Best Axe Poems
My work is identity
The axe in my hand
No blisters to bother me
As for years I just stand
The weeds and the flowers
Call me back down to earth
The brown rust confuses
Destroys my self-worth
The tears and the rain
Have frozen me here
It could be forever
At least that is my fear
But then I hear singing
And love with a twirl
There's something of beauty
This dog and this girl
She stops to acknowledge
Where my work is so stale
I am rescued completely
My Dorothy Gale
We converse, no lips moving
I creak and I groan
She talks of a journey
To get herself home
I determine to help her
As she's helping me
We walk and we talk
It feels good to be free
It's strange but I know that
She strives for the best
I feel something beating
Once again in my chest
Not sure where we're going
When this journey will end
But I feel like I love her
This newly found friend
I see the shadow on the wall,
my breath catches and hope falls.
He has found me I do despair,
The Axeman is standing there.
Hiding in the house all day,
waiting for the return of his prey.
In the pantry watching through the door,
night is all he waits for.
Silently he makes his way through the house,
silent as a deadly mouse.
Started with dad and mom in the bed,
I silently cry as they are dead.
My sleeping sisters and brother,
without their heads I did discover.
My visiting friends he also found,
he killed them too with a squishing sound.
If only the drifting Reverend did not stop,
invited for breakfast by my pop.
My family could have been saved,
now our future is a lonely grave.
He moves in for the kill,
swings his axe with lots of skill.
The flash of steel as all I see,
slumps to the floor is all that's left of me.
The wind blows through Villisca this cold night,
my family died without a fight.
A small and quiet town,
in the night our screams did drown.
Poked by aleera I did jump,
telling the true story that in the night goes bump.
I see the shadow of Kristy De La Keur,
Now her story you'll get to incur.
Thanks to John Loving III and the Haunting Poets,
the true story of the Villisca axe murders you do know it.
Sad the tragedy is too true,
not a fictional killer to go BOO!
Tom Turkey got lost 'midst the teeming flock,
Thus, avoiding the dreaded chopping block!
Hunkering down spared his life,
Averting the carving knife!
He now recovers from traumatic shock!
One-liner
of doom...
"I'm leaving you"
Mercy!
The poor fellow
must've died
a thousand deaths
right then...
"Whack! Whack! Whack!"
goes an axe
straight through
his confused heart.
Ouch!
A devastating impact.
Numb to the bone
as he stands,
directly facing her,
in arrested astonishment;
listening...
as she narrates
the end
of everything.
Too numb
to utter so much as
a word.
He stands there
as if
frozen in time,
growing...
increasingly deaf
with disbelief;
too stunned
to plead...
"Baby, please, don't do this!"
Or cry out
an anguished "Now, wait a minute!"
On her breath,
the fetid stench of death;
d e a t h
of gargantuan dreams
dreamt together.
Their panorama
of bright tomorrows
suddenly look
blacker than charcoal.
He listens
as she's speaking
but doesn't comprehend
the words
forking into him
like flashes of lightning.
Hopelessly lost in
"How did it come to this?"
A sucker-punch
that landed
with speed so blinding
he couldn't see it!
Unbearable pain
that writes itself
across his crimson face
His defeated spirit,
a bark of a tree
withstanding blows
from an axe.
Like every other day,the man came with the axe to cut a tree,one tree a day,7 days a week.This time the trees criticized the axe,telling him;don't you see that your handle is from wood?the stem of your life was a tree which died to give you birth.
The axe started to mourn,saying;my handle is from wood but my handle is in the man's hand,which imigates you.Don't you see you are raised to benefit the man,the water you drink,getting your branches repaired is for benefit.
As soon as understanding who really the man is,the trees said;cut our body and break our branches let the blossoms fall on the ground get us rid of the pain of living to benefit liars.
Lizzie Borden Took an Axe
By Elton Camp
Family love often will subside
When there’s property to divide
Old Andy Borden’s second wife
Came to be a cause of much strife
He allowed his two daughters no say
When he began to give money away
To his second wife’s Abby’s own kin
With them, his generosity did begin
“For you to do like that is so lame.
On the estate Abby has no claim.”
Anger filled daughters one and two
Only the youngest knew what to do
When on a trip her sister was away,
Her crafty plan Lizzie put into play.
Ugly old Abby was at home alone
Her husband was on business gone
Bridget, the Borden’s Irish maid,
Feeling sick, in her room had laid
“Now’s my chance,” Lizzie thought
Unawares, her stepmother she caught
While she was making up the bed,
Lizzie swung an axe to her head.
Alongside the bed she did sprawl
Making not a cry or a move at all
When home to nap her father came
Then she proceeded to do the same,
Quickly removed her bloody dress
Cleaned from herself any red mess
Police,“Where can Mrs. Borden be?
We very much need her to see.”
Then came a shout, all to astound.
Come up here, look what we found.
Lizzie tried to conceal a happy smile
At the two bloody murders ever so vile
To loss of inheritance she put a stop
When into death her parents did drop
The evidence proved extremely strong
That Lizzie herself had done the wrong
She cried, “Oh jury, you must see me free.
Surely you have to believe it wasn’t me.”
