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  • You call that logging

    A preface to the poem: Forty years in the timber business now retired. Maybe two thousand woods logged, I never left a man with a woods he still couldn’t be proud of. As I write this poem they’re logging the woods bordering on mine. The old man that owned it must have die or he soon will when he see’s it.

     

    The wind is from the north today

    It seems to amplify the sound

    The splintered crash of limbs

    Falling though the crowns


    Laid wastes, like toppled dominos

    Relinquished to the core

    Three hundred years uprooted

    Stern and standing there no more


    Graves that are compliant

    The earth accepts them back

    What held them once defiant

    Saws humming their attack


    Denuded, bleak the landscape

    The butchers blade is grim

    With greed his only client

    What falls depends on him


    All he says, All that’s fit

    What cost when cost are weight

    It will only take tree hundred years

    To restore what God has made


    But shouldn’t there be seed?

    One single tread of hope

    Some mother of remembrance

    Can’t you leave a token oak

    Nope!

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     
    Last edited by divot; 12-12-2017, 12:37 PM.

  • #2
    So wrong. That's our clean breath they're taking.
    Well done, it made me 'feel', and getting more into this stuff, with your ideas and experience, is nice.
    "Greed his only client" was a idea that caught fire in me. Well executed--
    Kudos--

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    • #3
      Thank you, Clear cuts leaving limited residual trees are fine to re-establish certain species that require a lot of sunlight. That means four or five acres at a time. Not ninety acres of shivered to splintered hillsides.

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      • #4
        Loved this! From a lumberyard in georgia

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        • #5
          Much of earths destruction is due to greed. Well said Divot.

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          • #6
            Sad news, this. Well executed.

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            • #7
              Well I found out today

              The old man passed away

              The heirs inherent taxes

              Left no room to spare

              Dividing up the money

              So all could get their share

              It happens all to often

              When no one's left to care

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              • #8
                Sad ending to a nice write.

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                • #9
                  The woods you describe
                  in The Old Oak Tree,
                  what's to happen to them?
                  Have they a family's
                  Trust to claim
                  to save them
                  being slain?

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                  • #10
                    In a classified forest program. Many back taxes would be paid, if they were cut without supervision from a state forester.

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