A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.
Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.
The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.
The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.
Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.
A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.
A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.
The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
I don't mind working on my own
It gives me time to ponder
While my body works away
My mind begins to wander
Dusty serenades the treetops
Pesky teasing squirrels
I sit on a tree stump
Pleasing little scribbles
Cut down, saw up
Cart, split stack
With a certain satisfaction
It seems to me
There's an ounce of poetry in that
Peering in to the forest,dark then clearing,appears a horseman riding
bringing tidings of a battle won,
fought on some foreign field
and bought by death under a foreign sun.
There is no rejoicing here,no celebration,we wait to hear news from some distant shore,for we are parents of the sons who won the war,and what for we ask?
to bask in everlasting glory?
Bring me back my dead,rebuild for me another story of no war,no battles fought,no victory was ever bought without the shedding of our blood.
Good men die or live and we who gave them life,the father,wife wait to hear,
wait and fear
the knocking at our door.
He lived in a cabin
At the base of the mountain
His face grey and weathered
His posture awkward, angular
He was chiseled from the very rock
Hair like wire
Coarse and the colour of rust
Sticking straight up from his head
Like a shoe brush
And he walked with a stick
Each morning he'd be seen
Knelt by the stream
Fishing while his eyes darted
Left, and right
Black as the water
He seemed to melt into the backdrop
His clothes like bark
His bare arms gnarled and knotted
Like the trunk of a tree
He had sprung forth from the very ground
And when he died they say
He returned to the earth
His breath became the wind
His tears the rain that watered the land
And his smile could be seen
In the flowers that grew
The Tripped and sullen Woodsman
Frustrated and calm, he stands with trees
Ominous branches, each one a soul on limb
Stranded, echoed with leaves
The trunk either thriving or poisoned at core
With his axe the devil decides
A cut and your body will do the same
And when it falls, a mortal will die
my heart, my heart, my heart --
how do you speak with no vocal chords?
how do you ache with so few nerve endings?
how do you move suns and moons with such small mass?
the enchanted axe removed each limb,
one by one, bringing nick chopper down to size,
and gave him a body full of tin.
however, in attempting to heal his wounds,
the tinsmith failed to replace his heart,
and the tin woodsman was no longer
able to love the one to whom he had given his heart.
and he continued to live this way for years.
how i envy the heartless,
how i envy the ones who feel pain, but not
the pain of the heart, the pain of the soul.
there are times i want to rip my own heart out.
the gravity of such a decision
was hardly noticed, the way gravity
is hardly noticed -- a force we do not fight.
so, of course, i said it -- "i love you."
and in that moment the earth moved
beneath my feet. i felt the tilt of its axis;
i felt the weight of the world; i felt it all.
and of course, my frame was far too slight.
i felt a piercing pain, i could not move,
and i feared the worst. there are very few
maladies that cause paralysis and sharp pains
all over the mind and body. but
this was nothing new, this was nothing
i hadn't felt before. to have a heart,
to feel a heart, to know a heart,
is to feel unimaginable pain.
my own words have become my enchanted axe;
my own heart has removed each limb
and replaced them with tin. and yet my heart remains.
is that a better fate than having no heart at all?
The woodsman swept through the forest deep
To find a listening tree that his secrets would keep.
With a strong trunk to plane, grained wood to refine
To encase her remains and enclose her mind.
At the edge of the forest, a tree stood alone
A silhouette frame, of orange leaves and brown bones.
The woodsman knew, this tree was the one
He sensed the tree's wisdom, from her years in the sun.
Carefully he lowered, the tall tree to its rest
Then sawed along rings of maturation expressed.
The wood became what, he sought it out for
A tomb to confine, the girl he adored.
Now where were we, Wolfie
before the woodsman intervened?
Your hot fetid breath upon my neck
suggesting things obscene.
I was eager and no innocent
to try new things, I’m Keen.
That woodsman fellow was such a bore
thinking that he could keep me pure.
I knocked him out, then I made sure
he won’t disturb us anymore
So paw my scarlet robes aside
and see the treat that waits inside.
For one night only with no repeat
find out if I am good to eat.
There was a kingdom,
And a castle,
And a king
And his queen.
There was a village,
And a longhouse,
And a man,
And his wife.
Inside the castle,
The queen bore
Inside the stable,
The wife bore
And neither family
When the eldest was queen,
The youngest escaped,
Never again to be seen.
Then the queen turned to ice,
Her heart lost its warmth,
And the people did suffer
At darkness' triumph.
When his father passed,
He picked up the ax,
And carried on with his tasks.
The woodsman on the outskirts
Of her highness' fair kingdom
Was stricken with grief
As their good fortune dwindled.
On the eve of her birth,
The woodworker decided
Their ruler was desperate
For someone to confide in.
So he sculpted her sister,
Each detail just right -
He captured her features
And the light in her eyes.
The gates opened that day
And the townsfolk came in,
The woodsman, with a white sheet
And his life's work trapped within.
The crowd gathered
And bothered with questions
The queen wandered
And told her his intentions
When she tore down the sheet
In a heap
against the turbulent wind
and waves that know no end,
i suppose 'tis good to sail.
guided by ephemeral clouds
all the sea-hosts ask how,
"did you expect not to fail"?
at night will i set to dreaming
and restore myself, for good evening
is merely a farewell to the sun.
with pen in my hand
and bruised heel shall i stand,
unaware of from where
the breeze comes.
Oh! my body it breaks,
against words and mistakes,
and i cry out to curse
the day i drew breath.
and yet i draw on...
but from the water
yes i saw you from the water!
the white wake that ripples
from your chest.
swallowed by a sea of glass
are your prowess and your wrath,
as you are mocked
and cast to the ground.
yet onward does it go
now that you have been laid low,
no woodsman comes
to cut us down.