Best Ice Pick Poems
My heart is frozen back in time
Looking back to when you were mine
Oh how our love and passion burned
You stole my heart, yet now I’m spurned
I still don’t know where I went wrong
My body aches - for you I still long
You drove an ice pick into my heart
Twisted it round and tore me apart
You ripped apart my very soul
I’m empty now, when once was whole
Your words were music to my ears
I’m left in silence with my deepest fears
If we could have another chance
Would I take you back for sweet romance?
I look at our photos and still I yearn
For you the frozen embers still burn
08~18~14
Categories:
ice pick, i miss you, lost
Form:
Couplet
He was young and attractive and quite debonair,
An upstanding young man who was going somewhere.
Or so it would seem if you knew not his history.
To we in the know he’s repulsive dark mystery.
When I think of it now I feel chills descending,
He went to same school my child was attending.
But as far as I know, he hadn’t yet killed.
At that art, with practice, he became very skilled.
In 1974 women were disappearing.
While Ted with his studies was still persevering.
He had way of asking for their sympathy
By pretending to have broken arm or bum knee.
By now the police knew their suspect was called Ted
Clued in by some girls who escaped being dead.
Many others who listened were not seen again
And parents were left with unbearable pain.
Not born in our state, had moved here at age five
So much better if he’d been born dead not alive.
Wherever he went there was death visitation.
The mysteries were a multi-state-wide sensation.
Nita Neary came home and found her door ajar.
She saw a man carry a log to his car.
What she found in her home were two roommates dead.
Each was bludgeoned to death in her very own bed.
He was stopped by police for traffic violation,
What they found in his car was a gross aberration.
There were handcuffs and ice-pick, crowbar, and mask.
He was questioned by those with right questions to ask.
He was arrested and tried for his various crimes
But somehow escaped from justice three times.
Wherever he went he was brutal and bold.
His last victim of all was just twelve years old.
Ted Bundy died in the electric chair
The most hated man that ever went there,
A hundred dead females at least was the count.
Other lives shattered, unrecorded amount.
Written May 26, 13 A true story.
Categories:
ice pick, murder, mystery,
Form:
Couplet
Stark Arctic vacant for centuries
habitat white fur bears epoch
prom's on ice sheets breeze
cubs in search for mama's barrack
concurring ice surrenders whistle
remark the scent of sea lions
nurture's th' cubs haunting an angel
in freezing water bathing, stuns
cleans thou fur splash'd blood mud's
with a long wooden ice pick stick
Eskimo Indians with leather studs
an a husky right beside slick
Eyes wide fur fluff an irresistible speed
chilled they stay like family like bear
Different worlds apply suitability
passionate to live in thou world
leave mine an find solidity
among masters of ice pearl'd
like dolphin's feel in th' wide ocean
free spirits eccentric in this world
visual glitters under water at dawn
an sleep by morning sunlight furl
having such power an strength
thou art can't by any means measure
th' Arctic distance in length
memorizing thou atmosphere's odour
never enough for my passion to feather
my moral says i have to live there
an you'll probably wish me good luck
Categories:
ice pick, innocence,
Form:
Sonnet
The “Veil”
The birth of a child born with a veil
Told that he would see thing unbeknownst to everyone else
Traveled outside of the only place I’ve ever known
Wow….a world out here, a world to call my own
Never knew these things would exist
Toils and trouble and an iron fist
Strapped on boots tugged on my chain
What do you know they just call my name
I guess I am somebody, let me through
I want to move to the front now with you
Thought I was rich, with only one hole in my shoe
My brother’s shirt, my father’s rule
Only seven of us kids with two out the door
Now only five of us left, what next…what more
Friday night is coming, and I’m afraid to sleep
Father is drinking, mother in the streets
Screams and shout would pierce my ear
Chains from her beating and the ice pick near
Is this the caul that I’m so blessed to possess?
Is it the rule, does it lead to success
I get through the night and move through the years
I often reflect and often shed tears
Do I share these thoughts or just let it be
Time waits for no one, neither does the cadre
Now on the front lines fighting this war of hell
Should have seen it coming, for I had the veil
There isn’t anything special about my life so far
Maybe this pen, paper and this memoir
I was expecting something different in this fast paced life
Not to be in this sand, not to see this suffering and stife
I’m really confused now, watch me exhale
No longer the little boy born with the veil.
Johnnie Eaves
Categories:
ice pick, allegory, childhood, confusion, warworld,
Form:
Free verse
KID GAMES BACK WHEN
Outdoor activities were once a staple
For children wanting to be a bit playful
This was way before X-box and Nintendo
We ran, jumped and learned how to throw
Could you ever forget Red Light/Green Light?
