Best Backhoe Poems
My John Deere tractor is my favorite toy.
There’s nothing better that I enjoy.
I have many attachments I use every day,
That are used for more than just play.
My backhoe, chipper, and snow-blower are my friends.
Without them, my work would never end.
I love my tractor, it’s right outside.
Nature feeds my soul, as I take a ride.
Once upon a whim
As the excavating limb
of a tractor under-tucked
the feed it hoisted up,
It seemed as though it goes
Akin to an elephant’s nose.
When later the machine
Departed from the scene
With scary points hung in
beneath the folded limb,
Its appearance was akin
to a giant scorpion.
Untie the knot, patriarch,
the broken kiss was
intimidating.
The backhoe picks up the
devil, it was within you
when you were casting stone
at the fear.
The pagan was covered
with leaves
raw and pailful;
belief in a thought
was not working,
think, man think.
The system,
the birth of rebirth of sorrow
was the tragedy.
The shaper,
I am, still wandering
to find the words.
Satish Verma
• After leading the massacare of 57 people in southern island of Mindanao Philippines on
23rd Nov 09
Walking down the street one dark night; I passed some road working equipment. Down the road a bit, I felt I was being followed. I glanced back and saw a backhoe that I’d passed at the work site; my god, I thought, I’ve walked three blocks since I passed that site; why is that backhoe following me?
I turned a corner and four blocks later I looked again…yes, backhoe was two blocks behind me! Should I run? Would it chase me?
My apartment was six blocks away; I entered an all night pharmacy and from its window, I watched the backhoe; it sat perfectly still. I bought a soda and left the pharmacy; two blocks, three, four; I was nearly home now.
The shadow of my apartment building loomed in the distance; when I reached it, I ran quickly inside, glancing back behind me; there, one block away, that vile, living backhoe!
I went up three flights of stairs to my apartment, taking two steps at a time. I looked out my window and wondered if I or anyone else dwelling there were safe from the backhoe. Would it try to destroy my building? What would I say to, warn the others there if it should attack? Then, I noticed, it was nowhere in sight!
My neighbor, Eddie would be coming home at midnight; would it follow him too? I waited up to ask him about it but, Eddie never arrived; had it gotten him?
I caught the bus for work the next morning; exhausted from a sleepless night. As it passed the work site; I swear that backhoe was smiling!
I came to see you at the remodeled hospital
there were bright tiles, statuary Marys, and assorted saints
"full code" was on the door.
We talked about your eventual escape and some summer plans
Now ,I am informed by curt text that there is a DNR with "comfort care,"
and no further attempts at treatment.
Too much oxygen for home or nursing home, a quick move to hospice across the road.
I kind of knew when the nurse's eyes slid over you and
the live plant I brought in the optimism of the early part of the week
was jammed in a light-less corner- I set it back on your tray.
You showed me that the nurses no longer came running when you took off your mask- the machine readout was dimmed and the alarms no longer blared.
You want to be sure that I plant hazelnuts,
and build a bomb or storm shelter, you know someone with a backhoe...
"Jesus lives on the 4th plane, you know", you tossed out to engage me
"...but there are other planes..." a gasp and the mask back on.
Your sister quickly interjects that I need to find "someone" to talk to you about this, someone who is interested.
I will talk to you about Jesus, and argue for his placement in the 6th plane
to see those blue eyes twinkle over the mask.
I will plant hazelnuts, I affirm, and look into the backhoe.
I see you, and I will see you around, my friend.
For Mike M.
the two footed tackle
we would deem most likely to raise authority’s hackle
so better the elbow
to the back of the head like a blundering backhoe.
Monday ... hit ‘em with a hard ballpoint slam
Shake the weekend ‘nish out of their veins
Tuesday ... hot comb straighten out the political wigs
Give the trough lap dogs some cynicism pain
Wednesday ... make their pen ride uncomfortable on the hump
Tell a shorty stuck backhoe mole ditch is looking big
Thursday ... turn the sundial back ten degrees with an ink bump
Square the pretty posers center left of the cam
Friday ... check my girl’s curvaceous cursive print body of love
Hopeful souls need some spiritual sunshine to reign
Saturday ... bring a light-hearted saber to the round table gig
There be smiles and smiles to go to reach the mystic muse sky above
Sunday ... give a writeous sermon that make ‘em shout and jump
Preach the double truth about I AM THAT I AM
A sizable portion of my life
I've passed, slobbering over
The antagonistic ashes
Of an untruth.
