Short Stumps Poems
Short Stumps Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stumps by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stumps by length and keyword.
the question
who am I
stumps our mind
no problem
just be still
shift to heart
pulse dual
disappears
truth is known
Red fire blazing in the wood;
just charred stumps where trees once stood.
The denizens must flee and run
because the deadly flames have won.
spring rains soak open
land, pines removed~stumps stand...
silence of the woooooo
An owl that I have been hearing will no longer be heard..
the tulip tree tosses petals
to the dying maple tree
tree-cutting men and chainsaw converse
leaving stumps ...of words
a twitching, gray squirrel cusses....
the tulip tree has lost its mate
A badgering wife caused her husband such grief,
Each time she did he ground his teeth,
Over the years his teeth become
Nothing but stumps upon his gum,
His friends all called her, 'the calcium thief.'
Undaunted unicorn, the tamers dew leaf,
Auspicious lovers tryst due utopia,
Virtuous sojourn flung upon sublime wings,
dew clump stumps couple...
Date: 06/27/2019
A whole is normally the sum of all of its parts
Cept in politics, stumps even us most clever bards
All rules are out the window
The world is in limbo
We'll soon come to our senses and this era disregard
Summer was here at last
cricket,stumps and pads,
dusted off,leather on willow,
echoed across the green
No scorers or umpires,to dispute
adjudicate,challenge or replay,
honesty justice shout,if
caught,bowled or run out
she travels like a silver mirror
across the midnight sky
her lights play hid and seek
within the foggy forest pines
the rotten stumps do seem to swoon
as crickets present to her their tunes
and blackbirds worship as she passes
down behind the mountain grove
it started
as fevered
bee sting
on tongue—
then lips
gone
like beaver-gnawed
tree stumps—
then the chin
till like
some ruined
Greek statue
you lay
still
awaiting
a new chance—
the planting
in warm earth
to grow again
Skyfall
Big massive piling machine hammers thumps huge steel
iron girders into evil rancid ground. Tree spiralling behemoth rams
dead tree stumps into bare earth to hold up falling cracked sky.
Without them we’d be crushed dead. Empty heavy sky forces on me, us.
brown and orange
hues, branches painting shadows
over the tree stumps
with a boisterous wind
a mesmerizing dance ensues
birds tweeting away
mating ritual displayed
the first signs of fall
accompanied by the sounds
reflecting the changing times...
There was an old klump by the name of Trump
He lost the elections and was bowled at the stumps
Though the self opinionated never suffer self doubt
I don’t think he still has a clue of what he brought
about
Not wanting to concede the opinionated lump.
21.11.2020
Out on a Lim.
I was a lad of seven
When attacked by bumblebees
Those little fellers bite me
Since I chose to run!
They were provoked I admit
By my Pappy pulling stumps
The moral is stand don't run
Else dear Vie you're stung
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Linda-Marie's "Bite Me" Contest - April 2012
Last night I dreamt
Of mountain trees that ail
The needle rusted red
For beetle bark has ate
For global warming so
Causing the trees to dry
Rising in altitude though
There’s little room beyond
So pine beetles devour
Create their home in trees
While slicing lives for hour
Thus only stumps appear
Foreshadow mountain after years
All trees are gone and hill side bare
Draft an Article a den of soul slackers
No room for sanity humanity elected crackers
Uncivil ones to fail the civic duty pledged
Ride a rift split society - drive a wedge
Trail Trump slumping stumps winded carpetbaggers
Talking heads robbing hoods all cloak and daggers
Riding herd wicked turn charging alibi
Stuck off bicker batter were all gonna die
I shoved my fingers into a paper shredder to trim my nails.
But it shredded my fingers and it hurt like hell.
People stare because I have stumps instead of fingers.
I had to give up my career of being a country singer.
Listen to my advice so that my predicament isn't some thing you'll have to endure.
Don't be an idiotic moron like me, if you need your nails trimmed, get a manicure.
A waning moon hangs
under an obsidian sky
as I walk through a
the dark scrub forest
past stumps of giants
felled long ago.
The river‘s low
few salmon in the pools
and none flounder
on the gravel banks.
Eagles and ravens
are not to be seen
though the signs say
bears have been
sighted.
Once this river sustained
an autumn feast but
now pickings
are pretty
slim.
There once was fellow could really jump
But his arms were blown off, left with two stumps
When with a new girl
He made her hair curl
He would dive in there, knees first, for a hump
The girl said, "Please, dear, don't do that; it hurts!
And your bare knees are just covered with dirt"
But the jumper's reply:
"I'm a civilized guy
Not a stuffed-shirt or a mud-caked pervert!"
A leached amputee
living with stumps of flawless
dying.
Round and round, blindfolded
moving in circle, drawn by rhyming
bells.
Perhaps you need to suffer
with the drunken race of
snipers.
I am in the silent valley of
barefoot secrets where moon waits to
die.
The poppies will buy the bullets,
a gift to unending kiss of
grief.
Tell every vulture on the tree,
there is endless arrival of
feasts.
SATISH VERMA
.Boom! Boom! Boom!
Is the sound of the bombs,
Destructive echoes from metalic stumps.
It kills the young.
It kills the old.
With a ravaging sound,
That rises from the ground.
From the evil man's indurate heart,
That is always cold.
With unremorseful force,
It pierces our loved ones.
Leaving us with havoc,
Bloodshed and tears in our eyes.
This cruel incessant
Reverberating sound,
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Form:
If those buried beneath us
could rise today,
would they run to any patch of sunlight,
make snow angels, heap-up snowmen,
stick blackened bones into white bodies?
Would they fashion a bright face
from tooth stumps and icy eye-sockets?
Sadly I imagine that some,
(the frost-jelled and un-melting),
might return to crumbling factories
or defunct offices,
their briefcases or tool boxes
stuffed with snow
to labor over epitaphs.
Blurred and broken lines.
The charred stumps of ancient pines.
Receiver of an ordinary life.
A directive of outbound strife.
Lost in a sea of shifting light.
The way forward or back is severely tight.
Crystalline formations of danger.
The battered muse is getting ever stranger.
Hope has ceased in circular motions.
Drowned and swept in infinite oceans.
You write because your mind is broken.
Out of power. Insert more tokens.
A leached amputee
living with stumps of flawless
dying.
Round and round, blindfolded
moving in circle, drawn by rhyming
bells.
Perhaps you need to suffer
with the drunken race of
snipers.
I am in the silent valley of
barefoot secrets where moon waits to
die.
The poppies will buy the bullets,
a gift to unending kiss of
grief.
Tell every vulture on the tree,
there is endless arrival of
feasts.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Blinking to the waking dawn
Slowing peeling off the blackness
Sighing as he merge
With the familiar turf
Waking up his memory
To this side of life
He grunts and growls
Stomping at the stumps
Placed on his journey
On this side of life
He grumbles as he trembles
Wailing and craving
Wishing for the other side
Sealed in an internal struggle
As he wish the sea of fate
Would wash him over
Far away from this side of life