A game so simple but filled with delight
Or something so great as Riding Your Bike
Past the house of a girl you really like
Red Rover, Red Rover is a game too cruel
For today's over-protected Mom's to approve
Back then, it was just a game to play
We never thought of injuries in any way
Maybe we were living in jeopardy all the time
Trying not to fall during a Jumping-Rope rhyme
Our life was in grave danger playing Jarts
Dodging the tips of those steel pointed darts
Mom's today would not allow Hide-N-Seek
Children out of sight will cause them to shriek
Oh my god, the horror of the Pogo Stick
They'd be better off playing with an ice pick
I do like laughing at the overbearing mothers
They played these kid games as well as others
Maybe they forgot the fun of Hopscotch and Tag
Or the giggling joy of Capturing the Flag
To me the greatest kid games of all
Involved the skill of throwing a ball
Playing games like "500" and Horse
And let's not forget Whiffle Ball of course
All of these games were played outside
By generations of youngsters worldwide
Now no children play as I drive down the streets
Their youthfulness spent on computers and tweets
Categories:
ice pick, childhood, children, games, growing
Form:
Rhyme
I sold all my junk
When I was broke
To slunk
Where to
I joked
Who knew?
I picked Antarctic
To get that ice
Drastic?
I guess
High price
Oh yes.
I brought my ice pick
And a large pail
Got sick
By plane
Then sailed
In rain
After a long time
I made it there
Then climbed
A hill
And beard
The chill
I chopped with my tools
Put in the pot
Ice jewels
Though quit
When got
Frost bit
For this golden ice
Will make me rich
Suffice
To say
This niche
Did pay
My Antarctic Springs
Company did
Sure bring
Renown
Amid
The town
With pure h2o
Plus ice cold beer
They know
That mine
Is clear
Devine
Yes, that vintage freeze
Is apropos
Though geez
It’s cold
That snow
Is gold!
Categories:
ice pick, adventure, business, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
Roll in the mud, thrice wielding the ice pick.
La La La down the lane escaping the elusive carving knife. No chop, no gammon, no other porkly tale, round is good and round is ham and a pig I am.
Is that very great and interesting? I am unsure as I go to lie down to begin my sleep of snout snore in a bed of baked bap.
Categories:
ice pick, funny,
Form:
With fear in his eyes the shackled man
asked who they were. "My name is Linda
Locklear and this
is my husband Rusty Loclear". "Enough
with the small talk Linda go get the work
tools".
"As you command daddy". Walking past
their victim into the darkness Linda
grabbed the cold steel push cart
and brought it to Rusty. "Will you just look
at all these toys" Rusty's eyes lit up like a
child's at Christmas.
"What do we have here?" Reaching her
arm out in the motion of a snake Linda
became sexually aroused.
"We have a hamer, scalpel, acid, nail gun,
and an ice pick" Linda's voice was filled
with excitement. Pissing himself
their victim began to cry. "Linda this is
your victim you have to inflict the first
wound". Responding to Rusty's words
Linda picked up the nail gun. "Linda you
don't have to do this" pleaded the man. "I
have kids that I provide for, My
name is Timothy Yates, I have a wife".
Linda silenced Timothy with a swift kick to
his testicles. "Look Rusty it actually think
we
care about it's pathetic little life". Placing
the muzzle of the nail gun on Timothy's
foot. Linda pulled the trigger. Firing a
hard sharp
nail into Timothy's foot. Blood squrited
into the air.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The
Brown Philosopher aka The Green Poet
Categories:
ice pick, black african american, city,
Form:
Narrative
Lies, Lies, Lies!
Is that all you say?
I love you, I won't leave you
You liar, just go away!
You're my woman, and I'm your man
I'll never abandon you, I aim to please
No! You're just an illusion, you can never be true
All of my time that was wasted on someone like you!
The poison on your lips, the lies that you tell
You should be ashamed of yourself, you belong deep in the throws of hell
You prey on innocent women, who give you their hearts
Did it ever occur to you, that you were their star?
Your vows mean nothing, it's lip service you give
How did I end up falling for such a pompous pig?
Come a little closer you say, I want to hold your hand
As you sharpen your daggers and shove an ice pick through my skin
There's a barrier between us now, you cannot cross it ever again
We are finished with this love affair
This is the end.
Categories:
ice pick, anger, betrayal, hurt, lost
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Right now
I’m not blaming you…
Pretend I have not had the
Privilege of hearing those
Lines before. Tell me.
Eternal glare on my
Sunglasses, which I wear at night.
Only an annoyance…
Never to be worried about.
