Best Stump Poems
The human spirit needs places where
nature has not been rearranged
by the hand of man
Author Unknown
A metal rail now mocks the space
where a massive trunk once rose two hundred feet,
and a long stairway, and a sign,and a doorway
make up ‘The Stump Hotel.’
As a roadside attraction this once magnificent tree
is more suggestive of an amputee
whose prosthesis
could never recapture the living limb or,
a whisper of the spark within.
Think -of the many who came and stood,
here on this altered stump.
Did anyone look up to see its phantom trunk
rising to the moon?
101 in a ROW contest - 12
Contest Judged: 9/8/2016 10:36:00 AM
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
8th Place
Published in “ PS, It’s Poetry” Anthology available on Amazon.
Dr. Seuss wrote of a strong Lorax
Who tried to save Earth’s Truffula Trees
From a foolish “Onceler’s” hacking ax
The Lorax warnings disregarded
Onceler used up the trees’ resources
Now penniless and broken hearted
Onceler made quite a tearful, sad plea
Lorax took pity, bestowed a seed
One final hope for Truffula Trees
Just like the Onceler, I now look back
At mall strips on former forestland
Spying something behind a big Mac
‘Tis the stump of a Truffula Tree
No, they never did make a comeback
Love for this stump, a sad amputee
Filled my heart, I wrapped arms around it
Wishing I could travel back in time
And reverse the Onceler’s work permit
Only when species become extinct
Do we fully appreciate their worth
Save them now; they hover on the brink
Written for Matt Calliri's Tree Stump Contest
Most of the fey were sleeping the day the tree stump came alive
She had the most glorious hair, and the prettiest smile.
She gathered woodland flowers and decorated herself.
A handful were silenced by her gorgeous transformation
Will she remain human or resume her life as a stump?
It was a quandary best answered in the future.
She was a story teller, a nurturer, and a nature lover.
They appreciated her, knowing she could change back at any time.
Here I sit on the stump, of a dead messmate gum,
where house-keeping is poor, for the cleansed human mind;
the dead is not buried, so the living survive.
I see the fine balance, in a world that’s unkind.
There is always the devil, that lurks out of sight,
to balance the scales, and to keep the world strong.
There is no place for the weak, and so they succumb,
as the feast in the forest, where they did belong.
From this stump I can see, the growth of brand new life;
with saplings that are thriving, upward to the sun,
hosting throngs of parasites, striving hard to breed,
but there’s predators waiting, to bring their hope undone.
This fine messmate gum that once lived and has since died,
ruled for generations with a need to provide;
today it’s timber survives, although mummified,
and it’s saplings are growing, scattered far and wide.
There’s a stringybark close by, avoiding the axe;
a fallen black wattle, blighted by bardi grub.
Lightning split manna gum, now petrified wood,
and old wombat tracks, are covered up by scrub.
The bush has all the power, to regenerate.
This stump of the messmate, will nearly be concealed,
and slowly be forgotten, in the midst of time;
its days in the forest - no longer be revealed.
How will my soul dwell, in this natural garden?
Will it flit like a butterfly; glide like a snake;
or soar like an eagle, beyond the gum tree tops,
or drift down the rivers, and then float on a lake.
This fine messmate gum that once lived and has since died,
ruled for generations with a need to provide;
today it’s timber survives, although mummified,
and it’s saplings are growing, scattered far and wide.
I fell in love with a tree stump.
A quite curious stump was he.
No branches to thump.
No fall leaves to see.
But a very special stump was he.
There in the woods, other trees grew tall.
Swaying their limbs and leaves in the breeze.
But one special tree stump won my awe.
Once, tall and stately was he, before the freeze.
Now, short and sad hearted because of the saw.
I was weary, downhearted, and lonely.
When, I spotted that stump beside a pile of wood.
A perfect place to rest, it seemed to me.
I rushed right over as quickly as I could.
Then, sat right there, relaxed, and feeling so good.
While trees all around made their showy stance,
I sat and enjoyed from my comfortable stump.
He had no limbs nor leaves to wind-dance.
He had no branches to thump.
He was there for me to rest myself…by chance.
Pining alone, I fell in love with that tree stump.
A quiet refuge was he.
No longer sad, life became plump.
And my soul soared higher than one can see.
For he was there when I needed him…and he needed me.
© October 28, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
He really was as dumb as a tree stump
Carried all his weight in his big old rump
But I fell for his line
And made him all mine
'Cause he was as sweet as dear Forest Gump
The stump on which I sit
Drawn to reverie each new day,
Today was wet with mist;
A trait of the mystery
Of dew on my stump.
All the tall grass
Around the foot so lovely
Like stockade in their dance.
With leaves fresh with dew,
My soul fortress of refuge.
This stump on which I sit
Today on it I can't sit
Unless I accept to get wet
With red quill ink like dew
On the stump I so much love.
And so from beside the stump
Where lay buried a precious childbirth
I stay with my head on my laps
As with emotion these lines I write
For the dew on my stump.
Along the fair road
On which I amble
I conceived this ode
In which love is ample
God bless this stump
Supporting the tree
That provided so much
For our futurity
When counting its rings
There can be no doubt
About all the things
That tree brought about
For the pencil to compose
Cherished love letters
On paper I chose
So you’d love me better
And it offered shade
Plus spots to snuggle
Near a lovely glade
Away from life’s struggles
We enjoyed peaches
From that old tree
As we partnered to reach
Picking memories
It blessed our marriage
Shaped as a steeple
And framed the carriage
To make our jaunt regal
And It supplied timbers
For the house we live in
Built with skilled fingers
On boards thick and thin
When cold overtakes
We always say grace
For the warmth it makes
In the brick fireplace
Our love will not slump
It’s always burning
Because of you, stump
Our world keeps turning
It’s in the dictionary: disambiguate.
It reminds me of Bush’s misrememberate,
a word that always makes me hyperventilate
and sometimes even makes me discombobulate.
They’re words for those who want to circumambulate
proven facts. Politicians overcompensate
with sesquipedalians to overcompensate
for ideas they’d rather not disambiguate.
They also tiptoe as they circumambulate,
or say, “Oh, I guess I must misremeberate.
That liberal press just makes me discombobulate
and more than once it’s made me hyperventilate.”
It is not abnormal to hyperventilate
when one’s stumped and trying to overcompensate
while working so hard not to discombobulate,
worried that someone’s going to disambiguate
his harangue. Then he’ll claim to misrememberate,
or convolute the truth and circumambulate
it if he can. If he can’t circumambulate
embarrassing stuff, he might hyperventilate,
which sometimes causes him to misrememberate
the lies he’s spewed. So then he’ll overcompensate
and slip in some truth that might disambiguate
the ambiguity and discombobulate
his campaign. Then his hopes to discombobulate
the electorate and to circumambulate
the truth will be dashed. If folks disambiguate
his thoughts, all he can do is hyperventilate,
although, he doesn’t want to overcompensate
and say he’s been known to misrememberate.
The admission that he might misrememberate
could lead voters to think he’ll discombobulate
under pressure. He’d rather overcompensate
by making up stuff that will circumambulate
the simple truth and make you hyperventilate
and just too distracted to disambiguate.
Politicians overcompensate, misrememberate.
If you disambiguate, they’ll circumambulate,
discombobulate and then hyperventilate.
Some take checkers seriously, so do I.
I recorded my games without fail,
in the little park located close by.
Listen closely, you will like my tale.
Under the umbrella of an old live oak
sits a stump about chair seat high.
Not many things in this life evoke
such comforting tears to my eye.
A marble statue now, cast in memory
with so many names, a number beside.
The board inlaid, made of emory, ivory,
cast by an artisan in loving pride.
The real stump looked much the same.
I would challenge all comers of any age.
