, trash metal band,
Like rock music, but this I cannot stand,
Eyes are bloodshot, severe lack of sleep,
cacophonous noise, then marching feet.
Tinnitus tinnitus, chainsaws a cutting,
No trees or lumberjacks, I see nothing,
Put on the radio, try drown out noise,
overwhelmed, lose rationale and poise,
Church bells peeling, ringing perhaps,
overloaded, mind spirals into collapse.
Tinnitus tinnitus, curse this living hell,
hammering my face, eyes begin to swell,
Delirious sweating, sheets soaking wet,
overcome in confusion, desperate upset,
Pray to god make the torment go away
release me from this Kafkaesque array.
Tinnitus tinnitus, eardrums explode,
Brain is shattered, as decibels grow,
Can’t take anymore, at my wits end,
On slugs of whiskey, sanity depends,
One after the other, knock them back,
Throbbing numbing starting to relax.
Tinnitus tinnitus, drink myself unconscious,
Wake up next day, agonizingly nauseous,
My ear is on the pillow, bottle’s in pieces,
covered with blood, trembling increases,
Look in the mirror, No no this cannot be,
Vincent Van Gough’s, staring back at me.
By
David Kavanagh
Categories:
lumberjacks, abuse, anxiety, confusion, depression,
Form:
Rhyme
lumberjacks fell on their knees
when the woods ran out of trees
no thought to give in
and after a spin
were soon modeling dickies.
Categories:
lumberjacks, earth day, funny, giggle,
Form:
Limerick
Can pine cones actually predict how harsh winter will be?
If a harsh winter is on the way, pine trees create more pine cones.Thinking if squirrels & birds share their opinion on the coming season, they will collect more pine seeds & stock up ahead of time
Atop a decorative table a basket of pinecones sit festive and clean
No resin to speak of no brittle edge left, from the forest of dreams
A little girl with a tub full of glue stickied and sparkled until two
Til' a pinecone flew out of the pile and yelled, "Tell me, what is new! "
They talked for a while then, she hopped into bed;
Santa arrives with a jolly old bounce, leaving a doll with a flounce
Down in the valley the lumberjacks cut, but up in the Country their sought
Thank God for the pinecones that talk and for those that do not
Its gonna be a long cold winter so "wear your winter mitts"
says the pinecone to a Jolly Santa, who jiggles and jangles
then laughs with a tickling fit...
Atop a decoartive table the pinecones arranged all with shine,
ready for a Christmas of love, that arrives just on time.
Categories:
lumberjacks, appreciation, christmas,
Form:
Free verse
The morning sun showers its rays,
Standing between two mountain's way,
The valley of flowers opens its eyes,
And washes its face with melting ice,
The yellow glow slowly surrounds,
Like a majestic king's glittering gold crown.
The shinning dew drops down,
To kiss the scented lemon grass ground,
The raising enemy melts them out
But the green lady never worries about,
She is in high demand every night,
And the virgin dew never get a first night.
The cuddling Cock feels so warm,
Unfurl its wings and crows nature's alarm,
The longing sunflower raises its head,
To see her lover and plead for a wed
The pine and spruce frozen in cold,
Shakes its head and opens it's fold
The lazy river deeply snores,
Beneath the blanket of frigid ice floor,
Awakes from sleep and flows with elated joy,
And announces the summer to the tardy school boys.
It carries the logs on its back
To help the suffering Lumberjacks
The serf warm winds blows across,
And clear the snow on the uncovered cars,
The tiny droplets stick to the panes,
On which the naughty kids write their names,
It mobs the roads clean and bright,
For the frozen ice flakes to turn it white.
The moving sun stands at top,
Shadows falling on the afternoon back drop,
Sober nature alerts its friends,
To work for their living before the day ends,
Flora and fauna like fleet – footed bees
Hurries to gather the Vitamin D
The evening princess Golden Crown,
Wanna kiss the hottest Day light's Sun,
The nature's beauty blushes for million eyes,
Waiting to see the romantic skies,
She drops the night screen to make her hide,
Behind which two lovers peptide.
Murkiness fills the cosmos space,
And the dancing clouds falls into place
The resting time for the Sun,
The crescent night lamp glows with fun,
The sentinel stars shield the gate
And the Gorgeous universe hibernate,
Categories:
lumberjacks, nature,
Form:
Personification
I rest
I rest on a stump
the trees gone
My tree
I planted it
watered
nurtured,pruned
Watching it grow, sturdy and determined
against life's insults and snubs
My tree
I left alone because it reached the required height, I took care it didn't get Dutch Elm disease or some other blight.
Still this healthy tree has felled surely as if by a lumberjacks hand
I rest on the stump because I am tired
and it is what I know,
It's what I do now.
This mussing, its not a
"Giving Tree" fable,
cautionary tale or lecture about randomness.
