Whether an owl with a stump, or a stump with an owl.
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The episode of love
The stump of friendship across grows
Into a canopy of love,
And duly pruned by the tempest
Returns to the stump of friendship.
03.08.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whether you hit an owl with a stump, or a stump with an owl.
James K. Polk
in 1844, the democrats were split
The three nominees for the presidential candidate
Were martin van buren, a former president and an abolitionist
James buchanan, a moderate
Louis cass, a general and expansionist
From nashville came a dark horse riding up
He was james k. polk, napoleon of the stump
Austere, severe, he held few people dear
His oratory filled his foes with fear
The factions soon agreed
He's just the man we need
To bring about victory
Fulfill our manifest destiny
And annex the land the mexicans command
And when the vote was cast the winner was
Mister james k. polk, napoleon of the stump
In four short years he met his every goal
He seized the whole southwest from mexico
Made sure the tarriffs fell
And made the english sell the oregon territory
He built an independent treasury
Having done all this he sought no second term
But precious few have mourned the passing of
Mister james k. polk, our eleventh president
Young hickory, napoleon of the stump
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mallee Fire
I SUPPOSE it just depends on where you’re raised,
Once I met a cove as swore by green belar!
Couldn’t sight the good old mallee-stump I praised;
Well!—I couldn’t sight belar, and there you are!
But the faces in the fire where the mallee stump’s a-blinking
Are the friendliest I ever seen, to my way o’ thinking!
In the city where the fires is mostly coal—
There! I can’t a-bear to go and warm my feet!
Spitting, fizzing things as hasn’t got no soul!
Things as puffs out yaller smoke instead of heat!
But at home—well, it is home when the mallee-stump’s a-burning,
And the evenin’s drawing chilly and the season is a-turning.
And there’s some as runs ’em down because they’re tough.
Well? And what’s the good of anythink as ain’t?
No. It’s nary use to serve ’em any bluff,
For they’d use up all the patience of a saint.
But they’ll split as sweet as sugar if you know the way to take ’em;
If you don’t, there isn’t nothink in the world as’ll make ’em.
They’re tremenjus hard to kindle, tho’, at first:
Like the friendship of the kind that comes to stay.
You can blow and blow and blow until you burst,
And when they won’t, they won’t burn, anyway!
But when once they gets a start, tho’ they make no showy flashes,
Well, they’ll serve you true and honest to the last pinch of ashes
poem by Charles Henry Souter
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Woman In White
As I look out the window
from where I work
at the car park
about fifty yards away.
Near the fence that borders it
is a tree stump about five feet tall.
Bleached white by the sun
it resembles a woman in a cloak.
It seems to change daily
though I don’t know why.
One day it seems she is praying,
the next day she has what looks like
a basket in her hand.
When it rains, she changes colour
from white to grey.
Now the summers here
and the greenery surrounds her,
she looks like she is walking through a garden.
It is strange how my imagination
changes her from day to day
and I wonder what more
this tree stump figure will give my imagination.
Now this woman in white
has me puzzled as to who she really is.
I can give her many names
of precious people from the past
who may have worn a cloak and gown.
However, for me she is
just my woman in white.
15 August 2011
poem by David Harris
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One Leg Anne and the Kid
Anne poked Monica
the girl with burn scars
with one of her crutches
and said
Scam scar face
me and the skinny kid
want to be alone
and Monica moved off
and said
I'm going to tell
Sister Bridget about you
Anne indicated for you
to sit in one of the chairs
on the lawn
and said to Monica
Go tell her then
and kiss her arse
while you're there
and Monica went off
and Anne eased herself
down into the other chair
and laid her crutches
against the round table
Well Kid how's it going?
All right
you replied
Just all right?
aren't you blown away
and isn't your heart faster
on my approach?
she laughed
and stared at you
Well?
she said
after a few moments
of silence
Did you manage
to bum me a smoke?
you fumbled
in your shirt pocket
and pulled out
a cigarette slightly bent
Well done you
Skinny Boy
and she took the cigarette
and put it in the pocket
of her cardigan and said
I'll have that later
when I'm in the john
having a pee
What if someone sees you?
you asked
What in the john?
I hope there'll be
no one in the john
with me
well unless you want to come
you're quite welcome
No
you said looking at
her straight black hair
and her dark eyes
and the one leg
sticking out
from her red skirt
she saw you staring
at her leg and said
I think you've fallen in love
with my lone leg
and she lifted her skirt
and revealed the leg stump
coming a little way
from her panty line
Have a good look Kid
and she laughed
and pulled your left hand
onto the stump
and held it there
and you sensed
the warmth and softness
and when she released
your hand you seemed
to take the impression
of the leg stump
on your palm and fingers
and odd
that years after that
that impression
like some ghost
still lingers.
poem by Terry Collett
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You have nobody to blame but yourself if you stumble more than once over the same stump.
If you stumble more than once over the same stump, you have no one to blame but yourself.
You can cut the tension with a cricket stump.
quote by Murray Walker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who tries to shake a tree stump shakes only himself.
I'm not trying to stump anybody... it's the beauty of the language that I'm interested in.
quote by Buddy Holly
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bert Kessler
I winged my bird,
Though he flew toward the setting sun;
But just as the shot rang out, he soared
Up and up through the splinters of golden light,
Till he turned right over, feathers ruffled,
With some of the down of him floating near,
And fell like a plummet into the grass.
I tramped about, parting the tangles,
Till I saw a splash of blood on a stump,
And the quail lying close to the rotton roots.
I reached my hand, but saw no brier,
But something pricked and stung and numbed it.
And then, in a second, I spied the rattler--
The shutters wide in his yellow eyes,
The head of him arched, sunk back in the rings of him,
A circle of filth, the color of ashes,
Or oak leaves bleached under layers of leaves.
I stood like a stone as he shrank and uncoiled
And started to crawl beneath the stump,
When I fell limp in the grass.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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half moon rising
our heart with initials
on the tree stump
haiku by Chenou Liu
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The problems seem so easy out there on the stump. Deficits shrink with a rhetorical flourish.
quote by Hugh Sidey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nixon is the kind of politician who would cut down a redwood tree, then mount the stump for a speech on conservation.
quote by Adlai Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A hypocrite is the kind of politician who would cut down a redwood tree, then mount the stump and make a speech for conservation.
quote by Adlai E. Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blue Tit's Nest
Some childhood memories with us seem to linger
And I recall when I was nine or so
Of seeing blue tit fly from hole in standing tree stump
One April day more than forty years ago.
I stood on tip toes and tried to look inside the tree stump
But all seemed dark in there I needed light
I hurried back home for to fetch a flash lamp
And what I saw a memorable sight.
A little nest of moss and hay and lined with feathers
And nine pale eggs with freckles brown to red
Laid by the little bird with yellow unders
Blue wings and tail and tiny blue cap on head.
I marvelled at this wondrous sight of Nature
How one small bird so many eggs could lay
The memory all those years has remained with me
And I still can picture what I see today.
I still can picture forty five years later
Nine speckled eggs in nest of moss and hay
Some things from childhood always remain with us
And from the memory never fade away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The best time to listen to a politician is when he's on a stump on a street corner in the rain late at night when he's exhausted. Then he doesn't lie.
quote by Theodore White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Check Out The Real Situation
Check out the real situation between you and i on this love!
For it is about peace, passion and care;
And like the oak tree whose stump remains after it is cut down.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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