Best Hammer In Poems
The wood was perfect.
Hammer in hand, he toiled.
Sweat trickled down his neck.
Her face was chiselled,
A perfect portrait:
The hawk-like nose,
The high cheekbones,
The wide brow.
But not her flaring eyes.
They defied him.
In exasperation, he threw the lamp,
His only source of light,
And watched the wood burn.
In the deserted cabin.
In a wooded glen forlorn,
When the fire subsided
They found his body
Long dead, carbonised and cold.
And a piece of chiselled wood
Charred and worthless.
originally written in 10/4/2016
Tiptoeing in the middle of the night
Certain that Mom and Dad are out sight
Stealing away to do what I love best
Heart pounding like a hammer in my chest
There on those linen sheets you wait for me
All spaced out, and as blank as blank can be
I close the door and hide away the key
Escaping from a life of drudgery
Once again putting my life on the line
Though Mom and Dad say it is such a crime
Neglecting my homework to be with you
Knowing to thine own self I must be true
So with pen in hand I lay myself down
And pray that this diary won’t be found
Author: Elaine George
Written: may 19, 2014
Inspired By my imagination for the contest
Little by little the red bricks begin to fall apart
he is getting ready to take the staircase to heaven
she watches from a window the hunch of his back
outside the garden is in disarray but full of dew
Her conscience whispers gently in her youthful ear
this was once the house that raised you girl
She walks over to the porch hammer in hand
and as the sun sets in the sky like a rouge rosette
she works aside green ferns, old as dinosaurs
Assaulted by a leaky roof and an unsteady door
she walks in, "Grandpa ? " he answers with a sigh
then slowly drinks her in, with two electric eyes.
7/15/2020
Contest name: Decaying House
Sponsor: Constance La France
for you I beat a skip and I skip a beat,
for you I do it endlessly it isnt a simple feat,
for you I melt when in love and i beat in pain,
for you I beat in sport, but never in vain,
for you I sink in betrayal and float in victory,
for you I fly on first kisses, and race in misery,
for you I hold secrets,and pour out song,
for you I flutter and smoulder when that someone comes along,
For you I suffer in silence and bleed in violence,
For you I can be given as a gift of deliverance,
for you I can live on a sleeve, or hide behind a bulletproof vest,
for you I can hammer in activity, I can tick on in rest,
for you I am the beat to the song of a mothers breath,
I live for all you do and stop only in death,
i work endlessly and ask for just one thing,
live your life in away that makes another heart sing.
Make the most for what you do,till death do us part, for you I am..
with love,
your heart.
I have some favorite tools I use,
Whenever I ply my trade,
From the hammer in my leather pouch,
To the retractable cutting blade.
I also love the spanners I have,
One metric, the other in inch,
When I use them to tighten to my car,
The small electric motor winch.
And the ratchet, socket and circular saw,
Displayed inside my shed,
I love these names said loud and proud,
From mallet to Phillips Head
And I use these tools every day,
I use the chisel, the grips, the wrench,
I love disappearing all the time,
By my old warn wood workbench.
Dr. P.D. Feel Good vs.' Doc the Poet (#2
Doc, you can keep wearing my CROWN.
It goes perfect with your pink hospital gown.
I am the one that damaged and demolished all your goods
Now you’re like a tr@mp roaming the hoods
Diagnose your poetry under a form of drug abuse.
If you want to be a real princess, cover up them bruise.
Step into my office, -I'm the Dr. Feel Good of abuse.
My assistant will stamp and shave you like a sheep.
With the consumption, you’re not for human use.
Doc, I will be your worst nightmare.
My ambush of words will leave you in fear.
My assistant Nathan will leave you babbling,
As he gives you a PAP SMEAR.
You cannot escape my mental destruction gear.
STUTTERING as you get donkey punched in the rear.
You will cry for mercy as I hammer in your head.
Begging my assistant to put you out of misery.
Screwing with your mind, laughing at your history.
Cooking your words like chicken cacciatore.
Forgetting to add herbs to your so-called poetry.
Now who is the one with the ALZHEIMER'S poetry disease?
Now I have you on your knees.
Making you suffer while you foam at the teeth.
Spiting my speech disorder all over your face.
Your slam has no speed to continue with this race.
You’re nothing but a rat, running thru my maze
My assistant is setting traps in your house
Starving and making you trip like an experimental mouse.
Crushing your amphetamines high thread.
I'm going to take your poetic head,
Cram it into the hospital bed.
Awe Doc, All them tears I will make you shed.
Doc, your poetry will be crying for mercy instead.
My pen will inject you a poetic black and blue full of lead.