It's a spotlight on my illusion of protection
I can't really protect him against much
maybe
a winter flu
or Dutch Elm.
certainly not Schizophrenia
Categories:
lumberjacks, family, fate,
Form:
Narrative
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
Categories:
lumberjacks, adventure, community, culture, encouraging,
Form:
ABC
I see it more and more as Fall comes in,
the fabric fears not the chill or wind,
often brushed and soft, like a blanket’s grasp,
and for many years a good one with last.
Whether it be Black Watch or Buffalo Check,
there’re a thousand patterns, what will be next?
I think when it all is said and done,
that flannel is truly made of awesome.
Be it expensive or sewn with no thrills,
I find it much nicer then wearing twill,
whether it is cotton or old-school wool,
it keeps cold out, and that’s no bull.
Warming lumberjacks in the forests gloom,
or Hipsters who make you pray for doom,
the nineties music scene would come undone,
without that flannel, made of awesome.
You can layer it against winter’s bite,
wear it alone on cool summer nights,
in Autumn it is our uniform,
but it’s not just shirts, it is so much more.
As a soft blanket, or a thermal sheet,
it protects well against chilly feet,
line your jeans with it and winter is won,
thanks to that flannel, made of awesome.
Inside your slippers or a heavy coat,
on frost-touched mountains or foliage boats,
in a hunter’s kits, animals to fool,
or rich folk who want ‘working-class cool,’
worn by poor souls just fighting the cold,
be it classic plain, or so loud and bold,
as a fabric it is second-to-none,
'cause flannel is truly made of awesome.
And cotton. Awesomeness and a whole lot of cotton.
Categories:
lumberjacks, appreciation, autumn, cool, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
Well he wakes up early,
when the sun breaks ‘cross the land.
Then he goes out on the river,
high up on the logs he stands.
For counting twenty years now
he’s been a river-driving man.
And he don’t do anything else…
He drives that timber
down the river with the flow.
He always knows the river
will determine where it goes.
When it jams upon the curves,
he clears it out with a pole.
Dangerous job too…
Sometimes the logs they
get snagged up on the rocks.
If he don’t go get ‘em,
the whole river they will block.
But the sawmill is awaiting,
and he knows they’re on the clock.
Time is money, boys, time is money…
More than once now,
this man has fell right in.
The half-frozen water,
it starts him shivering.
One day he may test the river,
and the river it might win.
River gets like that when it’s mad…
One say some hippies
got a rule made by the state.
No more drives on the river,
it’s ‘too dirty’ and ‘not safe.’
From now on the lumber
will move by trucks and trains.
Hippies ruin everything, don’t they?
Now he sits at the diner,
shootin’ bull with Norma Jean.
He goes down to the fair,
and he wins at the log-rolling.
It just ain’t the same though,
and nobody is hiring.
That’s always how it is…
These days we got hipsters,
of lumberjacks they are a fan.
Everywhere you see flannel,
but not a single calloused hand.
The world it has no place for
an old river-driving man.
Yes, the world it has no space for
an old river-driving man…
Categories:
lumberjacks, history, loss, men, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Powerfully pandered not pondered and plotted
Ostensibly organic not overtly originally spotted
Liars lipping lethargic lies lavishly construed and truly
Ire inducing ignorance imputing irresponsible foolery
Terrorizing timid tepid taxpayers to respond fast
In an impatient ill illegal inconceivable idiotic mad blast
Callously cold and cantankerously conniving bastards
Assiduously aspiring and aggravating masses mastered
Low lying lingering and living Luddite like lumberjacks
Limping 'long labored roads ludicrously lacking facts
Yet yearning yearly for yuppy snacks
they wouldn't even know what to do with it, nor deserve it.
Categories:
lumberjacks, philosophy, political,
Form:
Acrostic
condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion
remember Ballet is best learned using proper steps and stages.
every tree is relieved when Spring comes
a shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
the dairy industry in the Middle-East depends on milk shakes.
every lumberjacks can keep accurate records because they understand logs.
look Once you've seen one shopping centre, you've seen a mall.
if you want good feedback ask any road-roller driver - they are natural flatterers.
fields of bare brown earth can be a harrowing site
every marriage, she got a new name and a dress.
sorry soup all stolen from Google , was going to be for Christy teas comp
This world is full of enough negativity. Any style give me a positive outlook on life. Hint: I'm fond of a play on words.
spells create life down the side and lots of word play put I can't enter it lol smile value only :-)
Categories:
lumberjacks, fun,
Form:
Acrostic
I’ve heard lots of feminists say
we’d be better off without men,
they claim that they are just joking,
but say it again and again.
That we’re all of the world’s problems,
that we start all of the world’s wars,
the species would be much better
if we didn’t need men anymore.
The trend is for the feminine
to be exalted endlessly,
the masculine gets demonized,
Orwell-speak shields the misandry;
but I think all these flippant jibes
cover a fact few will admit,
if these feminists got their wish
the whole world would fast go to sh-t.
Now I know the obvious fact,
with men, no procreation,
which means that the whole species dies
within just one generation.
