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Si fueras tú un árbol,
Quisiera ser el leñador
Quisiera un alma de valor,
Quisiera un hacha de mármol.

Quisiera poder pasar
Mi mano por tu coraza
Y si más no se desplaza,
Tumbarte horizontal.

Quisiera hacer un hogar
De tu torso de madera,
Y en tu pecho, si se abriera,
Una cuna de anidar,

Quiero dormir sobre tu pelo,
Bajo tus ojos de ventana,
Y despertar cada mañana
Besando los pies de tu suelo.

Si fueras para mí,
Tus semillas guardaría
Y en la noche sembraría
Todo un bosque de ti.
swaggmaster Feb 2019
the lumberjack handles his axe
rolling it over in his fingers
like a gambler itching to make the bet
adrenaline saturating his sweat.

the anticipation lingers
a slight trace of malevolency
breaks free from his tips
parched for a place
to quench his needs
where no one succeeds.

the desire for release
achieved in complete ease
a snap!
and all your woes fade away
as your sanity dismantles into decay.

derived from the ever close disease
that sulks temptingly
behind the coziest fleece
that couldnt be banished
by even the sludgiest grease.

life would be better off
without its persistance
tugging at his cloth.

everyday shows a new way.

be smart about how you want to play.
Joshua Krueger Oct 2017
I saw
the forest--
                --for the
So this is one of those cliches I was mentioning in my last poem's notes, but I came up with a title that gave it a double meaning. I don't know... I thought it was clever, but originality is dead. Creativity, however- Is very much alive. I've always wanted to put this on a shirt, but never got around to it. If you do- Let me know so I can buy one!
Ako Jun 2017
Firm hands
Visage, chiselled by gods
I pray upon the temple
Intertwined fingers
Sinful embrace
I have longed a touch for Mars
So far, yet he saw the wood,
The hill,
The Temple.

The Mars enraged!
Raging howl of a lone canine
Digging of what the burried desire has for him
Digging, digging
The Lumberjack fervently saws the hills
O God! Visage with a burning desire!
Not a tune of emotion compares to what this broken vision has seen
Not a tune of reality passes him.

Unconcious by the dew,
Concious by the sun
Ending the sin of a forbidden bind.
Ma Cherie Nov 2016
Her Father's old wool jacket,
from Johnson Mills,
in creamy white,
dark forest green,
golden amber,
in a lovely patchwork,

A soft dark winter tuke on her head,
that dark green in the background,
with rusty speckles on her cheeks,

Wet snow falls silent,
the sky is a crisp Winter blue,
the air is cold and clear,
& intoxicatingly clean,

As she breathes life in and out,
looking down at her black Sorel boots
and her worn black denim jeans,
a nice old holey wool sweater,
and a maul,

A **** lumberjack?

Dressed to hack the wood,
the plumber thinks so,
he stops by,
a friend of hers,


Not invited,
but no one is around here,
we all do it,
so he helps too,

Hey I'll make lunch,
harmless flirting,
I suppose,

wood warms you 3 times they say,

Once to chop it,
two to stack it RIGHT,
three to bring it in & burn it,

But if you count the starting of the,
cantankerous chainsaw & the guy,
helping you,

And you hafta arrange & rearrange, everything,
cleaning the flue and chimney,
I'd say a few more than that,
& don't ferget to pay the man,
the cantankerous one,

Yeah he got lunch too,
and about them ashes,
could be pretty hot,
take 'em out regular,
that stove cranking too,

She ends up gets burned,
a few times each year,

she's on step too,
as she picks up the heavy maul,
not to heavy for this gal,
all the way back,
watch yourself,

As a neighbor winches,
a woman chopping wood?

That's right,
a way of life,
for her,
always has been,
poised and ready,
swing and smack,
if you hit it right,
you hear a crack,

Just like a baseball bat,
hitting a homer,

Big pieces,
are made more manageable,
when you don't try to control the force,
when you let the sharpened maul,

Do all the work,
for you.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Ugh yup did this.
E Townsend Nov 2015
How do I get a carving out of a tree?
The smug shape of your G+E
outlines with a stupid, misshaped heart
etched into the evergreen.
You ruined my favorite tree
with five words.
A sentence I knew you would inevitably say
at some point of our lives together.
I really wanted to doubt myself for once,
and be proved wrong in the right way.
But you just had to keep me incorrect.

I call the local lumberjack and ask him,
"Cut down the tree as soon as possible."
I think that's how you get a carving out of a tree.
"I don't love you anymore."
Bill Oct 2014
I am the Lumberjack, strong and sway,
Out and about to work a manly day.

"Will you swing your mighty ax?" less asked, more sung,
And I said "Boy, my axe already been swung".

"Oh sweet Jesus, where are we hiding the body?!"
"I'll make it into a cabin, that's a Lumberjack's hobby"

It takes skill and ingenuity to rank with Lumberjacks,
"Well good for you, that's thinking with your ax."

— The End —