Out in the park, lashed by rain
a girl, heart torn, cried under a hat
there in the ground, buried her Jane
an old brown manx, as flat as a mat
Pound for pound, not pretty but plump
Marcus, the neighbor, two pies, not enough
fast to the market, tripped over a stump
Jane at his feet took her last puff
Around the stump, some giant leaves
Are reaching for the sky,
In defiance of the forces
Which allowed that tree to die.
They grow within a little square
Of soil in the park,
A sister stump in its own plot,
Alone and looking stark.
Perhaps those trees were felled because
Of some rare plant disease,
But if some saplings took their place,
It might have helped appease.
Instead, the stumps remind us
Of what once stood tall and proud
And those giant leaves announce
That Nature will remain unbowed.
I took the road less traveled
to hear if a falling tree
with no one around
aside from me
(yours truly)
does make a sound
but lost my way
in the bewilderness
veered far astray
and for the life of me
couldn't see
the forest for the trees
but if I could
it would feel so good
not a bump on a log nor lump on a stump
as then I'd be out of the woods
• Little man run
• Little man jump
• Little man hidden inside of a stump
• Little man skip
• Little man fly
• Little man asks a polar bear why
In a forest lived a man.
A man who lived in a tree.
This tree, they say, was the largest tree in the sound forest.
The tree had many parts within it: A vast canopy for hanging and swinging, a Y notch for asking the dearest of questions and a stump for sitting.
On that stump sat the man.
The man looked like any ordinary man, but today he was a little older.
A few strands of hair seemed to be falling out, a gray here and there.
And a new number to connect the mind and body to.
A simple, yet sophisticated man, he sat on the stump and admired the noble tree which stands absolute in the vast forest.
Once a weak sapling, stands mighty now, but the man still sits, watching the tree as it continues its growth.
The older the man will grow, the stronger the tree will be,
And the stronger the tree, the less the man will have to sit.
One day the man will no longer sit on the stump.
The stump will call for a new sitter, a new man who will grow his one tree.
A tree to become strong like those before it.
The man will then join the other stump-sitters.
And watch the growth of their creations,
Blossom Into Greatness.
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.
It crumbled altogether,
yet its black root dug itself yet deeper.
Perhaps I had been grinding
nocturnal jaws together -
excavating bone.
A tender spike remains
above the gum,
it pulls at the mind
wanting to be touched
by a cringing tip of tongue.
The dentist is digging his way through.
a knee on my chest
tugging and sweating.
My face feels like it has caved inward,
I suckle the stale air of my throat
through a mouth washing hose.
He grunts. challenged
by the stubborn stump.
I encourage him with my eyes.
They crinkle at the sides
laughing at a joke
we both shall tell later.
Into each other they bump
And their grievances dump
The Marked and The With-A-Stump
Sticking together: a clump?
Really, something of magic
Able to challenge logic,
Their wine-filled mouth, mumps
While the marked money pumps…
A resurrection of kicks of their rumps
And mimicry of cows with humps!
One heaven of a reconciliation,
No third-party mediation.
The old tree
Too wither for the sun
Too thick for the rain
Too big for the wind
Too old for the oldies to tell stories
Too bristle for the youngsters to climb upon
Too shady and blocking for the view of the road
Too many leaves for the sweepers
Too dangerous for the lightning
Too big for the children to embrace
Have to give way to safety and developments
An old stump is left
A soothing greenery is lost
But the laughters it once brought
Remain in the mind of the children
The stump in my garden
By light of the moon,
Is upright and sturdy
Played like a bassoon
A possum's performing
"Song of the Pooka"
It is such a beautiful tune.
And that stump is a chimney,
It doubles as a hookah,
Delighting a baked raccoon.
Smoke rings in smoke rings
Encircle my thumb
While OOOMP go the bass notes,
Gah-wooo, Gah-wum.
"The Stump" is selected from Pets Given in Evidence of Old English Witchcraft and Other Bewitched Beings (Minneapolis: Sidecar Preservation Society, 2016).
Sure To Stump
Trump is grump who doesn't like living in a dump
And became confused when he fell in a clump
Of cucumbers and his head has a big bump;
Rides on cute camel that has a horrible hump;
Said many things which us is sure to stump;
Found him watching movie about Forest Gump,
And not only that can be an incredible chump;
Terrible driver when over wheel he would slump.
You can continue on from here here now.
Jim Horn
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.
camping out on the softness of your stump
i make a campfire in the quiet darkness
i hear the whisper of the wind in the catch of your breath
the ice cream i begin to lick melts into the very dwelling place of your heart
the flavor that emits from this extraordinary of places transcends normalcy like certain versions of chocolate
it makes camping out a plethora of wonder neverending
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.
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME
WE WERE LIKE PARTNERS IN CRIME
IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE SHE DIED
SHE'S OUT OF MY SIGHT
BUT THE MEMORIES OF HER STILL PLAYS ON MY MIND
HEAR THE SOUND OF CHIMES
FLIES A MAGPIE IN THE DEEP BLUE SKIES
I DON'T HEAR SILENCE
I SPEAK OF THE EXPERIENCE LIKE SHE WAS STILL MY ACQUAINTENCE
OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER WAS CLOSE BY
NEITHER OF US NEVER WENT OUT OF LINE
YEAH THAT'S A SIGN
I SHED TEARS WHILST I CRY
WE HAD TOO MUCH OF ONE'S EFFECTION
THE LEAST I COULD SAY IS GOOD BYE
I MISS HER SOLEMNLY
NOW SHE'S WALKING UP THE STAIRS WITH THE HEAVENLY
ALL OUR LIVES
WE COULD'NT CONCEIVE NO CHILDREN
HER WOMB DECLINED
THOUGHTS OF ADOPTION CROSSED OUR MINDS
THEIR WOULD'NT BE BIOLOGICALLY MINE
SHE MISCARRIED
WE DID'NT WANT NO WED -LOCK
WE WOULD'NT BE ABLE TO FRAIN THE NEIGHBOURS FROM DARTING INSULTS AT US NON-STOP
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