Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.


Stopping beside a new clear cut
which wasn't here last week.
Old logging road's a skidder's rut.
Life's blood of pine stumps leak
perfuming this new ruin's air.

Weather is southern summer hot.
A whirlwind raises memories;
ghosts of where game once was sought
on land once shaded by tall trees.
Mixed woods that are no longer there.

Waste tree laps still bear wilted leaves.
Last fall's foliage coats the ground.
Nearby a mourning doves now grieves
for what is no longer around.
A grief which I begin to share.

But just two hundred yards away
looms the edge of old hardwoods
where loggers didn't have their say.
Within its shade resentment broods
at their home's flank now being bare.

Sweat soaks my pate, drips from my nose.
Better that far shade than near sun's heat.
Damp patches wet my summer clothes
as toward the green edge I retreat.
Boots scuff dry duff as I walk there.

I pass the stump from an old tree
identified by the surrounding rocks
which many morns supported me
in months of migrating woodcocks
does that tree's ghost still dwell somewhere?

Some deer tracks wander randomly.
Is that doe nearly as lost as I
at changes wrought too rapidly
and newly unobstructed sky?
Perhaps this was that deer's home lair.

Just as I step into the shade
a lizard races 'cross the dust
toward that desert newly made
toward cones and mast now lying crushed.
Will it be replanted with care?

I turn my back on what once was
and immerse myself in what's still here :
a cooling shade and dry flies' buzz,
the barking of a squirrel un-near,
the shriek of a lone hawk up there.

My gait is slow my stride not long
as I make my way among old trees.
Nature sings her secret song
to this old man with aching knees.
An outsider in a world turned fair.

And now I top a second hill
through shade which forbids undergrowth.
I continue on by strength of will
then jump two deer and smile at both
who wave their tails in a white flare.

Their mocking snorts bid me to come,
join them in a different place
where nagging pains might become numb,
where all would walk with strength and grace,
where wild things roam without a care.

And in the valley down below
flows a creek I've never seen.
I hear it but... decide to go
back toward my truck through sylvan green.
This time I'll not accept the dare
as I would have back when young and fair.
Some other day I'll go down there.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


As usual a great walk with you .
This one didn't flow as well maybe the inclusion of a fifth line caused a few problems

the life's blood of pine stumps now leak
(Where the blood of felled pines now leaks)

toward cones and mast now lying crushed
(Whose cones and masts now lay crushed)

the barking od a squirrel unnear
(the barking of a squirrel unnear)

And now I top a second hill
through shade which forbids undergrowth
I continue on by strength of will
then jump two deer and smile at both
who wave their tails in a white flare

This stanza needs a little of your magic it seems strange and can't find why???
Take care young man, Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Written in haste, shows clearly that haste makes waste. I'll get to an edit soon now that schedule has become less hectic......................stan

author comment

Ian noted some of the other "hasty" oppsies.
However, I think it "flows" quite as nicely as most of your image laden poems. I also like the length. Too often you lull me into your lazy, gentle world and just as I'm getting relaxed and ready for a long walk... we're back on the porch and I have to mow the lawn.
This is nice.

"recognized by the surrounding rocks"
I love this sort of stuff and it appears more often and more readily when you take some space for the poem. You get better with length. Not everyone will agree I suppose, but I like it better.
Nice to walk with you even though the scenery was a little sad this time.
Write me something without loss, daddy.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program

Thank you. Without loss and kinda long? Look up some older stuff like WALKING WITH TEMPTATION or BERNSTEIN'S POSTULATE.......Maybe ISSAQUEENA'S RUN parts one and 2. Guees I must be in a bit of a wistful phase at the moment but I'll try to break out of it with something soon lol. Appreciate the time to read and comment.............stan

author comment

also factual
sorry couldn't bear the pain of reading epicurial
as your title alone brought tears in my eyes
when will that day come
neither you know
nor do I


Now the title isn't That bad is it? lol. And yes, we never know when that time's coming so I reckon we'd best make the best of each day 'till it does. Appreciate your dropping by...............stan

author comment

another guy once wrote
loved your droppings....

thanks Stan
hope things are still moving
though at snails speed
but move you must
stay not still
you shall never be ill


Not quite snail paced but not much faster lol...........stan

author comment
(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.