Refusing you Penicillin, for your infection, over bled.
Adding salt to your wounds, screaming (DR. P.oetic D.read!)
All in time Doc, you will fear me until you go brain dead
Asking for an over dose wishing you were dead.
Knowing that Dr. P.D. Feel Good~is laughing in her head.
By the time, you snap to, I am still way ahead of you.
by;p.d.
Today, upon the ground, I found a rusted nail.
Red and yellowed since its use,
It was caked and swollen; cracked lines top to bottom
With one turn in its body where last it was removed.
And the head was tilted slightly from a blow
Received when it was first employed and put to use.
I pondered of the purpose it had served
And the structure it had helped to hold and form.
I recognized its shape having spent many days
With hammer in my hand and blueprint in mind.
I have straightened many that were pulled and bent
And drove them to serve purpose.
Once this nail had value and function was providence.
Now, it fills a wrinkle of my palm
And leads me to wonder….
What will someday become of me?
Will a member of the generation born this day
Look upon me and speculate my past,
And weigh my usefulness against my keep?
Will I present as bent?
And, will the balding gray and shortened step
Persuade them I have passed my day of worth?
Or, will they look about their world
And see what I have made?
So much from just one rusted nail.
4th place in "Darn I Wish I Wrote This" on 6-26-12
Christianity: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer so that when you stop it feels so good.”
Judaism: “hitting yourself over the head with a hammer because you are a chosen one.”
Muslim: “It feels good hitting other people over the head with a hammer.”
Hinduism: “Watching everyone else hitting themselves and others with hammers and finding it amusing.”
Sikhism: “Letting the Guru hit you over the head with a hammer so that when he stops it feels so good.”
Confucianism: “Hitting yourself and your family members over the head with a hammer, in a highly refined manner, for the sake of the community.”
Theravada Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”
Mahayana Buddhism: “Telling other people that there is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels horrible.”
Vajrayana Buddhism: “There is no one to do the hitting, no hammer, no people to hit and it feels fantastic.”
Jainism: “Please stop hurting all the poor hammers!”
Rastafarian: “Let’s make a hammer shaped spliff! “
Daoism: “Hitting yourself over the head with hammer without hitting yourself over the head with a hammer.”
Masonic: “Let’s sell all these stupid people hammers.”
I played my part, in the praise of the Lord,
Standing by the choir box, on my own accord,
Deft hands created a heart, centuries old,
With gilded corners and polished wood, set my soul,
The young little fingers of a fairy, that kissed,
Struck a hammer, in my strings lips,
A mild tap of dance, on the brass right foot,
Would sustain my melody into an eternal mood,
Crafted with the ability, to sound like a lark,
Across octaves and sharps, six and half,
The bard who was deaf, could hear through my touch,
And create symphonies, for an interminable march,
When the ‘Rose of England’, reached the Lords’ Abode,
Elton’s tenor, rained heavens, on a grieving road,
With my hammers and tongs, I make the world think deep,
Or weave a sweet lullaby, that puts little hearts to sleep,
Needless to spell, I, reside in your hearts,
In exultation or sorrow, I am always your part.
Pradipta Roy Choudhury
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
You always laughed at me In that funny way of yours
Standing at the door ~ looking out to see
Wondering where you are, and will you follow me
With hammer in hand ~ Into nature decked with
silver and gold
Do you possess a loving heart with stories untold
By now they know what you are made of
Reflections that come from your eyes they see
Though they walk with you in a style of their own
Shaped into the figure of a man with beauty of a woman
A tree in the forest is cut down shaped into the form of a goddess
A goddess that will take us through time and back again
Though time is an elusive thing here as we all know
Hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold
Time means nothing when the heart is near I am told
Does a tree feel the pains of a cut as we do, I ask you
I have struggled all my days with thoughts like these
To figure out what the true meaning really is to me
If you know can you tell me too as we walk together
With hammer in hand into nature decked with silver and gold
When early rose the sun,
came first steps and a smile.
Humane, you were the one
to give and never tire.
Not just a house, you said,
we're building on their dreams,
not just a door of wood,
an entryway to hope.
Cheerful at dawn's break,
never to complain.
Weathered but not weary
with hammer in your hand,
you caught not one but two
buses before light.
You worked till stars debuted
as crickets lullabied.
Never too tired to help,
you're rugged, strong and kind.
Never cruel words spoken,
you're merciful heart shines.
One touch of your hand,
one word from your lips,
one act from your heart,
you brighten dark days
with your selflessness.
You chase the bees and find
flowers in full bloom.
You face the wind and stand
like tallest mountain.
You reach out with arms wide
to embrace the world
and inspire all to love.
