Best Passiontree Poems


Stumpy

There was a tree where I grew up
  That I spent many happy hours on.
  The swinging tire, the branches high
  Ever filled my happiness cup.


  The tree grew, as did I, to an older age,
  It got too big to keep.
  Who could have realized such beauty to be dangerous?
  The house was threatened, as was the garage.


  I had to have the tree cut down,
  Its wood turned into pieces.
  And each time I burn one of them
  I think back, then my smile turns to a frown.


  I could't cut it all the way to the ground,
  So I left a mighty stump.
  Every so often I will go and sit on it
  And just take in the view aroud.


  Now I have come to love that stump
  Which supported my happiness all those years.
  And though it's not the entire tree,
  It is still a good sized bump.


  I play hide-and-seek around it with my son
  When we get in the mood.
  He's learned to look for me around that stump
  As a hiding place, it's my favorite one.


  I'll never cut the stump all the way
  I just couldn't do that to my tree.
  For I love that stump just as I loved the tree in its glory
  And I love it more each passing day.


  Even in my advanced age and being so grumpy
  I thought of giving the stump a name.
  Then, watching "Rio Bravo" one night it came to me,
  I would just call it "Stumpy".

Forest Tree Tag

She wings just under the canopy
of this dense old forest
as we play tag under the trees,
speeding down a deer trail
I draw near and leap
  into a gray oak trunk
and spring to the closest branch,
muscles corded 
    I bound
from tree limb to tree limb
ever drawing closer
to her voluptuous rear.
When I draw close enough
I jump over her 
   and smack her behind
with the back of my hand,
          you’re it.

As I drop
  I change my direction,
catch a tree trunk
 with my forelimbs
and propel myself to the left.
My paws meet the earth
and I’m moving,
    sliding amongst the stalks.
Feeling the ever presence
of the shade of my heart
I dive under a dead tree
   laying across the path
and run off to the right,
just missing her touch.
Keeping within inches of each base
I zigzag through the woods,
she swooping left and right
  barely above the ground,
almost within reach.
I try to dig my claws in
and make a sharp turn
    to the left
but alas the soil is too loose
and I feel her claws
   graze my back,
            I’m it.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace