Best Walking Stick Poems
A old tree branch that had fallen to the ground
Polished it up, mended all the cracks, looking good as new
Now we can both walk
A rich and monied man,
He is the village headman,
Poor his kindness to his fellow village men,
If one dies from his village he takes no pain,
He sends his walking stick in the hands of his servant,
But fails to walk letting his stick to do the work,
Living long this man and died of age,
Aware his death the whole village,
No one turned to see his dead body,
They all collected sticks and sent to his house,instead,
A battle field like his house with full of sticks,
Tit for tat all what all learned but stick for stick a new lesson!
Slender branching twig
Swaying on summer morning--
Stick insect waiting.
Written 9/4/2017 for Chris D. Aechtner's Premiere haiku contest II
There are no months as beautiful as early summer months wild flowers make the headlines,
Leaning heavy on my old worn hazel wood stick walking to a wooded meadow out of breath,
Clusters of Primrose and large patches of Blue Bells chat with clumps of Spring Violets,
As I stand wheezing the wonderful smells the dampness of wood and flowers give me air.
Lesser Celandine flowers between March and May heart shaped leaves a glistening yellow,
Now feeling a little better my head lifts the top of some large trees seem so far away,
The Cuckoo flower has leaves deeply toothed with spear stems, shows off all its beauty.
The kindle under my gentle walking cracks loudly so the meadow and trees know I am here.
There is a second spring in the forest wooded meadow Snowy Mespilas with white flowers,
It reminds me of winter snow I once enjoyed these days my legs are not what they were,
The tree of heaven spreads climbing sixty feet and the Alder with soft purple catkins,
Leaning on a tree happy to be here with warm sun finding its way through high branches.
Hedgerows dress in the same vernal-looking hue and a Chipmunk darts across a small field,
The Chipmunk runs up the side of a nearby tree if he new me well he would not run away,
Thick scented heather lives on the moorlands side by side with an evergreen Bog Rosemary,
A furry little face high up on a branch is watching me in the same way I am watching him.
A Judas tree with round leaves clusters of magenta, pea like flowers greet me this day,
I wonder why it is called the Judas tree is it the one Judas hung from with silver coins,
Cornelian Cherry flowers at the end of winter, followed by richest bright orange fruits,
A Japanese Quince shows splashes of color they are so white, or salmon or very very pink.
Weigela a beautiful shrub will bell like flowers and a deep red rose brighten the woods,
Times getting on now and I am tired but standing in this beautiful meadow I feel so alive,
Doesn't matter how old or how well a person maybe that same natural beauty is seen by all,
So leaning heavily on my companion the hazel stick I walk back to my home it's a great day.
Walking Stick
Drifting thoughts roll
Through my mind
Full of rhythmic tones
Pulsing in eternal rhyme
Arriving in scattered words
A trove of jewels glimmering
Floating before me as rare birds
Basking, I begin shimmering
Picking out each golden word
Carefully placing them on paper
Choice nibbles of songs unheard
Safe from being a useless vapor
Every word is power packed
Heals hearts or cuts to the quick
Can move us on or set us back
Words are a writer’s walking stick
Carole Cookie Arnold
Loyal companion carved from a sturdy oak.
This eternal gratitude will never be revoked.
You've been there for me more then
some human folk.
I think I may be in love with you and that is no joke.
Please stay by my side until the day I croak,
if perchance we come upon a very nasty bloke,
I will turn you upside down and give him a poke!
My Walking Stick size 6 foot.
My trusty old walking stick.
It helps me walk with my sore hip.
I like to call it my magic staff.
If trouble comes I will use my staff to kick some ass.
My staff does many things.
It helps me walks, it keeps me safe from thief’s.
The last thug that did something wrong.
Has gotten two broken legs and one broken arm.
Me and my old walking stick are best of friends.
Sometime my stick walks me while I am following him.
My body has explained to me
That for walking it would better be
To use the aid of a cane or walking stick
So my wooden elephant cane does the trick
Its open handle sets upon
The mighty back of an elephant strong
His trunk lifted up with talent
Helps me stride with more balance
His eyes open so they can see
A clearer path for wobbly knees
Ears open toward the back
To help me hear and stay on track
He walks in stride by my side
And is a source of surprise pride
Because people don't notice slow walking me
It is my elephant walking stick they see
The pedestal my elephant stands above
Below the cane is curved with skill and love
Two heads of a mighty pachyderm
Steady my balance and keep my walk firm
Down from the heads the wood is smooth
Than a ring in-between carved grooves
And the stick is carved like twisting rope
With the skins of giraffes leopards zebras but no antelopes
Back to a ring down to smooth
Stripes of Kenya decorate my moves
And than the bottom tip does recall
If it was scratched by a lions claw
So when I'm out and about
I use my cane with all its clout
For people don't notice slow walking me
It is my elephant walking stick they like to see
Take away my blind walking stick, been stuck with it way too long, Pedals of love, unwraps in my heart, I see light approaching swiftly inside my heart piercing through my eyes, thought miracles ended in the Bible, draw closer the world, miracle embrace of beauty, a Sotho sanamarena, royalty blood now rears the the biblical touch.
Been way too tangled in pain and constant disobedience, my heart grew thorns prickling, every segment of happiness in me, turned into asylum of pain and sadness, the sun ceased to shine inside this heart, for tears and pain has filled every edge and there be no space for lightness anymore.
I hear bars of hopelessness starting to brake, scabs of anger and disappointment fading, something new is assured, refurbishing, if not constructing from scratch, for there be nothing really left to build from let alone refurbish, the damage is way to extreme and drastic, disastrous, they walked in and out, without care , taking and taking, without remorse and conscience, a care I too was human like them, not immune to pain and hurt
Hope has been lost, but this lady dragged the wrecks debris, a war she's didn't witness, busy clearing rubles, mending walls and building bridges she did not brake,
See the halo over her head, hanging like throne, indeed the sun does shine, no matter how hard the storm hits, there in Lesotho God once in while commands angles to fix the broken, the faint and the out, I call her God at work, for her beauty performs wonders in my heart, with every encounter,
She helped construct from start, the true meaning of love, from what was ravished beyond detection, maybe she is love in human form, my love, in human form
#Poetic_Ink
The walking stick and Elon Musk
I was a galley-boy on an old tankship
that docked in Liverpool for repair
I think it was in May, and I was sixteen
at a second-hand shop, near the docks
I bought a walking stick and happily used it
the stick going ashore to the pub or
to buy fish and chips, unaware of how odd
I must have looked, no one said a word
Coming back on board, it was the second
The officer who said I looked ridiculous, no one
uses walking sticks anymore, you are not
a ing lord
Enter, into my self-contained world, what
other people thought of me
I became self-conscious, and it worried me
What did other people think of me personally
His words brought on a shyness that stopped
My plans for the future
Who knows, I might have become the first
Elon Musk
He has freed himself of what other people
think, or so we believe, but deep down, he
likes to be loved