But lets get to the here and now,
to the world and how it must work,
without men out there doing there thing
society would go berzerk.
Most folk who chose to be pilots
do carry the y-chromosone,
so if they’re gone then kiss goodbye
the chance to travel far from home.
And most people building with steel,
or wood are of the manly type,
so don’t expect much to be built
if men are sent off into night.
Most people out in the hot sun
building roads are decidedly male,
so if you are the type who drives
without men you are bound to fail.
Who can forget all the farmers,
once again, most of them are guys,
if they're not there growing those crops
then millions of people will die.
Surgery and anesthesia
are dominated by the dudes,
so if they’re gone you better hope
nothing ever happens to you.
The police who chase criminals,
and use force to put them away...
mostly men, and without all them
scumbags would also rule the day.
The miners and the lumberjacks,
the truckers, and the soldiers strong,
the plumbers and electricians,
the list of it goes on and on…
Now some may say that without men
women would just do all of that,
but equal rights say otherwise,
and simply looking at the stats
shows women do not take these jobs,
despite all the hype about STEM,
when both sexes are free to chose
it still always fall to the men.
I think it’s time we all admit
that there’s evolution at play,
there’s things men are better geared for,
and it will always be that way.
If all the crazies got their wish,
and the ‘toxic’ males disappeared,
you all would be dead within months,
both sexes have roles to play here.
Categories:
lumberjacks, gender, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
Back in nineteen hundred and three
I working with a logging crew,
cutting and limbing mighty trees,
be they hemlock, pine, or spruce.
We worked for the Nowell Paper firm,
in the shades of the Adirondacks,
spent all winter in Camp Seven,
sending full sleds down icy tracks.
One morning in late December
we got up before the dawn,
that was just par for the course,
our work days were rather long.
We made it to the cook-house,
where waited the salt pork,
with flapjacks and potatoes fried,
we ate until enrgorged.
Then with a nod to the bull cook,
to let him know he’d done good,
we grabbed our axes, our crosscut saws,
and headed out into the woods.
By noon we worked a stump garden
we’d cleared back in the fall,
when we’d cut down the spruces
though a few still stood tall.
Those ones are the seed trees,
to make sure it grows again,
but the ones we felled we had cut
into fourteen-foot lengths.
Now in that deep chill of winter
we worked with our pike-poles,
hauling the logs to big sleds
drawn by horses, rather cold.
We stacked them for the ice road,
in air that made all shiver,
the teamster waited to haul it
all the way down to the river.
Now lumberjacks always work in pairs,
and my partner was Guy Montreaux,
a Quebecois better with an axe
than any farmer with a hoe.
He was quite an entertaining man,
lifted spirits in our shanties,
and knew the words to every bawdy song
ever sang in the north country.
On that grim day he huffed loudly,
having been put through his paces,
as he loaded up the last big log
a horse jolted back in its traces.
The equine kicked, the pile shook,
the teamster cried,’Get clear!”
Me and the boys all dove away,
filled with a familiar fear...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
lumberjacks, death, history, loss, nature,
Form:
Narrative
Talented in closing every door
and drawer left open by my spouse.
Those beastly eyes from childhood;
doors and drawers under the bed, too.
Talented in tripping and spilling,
splashing and controlling (only
the remote control - what wife doesn’t
like to watch her favorite show?)
Talented at staying indoors with piles
of books on either side of this couch potato.
Nah…I’m not that bad; but I am that good ;)
I get outdoors when I know I should.
Talented at rolling eyes - well, that is a dated
talent, I’ve disguised as a wizened smile,
a wink, a walk-away, a sigh, a blink.
I don’t oft need eyes in the back of my head either,
as I’ve used up most of my early childhood skills.
Now I look to see if I’ve encouraged the talents
for the ongoing generations - let’s see:
Lecturing, check; swift kick in the butt, check.
Will I be talented in old age, like using a cane
to trip those whippersnappers or racing
a wheelchair in traffic. How about removing
my teeth when I put my foot in my mouth?
Talented, am I? Am I as talented as Jack?
He’ll be the judge of that. Support me Jack
from the onslaught of attacks, jumping jacks,
or other nonsensical topsy-turvy lumberjacks.
5/5/2023
Categories:
lumberjacks, humor,
Form:
Free verse
Halloween is a scream dressed in orange and black
A night of sneaky creeps that rattle and clack
Vampires conspire to send midnight bat attacks
Witches stirring cauldrons of potent purple snacks
Moonlit foggy streets filling with ghoulish packs
Of superheroes, princesses and lumberjacks
Cowboys with space toys and candy laden sacks
Evil clowns with smiles painted on out-of-whack
Hobos and gypsies from the wrong sides of the tracks
Mad hatters and kooky-eyed conspiracy quacks
Unlucky thirteens losing their crackerjacks
Curses from broken mirrors and stepped-on sidewalk cracks
Better give up the goodies if you don't want payback!
10/25/21
Categories:
lumberjacks, celebration, night, scary,
Form:
Monorhyme