No one but me ever lost a game.
Beating me was a neighborhood rage.
The checker board sat on the stump.
I would log each name and the score.
Allowing points for each kind of jump.
Soon the board back held no more.
The oldest challenger I had was ten.
The thing was, if they won I got a hug.
They knew I wouldn’t feel so bad then.
Once hooked, from then I had the bug.
Continuing as such in similar rendition,
‘Til came a letter from an art museum.
It spoke of a piece commissioned
by a local director of an atheneum.
Excited I walked to the old stump
looking for the name of the benefactor.
As I saw the name I felt my heart jump.
That small guy with the red toy tractor.
© Oct 26 2010 Charles Henderson 7 th in
Matt's "I fell in love with a tree stump" contest
etched on a tree stump.
the carved memories of us
lasting through the years
Love stories are many written and directed
Usually all with ending life or with survive
It is my pleasure to extend the predefined
Love is expansible crossing all stories of time.
It is that moment when I myself realised
Sitting on the tree stump to create a delight
Considered an obstacle yet smiles alive
Trying to breathe out again a new life
Clearly describes its age nothing to hide
Showered so much love with fruits fine
Now being injured for building heights
Valued so less as no more like a gold mine.
Amazing Lump! I fell in love with a tree stump
Gives immense love while it expects none
Sacrifices whole life from the day sown till born
Even after being cut cares for human’s plight.
Heart of an innocent child sharing soul smile
Companion of all my good and bad times
My tears reflected in its caring decaying eyes
Love seamless yet strange in material kinds
Takes me to the bottom of blame game field
Where I learn for pleasure to dedicatedly write
O’ Stump for me thy are my garden’s pride
Quitting my loneliness lighting treasured times
Wish I could perform just one wonder same type
Thanks for being true without committing relation
Place to rest tired people being a soul of divine!
MATTHEW SIX TEN STUMP
I picked up a new stump today
‘Twas cut from a giant pine tree
Matthew Six Ten is his name
His circles say he is about 93
Cut from the mid-section
Standing almost 16 inches tall
With the width of circumference
Being about 17 inches wide in all
The definition of
Matthew six ten
Is written in the Bible
As a glimpse of heaven
When I stand on my stump
I stretch up towards the sky
Visioning my heavenly treasures
Our hearts are where our treasures lie
The vision of my eyes carries my soul
My body soaks up and shines the light
The stump seems to shine the righteous path way
That feels like a glimpse of heaven within my sight
My Matthew Six Ten stump
Reminds me that God already knows
Of all of my needs while on this earth and
To be thankful for the time of now that grows
Florence McMillian (Flo)
My house sits at the end of the street;
The school bus stops here two times a day.
I watch the children gather and meet;
Remembering my kids that have moved away.
Years ago the old oak tree had to come down,
Leaving a large round stump in the ground;
A perfect place for the little ones to sit,
Waiting on their yellow school bus trip.
I started leaving little trinkets in the stump,
And watched the surprised faces grin.
Their excitement and joy would cause them to jump
When they found the special gifts planted within.
The kids start showing up earlier each day;
Searching the crevices before starting to play.
Sharing the treasures with their other school friends;
I am always disappointed when another school year ends.
One evening when I went out to hide some small toys,
I saw a piece of paper rolled up in a clump.
In a child’s writing was; “From all the girls and boys”
“Thank you so much for being a love giving stump.”
Today I dressed and went out
for my daily roundabout
what started as a short jog
turned into a funny log.
I watched as she was worshipped
smelt, licked, never a day skipped
she was bathed in showers warm
from that bad dog's morning storm!
A proud thing, its head held high
enjoyed nibbles from her guy
kissed, embraced by the river
by her adoring beaver!
From the rains the night before
she woke and happily wore
her jeweled crown shining through
when from her womb mushrooms grew.
This last stump, a diff'rent kind
was quite lucky it could find
a lover, friend, chum, and pal
lucky he, but poor, poor gal!