When with you, I feel like
An ice pick could go
Through my
Ear and into my brain, and I’d experience a similar
Reaction. I’d like to
Go drink cheap wine and
Lay in the back of my truck, on an old mattress.
And sing—
Sing anything—as long as it’s
Santana…or soft Slipknot…
Categories:
ice pick, faith, happiness, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Acrostic
On coining an acronym for the neologism 'occult microaggresion'
'OM' is right,
But might get the Buddhists backs up....
OMA, WTAF? What about OMA?
Its German for granny, but I've no objection to teutonic geriatrics,
Unless they take hat tricks;
They can be surprisingly elastic -
Vorsprung durch plastic!
What's that you say, too bombastic?
I'll curtail the doggerel,
With a couple of matchsticks,
That used to work on the beatniks,
Although, Ginsberg could be slippery
When incensed by casual vivipiary,
'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by....
Sticklebricks' (sic).
It's such a minefield, this identity real politik;
As Trotsky said to Stalin:
'Josef Besarionis Jughashvili,
the proletariat can be real pricks',
And, as the Stranglers pointed out,
One of them finished him off with an ice pick!
But, as Galileo observed,
Maybe that's just the fate in store for bigoted denizens
Of this rotund and heliocentric
Planet; 'eppur si muove' he muttered,
And, although a trifle bucolic,
It seems a fitting epitaph for the Pisan melanancholic.
I apologise for this diatribe didactic,
The current pandemic has rendered me
in urgent need of a linguistic immunoelectrophoretic
Categories:
ice pick, irony,
Form:
Light Verse
Imagine an ice pick
to the core of the meat
twist and yank and pull
through smashed socket
cracking temples in a vice grip
hammer through bone and gristle
take that sharpened fork,
heated sear my tender neck
claw it off my tightened shoulders,
dull saw my jaw ragged
grind out each tooth
every nerve alive
flesh shivers
mouth waters with contained spew
taste of rot and bananas
every little sound
chews off my ears
is this what death feels like.
no. no.
*
My neurologist (brain doctor) encouraged me
to submit this poem for all who have felt the
wrath of migraine pain. I am also posting for
those who have never experienced a
migraine, lucky...
Categories:
ice pick, health
Form:
Free verse
Wishing for a woman or friend
To your corner room, alone, but then
Creating sins not yet penned:
Infallible rules of fallible men.
For whereas Love seems so bubbly
And see through feelings easily crumbling
Blanket you with insecurity tumbling
The reflection of a life lived humbly.
Writing your outline
Of perfection in flesh
Thrown back are your shoulders
In Confident judgement.
Less is more and more or less,
We long for a quiet, petting caress.
Towering above, forever beaming
Swearing allegiance with justice gleaming
Magnifies your drunken streaming
Until syringes of love start teeming.
The ice-pick points to the one to blame
Dealing silently a Go Fish game,
For all is wild and none are tame
In the snapshot of when the Messiah came.
In future eternities all jousts find cadence,
Without lance or shield,
Without fits nor radiance,
We settle in for perfect maintenance.
We settle for perfect maintenance.
Categories:
ice pick, anger, break up, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
Old man winter slaps at the soul.
But my spade is smiling and sharpened.
I was born in Buffalo.
So, my bones are made from ice picks.
The heart pumps out rock salt by the bowl.
I've been through blizzards, chewed on black ice.
Hopscotched over downed power lines.
Drank from busted pipes.
Got 55 years of calloused fists.
To pound black ice into diamonds of spring.
So, bring it on old man.
Bring it straight to me!
Categories:
ice pick, war, winter,
Form:
Free verse
"Golden Roads"
A Relationship...
Someone you call on to
blow lashes out your eye.
Does it in such a way,
it fixes the issue only
to have more problems ensue.
Clearly able to see, you say,
" Let me get a good look at you Beauty"
No matter how many showers you take,
they grip your insides
feels as if they know how
sickle cell's rearrangement.
Their presence makes you well.
Able to change your disposition
like a House Party switch position.
Eye contact. Thoughts go blind
and instincts as basic as
Sharon Stone holding an ice pick
comes to mind.
They know the way to Shangri-La
& satisfaction and take you there promptly.
The one person able to build you up
knows the exact brick to pull for your undoing.
But they never do. Edify you like medieval architecture
that reaches skyscraper heights.
It's rare to find someone who knows how
the yellow brick road was laid.
And whenever you need direction,
they point the way.
Kinda funny, it took Toto's loyalty,
courage, intelligence, a heart and missing home
to understand how to weather a storm.
Categories:
ice pick, introspection,
Form:
Free verse