WHAT AM I RIDDLES

Many-manned scud-thumper, Maker of worn wood, Shrub-ruster, Sky-mocker, Rave! Portly pusher, Wind-slave.

What am I?

Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. And whoever knows it wants it not

I'm a word that's hardly there. Take away my start, and I'm an herbal flair. What am I?

Marking mortal privation, when firmly in place. An enduring summation, inscribed in my face.

What am I?

When I'm used, I'm useless, once offered, soon rejected. In desperation oft expressed, the intended not protected.

What am I?

You can use me to stop,

You take me to smoke;

Not only do I stop, But I am a stop,

And the result of pool's first stroke.

What am I?

I can come in a can,

I can come as a punch,

I can come as a win,

You can eat me for lunch.

What am I?

What can be heard and caught but never seen?