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geoff
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The 'Arbtalk' poem.... A work in progress:001_smile:

 

 

This is how you do it

No it's bloody not

That's bacterial Wetwood

Err it's dry rot.

Chicken of the woods mate

Think you'll find it's hen

Actually it's beefsteak

Best ask Hama then

 

Fell it fell it fell it

Leave it well alone

Here's a job we did in town

Where's ya bloody cone?

Hi flex v stretch air

Husky v sthil

Will mark bolam have a say?

Course he bloody will.

 

Look at me I'm up a tree

Your positionings all wrong

What about my set up?

Your prussicks way too long

Lunge thread stunt fells

Show us what ya got

Think your arbtrucks brilliant?

Mick Stockbridge knows its not!

 

:thumbup1::thumbup:

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The 'Arbtalk' poem.... A work in progress:001_smile:

 

 

This is how you do it

No it's bloody not

That's bacterial Wetwood

Err it's dry rot.

Chicken of the woods mate

Think you'll find it's hen

Actually it's beefsteak

Best ask Hama then

 

Fell it fell it fell it

Leave it well alone

Here's a job we did in town

Where's ya bloody cone?

Hi flex v stretch air

Husky v sthil

Will mark bolam have a say?

Course he bloody will.

 

Look at me I'm up a tree

Your positionings all wrong

What about my set up?

Your prussicks way too long

Lunge thread stunt fells

Show us what ya got

Think your arbtrucks brilliant?

Mick Stockbridge knows its not!

 

Nice!

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I love reading other peoples work, & there is some on here that I cant help relating to, so a big thanks from me!:biggrin:

My writing is off at a friends place at the moment, hence I have not put much up,but will put this right over the next week.

Glad I started this thread, there are some funny & some heartfelt works coming out of the woodwork!:thumbup1:

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bang out the job, one day is a must,

 

hot and sweaty, covered in dust,

 

chipbox full, logs all cut,

 

water bottle empty, sarnies all gone,

 

the tree is down, the job is won,

 

the groundies are happy the day is done! :thumbup:

 

 

second verse

 

Bugger, I've only got half a day's work next week,

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Three hundred year in peace until,

If I'd an ear I'd hear a Stihl.

Giving shelter from driving hail,

Hosting oyster shrooms to grill.

 

Three hundred more I'd live yet still,

Edging closer you rev the Stihl.

Your grandfather remembers well,

Watching over as autumn fell.

 

Three hundred year atop this hill,

Hands like leather hold firm the Stihl.

Getting louder prepared to kill,

So it is here my blood will spill.

 

Three hundred year in peace until,

If I'd an ear I'd hear a Stihl.

Cutting deeper my limbs you pull,

So it is hear my blood will spill.

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  • 1 year later...

Love Life:

 

 

Wake up early, slightly frosty.

Out the door, frost no more.

 

Start the car, nice so far.

Near the job, wipers bob.

 

Cup of tea? Ideal to me.

Rain all gone, the sun shone.

 

Up the trees, an increasing breeze.

Clouds come back, the sky turns black.

 

A sudden downpour, then no more.

One tree downed, me half drowned.

 

In the van at lunch, we all munch.

Waiting for sun, then the final run.

 

A drip left over, on some clover.

A bue sky backdrop, to the glistening snowdrop.

 

Spring is here, my favourite time of year.

The rain and sun, can be quite fun.

 

The buzz of life, all around is rife.

Cast aside your strife, love this life.

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  • 1 year later...

Some bloke name uv Henry James, from Turn of the Screw.

 

Miles: What shall I sing to my lord from my window? What shall I sing for my lord will not stay? What shall I sing for my lord will not listen? Where shall I go when my lord is away? Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen? Gone is my lord and the grave is his prison. What shall I say when my lord comes a calling? What shall I say when he knocks on my door? What shall I say when his feet enter softly? Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor. Enter my lord. Come from your prison. Come from your grave, for the moon is a risen. Welcome, my lord.

image.jpg.17e9ce690672f7bd1458f9268b083c4c.jpg

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