To think any woman might be so evil
In that distant day was too unbelievable
Less than two hours did the jury deliberate
Before making their decision as to her fate
“We find pretty Lizzie did nothing wrong.
So open the jailhouse and send her home.
It would take some libelous and stupid fool
To accuse a young teacher of Sunday school.”
It was obvious that Lizzie had much to gain
If to continue alive Mrs. Abby did not remain
Both motive and opportunity, clearly she had
But a gentle woman could do nothing that bad
But the township’s people were not deceived
The jury’s hasty verdict they never believed
In derision, it only took them a very short time
To compose and then chant a mocking rhyme
“Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.”
It hangs right down below my knees,
And ladies beg, ‘ Let’s try it, please.’
They’ve never handled such a whopper
As that, my super massive chopper.
Ridiculous exaggerations about the size of my axe, of course!
For Susan’s contest
Hope no one's offended by this...
There once was a mad-man with an ax.
Well known for some very shocking acts.
He runs down a church aisle
Chops the altar to a pile,
He hacks until their preacher reacts.
This mad-man went to a church Bazaar.
His bizarre shouts were heard from afar.
He walked in standing tall.
Waved his awl at them all,
Then, sped off in a get-away car -
One Sunday while wolfing a hot fryer,
The ax-man thought the Friar should retire.
He went to the Cathedral
I’ll say he was not cheerful
Town folks locked him away in the spire.
He stayed in that spire for awhile.
Hoping for a very speedy trial,
He sat on a bale
Then, cried out for bail.
He was exiled to a far away isle.
Copyright April 7, 2015
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Only Homo's Allowed
Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis
A.W. Nutter
Silently creeping through the hall
Concealed in the darkness of night
From God’s grace I will surely fall
My hate bringing me such delight
The handle turns easily in my hand
As your door opens without a sound
Emotionally trapped in sinking sand
Realizing I’ve entered unholy ground
Induced pain and sinful transgressions
Flooding my mind, causing me to digress
Lowering the axe in fear and frustration
Screaming out to heaven in my distress
My demon awakens, grabbing an arm
Devil's child trapped in Satan's web
Beaten into submission, easily disarmed
Forced on a path, angels refuse to tread
A cold wet tongue slides across my back
Slowly destroying my childish innocence
A game of humiliation before the attack
Completely devouring my spiritual essence
Forced to my knees I see the axe
Mirrored blade reflecting a coward
As his leather belt caresses my back
The axe is swung with all my power
Dark red spray, stings my open sores
Blood soaking me like a pouring rain
As his twitching body falls to the floor
Demons turn, to scream out in pain
Walking back to my room in disbelief
Trying to comprehend what I had done
Curling up on my bed finally feeling safe
Patiently waiting for morning to come
Ever gone to throw an axe?
You’ll love it if you try.
Grip the handle and relax,
Standing firm into your tracks,
Release and let it fly.
Over end, the axe will spin,
And through the air will whisk.
To the target, caged within,
Close to center, you will win,
Like darts with more the risk.
In the target, there are rings,
That circle round the eye.
Each a different point it brings,
When towards the board the axe it zings,
And wedges in the ply.
In the corner, there’s a spot,
Which comes with much acclaim.
Blue, the color of the dot.
If you have a killer shot,
Can help you clinch the game.
When you come, make sure to pack,
No shoes your feet expose.
If the board, it gives a smack,
And the axe comes bouncing back,
Will help to save your toes.
Grab a beer, this social game,
Is just as good as any.
It may even help your aim,
But too much is sure to maim,
So please don’t have too many.
I'm Made of Iron, Hard and Lean
My Name's Well Known, I'm Wicked Mean!
Heads Still Moan from My Crack,
Some Went Under, Upon Their Back;
So if you See Me in a Fight,
Run Like Hell, yea Take Flight!
For Peace and Mercy I Have'nt Concern;
It's Blood I Crave, and Yours I Yearn!
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
No? How totally boring is that!
They add a little spice when telling your story
More interesting than your household cat
How about a bigamist or a felon of some note
That would be a total blast!
But before you climb up on your mighty high horse
Better thoroughly check out your past
Just having a little fun so don't send me letters
When reviewing this sweet little gem
Every once in a while I go off on these tangents
Soon be back on the track once again
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
If you have to answer yes to the above
I solemnly promise to keep it our little secret
And end with good wishes and love
© Jack Ellison 2012
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
Tom Turkey's doom again was kept at bay
He wasn't picked for Thanksgiving entree
Hunkered down to keep his head
His pals were victims instead
Tom survived to live for another day
Tree of life.
Tree of my life.
He dug deep and in the roots of my innocence,
He pulled and tucked.
He used all of his fingers and fiddled until he found it.
My sanity,
My happiness,
My well-being;
And then he took it for himself.
Leaving that tree seemingly alive,
Standing,
With branches and leafs.
But the roots had been messed with,
There was no life left.
So the tree mirrored the others,
Moving and swaying with the wind.
But the leafs were turning brown and falling off.
The branches would snap at any touch.
Until all that was left was the stump,
For the tree had fallen over and exhaled it’s last breath.
It was dead.
But from that lifeless stump,
All that knew that tree at its prime,
Would come,
And weep and mourn.
They would always remember.