I'd rather fall at the hands of nature—
endure the whiplash from changing seasons,
be ransacked in storms erasing verdure
but not by crude loggers or their reasons.
In time to come, I might be metallic,
slip from imagination, unreal!
What is wood, this leaf, but an italic?
Who will append me to the holy grail,
will to elegize my lost symmetry?
Today has already begun with breeze
lilting foliage; fluttered melody,
transporting berries, bewitching degrees.
A caterpillar licks my face away,
and a worm is canceled by a blue jay.
It is too early
it's a middling time.
Nature lures,
leads us on to a pause
where the weather
is all wrong.
Ice licked stems
are unforeseen
by a too hasty thaw.
Defrosting groundhog's drip
in an almost warm sunshine,
loggers lean on silent buzz saws
their foreheads dry and clear.
People take a day off
from the winter grind
bobble hats
and puffer jackets
are laid aside like bad dreams.
They predict that tomorrow
the snow is going to be heavy footed
and extra lumpy
any hint of avian romance
will be indefinitely delayed.
Yet today is middling mild,
and Pollyanna
dreams of daffodils.
Helpless a stump does sit suffering from decay,
on the rugged part of the hillside where loggers had cut away.
Glorious the trees did stand along the rocky ridge,
as long as the eye could see from the river to the bridge.
Time, and time again their beauty had been praised, but the loggers saw had chopped their limbs in total disgrace.
I see a shameful reflection in the look of a saddened tree,
if only man had kept his values for all the world to see.
Carving away their flesh to some is fine art,
but where does wisdom lie in the work of a blinded heart?
Preserving the worlds forests
I would consider smart,
for a healthy tree
living so free
is a natural piece of art.
Saleh Ben Saleh
Ducks are flying,
mild weather in February
has lured them,
to find and build nests.
The hunters are all taken by surprise,
The beavers are hard at work,
patching and mending rickety dams,
loggers are leaning on their buzz saws.
People are storing bobble hats,
and puffer jackets.
Today it is snowing heavy,
the ducks are heading to Florida.
Bird romance
indefinitely delayed.
It’s a romanticized picture
hanging on my dining room wall,
1907 lumberjacks,
one perched atop lumber stacked tall.
It’s winter, and they have a sled
pulled by two horses, looking bored,
twelve-foot pile of logs they pull,
one teamster with long reigns aboard.
It’s somewhere in the wilderness,
the nothing of northern New York,
four men on foot stand alongside,
dressed in wool for cold winter work.
One holds an axe, that one looks young,
all wear bootpacks over their pants,
with hats and mustaches of old,
looks like a job for a real man.
The trees are dyed in sepia,
the colors are gradings of gray,
it’s the type of nostalgia that
just takes a worried mind away.
Compared to typing on a screen
it seems quite appealing to me,
then I stop and remind myself
most of them never reached sixty…
When I draw near you,
the streets make grinding sounds
as if we’re on an alien planet
where we need huge machines to survive.
When I extend myself towards you,
the river emits queasy reek
as if I’m sailing through
a trench full of filth.
When I offer a drink to you,
cars with sinister hazy tails skid past
that there couldn’t be any
pedestrian eager to inhale the evening dew.
When I walk you home,
the pavement lacks the hiss of leaves
as if the loggers have settled
in our neighbourhood.
When I escort you to the doorstep,
hands of unfed urchins strangle my legs
as if I was the one who could
provide food to all of them.
When I touch your velvety cheek,
neighbours peep through their panes
as if they lost causes to fight over
with their spouses.
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.
How sad that there will be a day
As the innocent suffer to their decay
So who'll take a stand, rise proud and tall
Such sadness, isn't even for us all
Loggers, farmers amidst lost generation
Pulverising, eradicating, life's vegetation
Bring it on to the masses whom require
Feeding the drip feed human, their desires
To be alive witnessing, species in disappear
I'm hoping, for that bright light in the sky
It makes you wonder do they just wait
Until I die, I ask myself why?
I walked the miles it takes
Through forest’s underbrush
Searching for the beautiful plant
In the mountains of my birth
It’s called Gensing Hunting
Walking past striking wildflowers
Through ferns that are so delicate
Past emerald laurels and pines
Amid the ivy and luscious vegetation
That covers the hills where I’m from
For hours on end, I hunt and hunt
Seeking that one exquisite plant
With its fragile leaves and stems
And red berries that top it’s middle
Making it seem like a gentle flower
When I finally discover this damsel
Growing up through various woods
I pull out my spade and begin to dig
Use my fingers to scrap away the dirt
Forming around the generous root
I love discovering gensing on my walk
Through the mountains on old paths
Where loggers may have once been
Clearing a slight course through the
Picturesque trail of gorgeous foliage
I came across a logging camp,
not exactly what I’d planned,
they said they needed a muleskinner,
so I told them,”I’m your man.”
Up early the very next morning,
I rose to go do my task,
thinking they would be impressed
that I’d work without being asked.
At six the walking boss came out,
and let loose an awful shriek,
out the loggers came crying:
“What did you do?! You freak!”
So now I sit here in this cell,
and I’m mightily confused,
why did they hire a muleskinner
if they didn’t want me to skin mules?
I just don't understand the world anymore...
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?
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
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.
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
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.
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