Years down the road,
By accident, I exposed;
Though this untruth,
Was deeply entombed in my psyche,
Via a mental backhoe,
Satan periodically excavates it
Sans a spade.
nature's way of saying
I love what you do with your tongue
mom used to lick her hanky
to clean my face I want to kill her
aided by my only allies
the hobo armies of doom
resulted in a sweet tooth with no answers
for the impenetrable slits of her eyes
the crowd was aghast
so I knew we hit the glass jaw
now back to the scheduled program
our man Swigheart Backhoe
reports from Flat, Nebraska
on the next Heads of Kings exhibit
down at the Crusader camp
I'm trying to figure out why sperm motility
hasn't created a master race yet
The best of millions fighting upstream like
Steelers' running back Don Quixote
over a million years and we still end up with
politicians with red putty noses that go honk
and readers of the Weekly World News
who renew their state of alarm by the minute
we're not one step closer to kingdom come for it
sperm motility then is as effective an indicator
of Darwinian uber selection
as a chicken on a rotisserie spit
is an indicator of barnyard vitality
you are alive right give yourself a pinch
let's use sperm science to give the 2nd raters
and mediocrities a chance at the brass ova
the modern science of magnification
can certainly arrange for a
shiftless layabout sperm
to take a poke at the moon
enough with this Mother Nature swill
put the couch potato, the hysteric
the derelict pants pissing wino sperm
up the beanpole and see who salutes
Mother Nature eats her young
and writes checks for the
Eugenics Foundation of Savannah, Africa
does God have someone
telling him what to think
so go for it you little tadpoles
get in there you little champions
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
let the fetters fall where they will,
when they put me down there,
under the 6 foot hill,
or perhaps to hang there on the hook,
trim me gall bladder,
gone forsook,
at the university...
a course ol Halliwell, says he took....
but i swore to steal him from the drawer,
bring him home, yes once more,
lower him beneath the door,
in the backhoe hole ole chook,
long as me back holds out for sure,
Ol Halliwell neath the door...
Don Johnson
my mate Frank says the university can have his bones,
to hang on the hook so i can moan ,
but steal his bones perhaps i must,
place beneath the door on his 2 acres, just,
its what he wants for sure.....
Frank Halliwell ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mail - Frank.Halliwell@gmail.com
Homepage at http://www.poemhunter.com/
************************************************
While prose may carry all the facts, the voice of verse is sweeter
For poetry transports the soul on lilting rhyme and meter.
~~~~~~~~~ http://frankhalliwell.tripod.com/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
backhoe
digging in the road
mantis
concrete dust in flight-
fog
cricket
on a window sill
frog
backhoe engine stops
hunger quenched
Untie the knot, patriarch,
the broken kiss was
intimidating.
The backhoe picks up the
devil, it was within you
when you were casting stone
at the fear.
The pagan was covered
with leaves
raw and pailful;
belief in a thought
was not working,
think, man think.
The system,
the birth of rebirth of sorrow
was the tragedy.
The shaper,
I am, still wandering
to find the words.
Satish Verma
Francis H.
Down in old Jimboomba is me old mate Francis H
And he wants to go to the Uni, just to hang around the place,
So I said just get a backhoe to dig a bloody trench,
And swing a door above it, for easy access, it is meant,
Of course he’d have to get me word,
To plant him in the ground,
A hole would sure be handy, planted quietly down,
Or would I steal the body, yes slightly absurd,
from the uni freezer, when I’ve found,
to get him so interred.
will I be done like Burke n Hare,
for bloody body stealing
he wants to be a buried on his acres,
over the Maclean bridge with some wheeling,
jerk open trap door and you are there ,
a few words said with feeling….
Dunno perhaps I might?
Dark side is so revealing.
Don Johnson
I said goodbye today….
saying for months
what I’d been trying to say
Alone in the throng
staring down at the hole
they had laid you upon
I remember
the laughter
and the joy that we shared
I remember
the promise
that we made on a dare
“Never
to end up like this,”
we had taken the same vow
Each
empowering the other
to end it before now
I could not
pull that plug
or flush down that drain
The guilt
hanging heavy,
the memory left stained
I hope
you now see me
from a much better place
And take pity
on my failing
my one great disgrace
The backhoe
is coming,
the mourners have gone
Please forgive me
I beg,
I’ll be with you before long
i express my love
rigor mortisly
ah the little
death
except mine for
me for you is
completely
deadly
i have a toe
tag with
more
then
John Doe
Dear John
or John Deere
which is actually
the brand name
of the backhoe i use
to dig my own grave over
and
over
and over
again and
again