I strive to be like you,
the kindest soul I know.
Written 2/10/17 for Random Acts of Kindness Contest
Pounds! Pounds! Pounds!
Step on scale, gotta lose weight,
Pounds, pounds, pounds.
Pound in new habits, eat right, run more
Run round, round, round.
Can’t wait, step on scale,
Sure I’ve lost weight,
Pounds, pounds, pounds.
Step on scale, gained weight,
Pounds, pounds, pounds.
Pound in new habits, eat right less, run more, more.
Run round, round, round, round.
Can’t wait, step on scale,
Sure, I’ve lost weight,
Pounds, pounds, pounds
Step on scale, gained weight,
Pounds, pounds, pounds.
Pound in new habits,
Hammer in hand, Hammer to scale,
Pounds! Pounds! Pounds! …
NoelsArt
Comments: Who hasn't lost weight and wants to do damage to a truth lying scale. FEEDBACK WELCOME
Fourteen-thousand years ago, a devil played a game
In his garden with an angel whom I shall not name.
The angel won or so he thought, “Now you must pay what’s due”
I’ll take your mirr’, your favorite one, and break the thing in two.
The mirror was a magic one of evil dark and black
“The beauty of a perfect world, now what’s the fun in that?
This one’s far better, it twist, it pulls it shrinks before my eyes.
Instead of showing true reflections, this one shows me lies”
“I’ll tell you what, you won it fair, it’s yours but let’s do more;
I’ll help you break it here and now and it will be no more.”
The angel smashed it into two, his hammer in his hand.
“But why stop there?”, the devil said and smashed it into sand
The Devil grinned, “Good work my friend. See, I don’t even care”
He scooped a handful of the dust and blew it in the air.
Among the people of the earth, the grains of mirror blew.
The angel warned them “Close your eyes!” and blew his trumpet too
“What gift is this?” some people thought, Eve’s lesson was not learned.
and soon awoke with crusty eyes that itched and teared and burned.
“I see it now!” the faithless said “I am no longer blind!”
“Don’t be cross” the devil said, "Their eyes see now like mine".
Some were seized with a panicked fear, “The enemy is nigh!”,
and with cruel rocks marched on their neighbors and sentenced them to die.
Others were charmed by shiny stones “Supplies are running out!”
The simple gifts that God had given were left to lay about.
Some saw themselves with grandeur high “I’ll wear this mighty crown”,
I’ll be the King, you be the serf, and bow when I’m around.
The other ones yoked to the plow, “These types aren’t men at all”.
I’ll tolerate your presence if you're at my beck-and -call.
Of arrogance and fear and greed the mighty nations grew.
And men would starve and wars would rage for these unfaithful few.
So hear me now you righteous ones whom the devils would refuse:
In the game of life Good always wins, but bad will never lose.
Always a little leak,
Dripping in my roof.
As the thunder and the lighting,
Storm around my telephone booth.
The tidal wave is rising,
To drown the children a sleep,
As we hammer in the nails,
Through his bleeding wrists and feet.
Some talk of joy and wonder,
Some talk of better days,
But I try to tell you something,
That makes you shy away.
The humanity inside you,
The innocent lamb and dove,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Covered in *****and mud.
Your soul you held within you,
Your children that you loved,
Have been eaten by the humans,
Who drank the holy blood.
The holy and the sacred,
That once we beheld in awe,
Is now the dancing laughter ,
Of the drunkard and the whore.
Always a little leak,
Dripping through my roof,
As the fishes go on swimming,
Around my telephone booth.
more poem at http://labyrinthoflies.com
As the sun sets on a distant horizon
Hues of red and gold turn gray and black
A waking storm seizes the tranquil sea
Fearless mariners face nature’s attack
Consumed by a plethora of violent waves
The storm tattered sail was ripped from the mast
Wind driven rain pelted the steadfast sailors
Their diminishing hope was unsurpassed
Unable to detect the course of his ship
A call of distress descends on the night
The summons is heard by Juliet
The Angels keeper and mistress of light
The temperamental fog bell has failed again
With hammer in hand from the gallery she fled
Perched on a stool for hours she sat
Striking the bell till her fragile hands bled
The unabated echo rang out through the night
Desperately seeking the ill-fated crew
Her gallant efforts did not go unheard
With mornings light the ship was in view
The waterlogged vessel passed through the gate
Docking safely within San Francisco Bay
Poised on the catwalk she smiled and waved
“Ahoy there Captain” he heard her say
Juliet Nichols, lighthouse keeper at Point Knox
An unsung heroine known by so few
Her memory is etched within the hearts
Of a most grateful Captain and Crew