Best Sledgehammer Poems
For My Sister and Brother Poets
Mornings, again refreshed, I wield up a
sledgehammer to strike the stone walls of
the confinement of my assigned nativity...then
seek to emigrate from those Purposes...to go
settle, an immigrant, in the more fertile territory
of Meanings, trusting a disclosure of my birthright
as a citizen among the searching population at
the address of Poetry — twin to the Soul — more
fertile for vines from the heart, more welcoming to
the orchards of Imagination, always ripe with songs.
Today’s afternoon was spent planting a grove of pink
dogwood saplings and sapphire iris bulbs nearby...
so someday they will bask in light, feeling winds
and us, too, walking past in admiration,sprinkling
our words of appreciation across the earth over their
roots. Birds sound dearly above as the dusk nears.
I work until the first sight of winking Venus...then,
take pages and pens with a flashlight under my tent
of sheets revealing on the net, a broad company
of my sister and brother poets, recounting — each
one of us — the full scenes of our day’s graced hours,
by words to one another, from pains to joys, all-
reaching, from solitary into community, supporting,
learning...expressive, in wonder, hoping to know
the sounding rise of the Voice within, and ever
thankful for a promise of a flight on eagle’s wings.
———————————————————————————————————————-
(c)sally Young eslinger 2/5/2021
Thanks be to God and to PoetrySoup, all of you
Thoughts and words cannot be reconciled
In the tunnel I'm locked
Echo of mortal words
and the footprints of the killer
Spiders and hordes of bats
Although I am inviolable, death is stronger
I can not fight against the power of darkness
in this criminal underworld
Raw and intense - brutal realities
Trapped in my own body
Closes my eyes and disappears into my own existence
I realize the pitiful truth
The sledgehammer hits harder and harder
An ice cold, psychopathic killer
The head and the heart will so gladly accept
this indescribably ruthless pain
The past and the future are killed
I hope the shadows never find me
____/____ let my soul rest
until we meet again
28/01/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Murder in the Tunnel Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
3rd place in the contest
I hold it up again today; the world,
Pregnant with magical dimples
Of a child's reckless abandon,
And look at the face,
Then I look at the deep cut
And the pain it inflicted
I look back at the unpaid ransom,
The whips, hands chained to the back
Faces buried deep into the cold wall,
The so-called wall of the world, soaked
By the tears of our raped eyes.
I have seen the world through and through;
The sweet bitterness of living and dying,
The joyful agony of getting and losing;
The memories come clear like crystal
And the weak world whirls by unconsciously
Taking us down its untrodden alluvial depths
And scattering silence nearby and abroad:
Those are the world's worth!
Who amongst us does not have a story?
The world is killing us, thinking, perhaps
That there is sudden rebirth in each death
But those we lost are gone forever
And we bite our lips and rub our eyes,
Alas! Another phenomenon has been lost.
Like a cherished effigy
I hold it up again, the wild world
The nuance feeling surges like thousand waves
And I listen as different sharp sounds
Of cries, nay, moans pierce my ears,
The tears fall in torrents like a waterfall.
The earth, our unconcerned world is killing us,
Like little ants...it kills us with sledgehammer,
Hypothetical villain lurking by street corners
Waiting and waiting, almost impatiently.
But we love the world, and so much so
We cling to life, despite the odds
We want to live, love and be loved,
We want to experience and explore the depths.
We have been heart broken again and again,
And each time we heal
We lick our wounds and clean our tears
Trying to protect our battered ego.
We hold it up again and again
Like a cherished effigy, smiling
Notwithstanding our heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Our not-to-clear future, our unheard cry-cracked voices,
Despite the rigours of the trite rituals
Of our religions, our creeds, our norms;
Despite the guns, the bombs, the blades
That cut us clean and shatter our unborn hopes,
We still cuddle our earth like a cherished effigy
Dressed to pattern by virgin children
While it takes us down one after another
Jubilantly like a well trained military marksman.
Alas! Another phenomenon has been gone.
Have you ever thought back and remembered a time,
when poor judgment nearly cost you… your prime.
There were fifty-22 cal bullets in the ammo box I found,
mishandling Remington’s bullets… could put you in the ground.
Putting the box in my pocket, thinking what should I do?
Squeeze off one in the barnyard vise… or maybe do two.
BANG! BANG! Loud reports and pungent gunpowder did abound.
How addictive that fragrance… 48 more lay waiting on the ground.
The next five/six bullets went into holes on the lip of the vise,
swinging that heavy sledgehammer… really felt nice.
Each bullet exploded leaving its’ brass case in the steel.
The heavy sledgehammer gave lead… no mortal body to feel.
BANG! BANG! BANG! The shells reported in rapid succession.
Used everyway possible firing all the bullets… in my possession.
50 times in a row I cheated death and great bodily harm.
God knows he was more than patient… that day on the farm.
* A true story. © 2010 John M. Trusty
"Time is the thief you cannot banish."
Phyllis McGinley, Writer, 1905 - 1978
Time always prepares for attacks,
when I believe I have plenty of time
trying to show me the dangers and the signs
challenging the thief, it takes my time
all are caught up in the web
more programmed than we like
the fear of mirrors and
one's own mirror image comes with age
Toad fright
a ticking clock
as a sledgehammer against concrete
a profound feeling
today's people love control
Mr. Time is a wise and old man
he makes his own tracks,
in its own rhythm
~~~
12.11.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- Writing Challenge - Quote Inspired -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
3rd place ithe contest
Brains excreting pictures
dreams
stories
"Chia Pet Poets"
exploring emotional trade winds
escaping reality
for SIX minutes
returning
for seconds
entranced
for SIX hours
thunder
from fingers
for days
therapy
for nights
grins hidden deep
beneath booger eyelids
crusted
wipe clean morning's green sleep
disappearing dried dreams
wetting the head
in bed
freeing sick insecurities
exiled
for years
horror flicks
on repeat
since haunted childhood
frozen within vaults
SIX feet thick
sledgehammer
wrecking ball rehabilitation
cannot promise demolition
for good...
diffusing demon whispers
Cruel agony!!
The brazen breath of your holy anticipation… writhing…conniving…
I am spent… so, so spent….
Terrified of your superior countenance, I crush these words in the mortar of your eyes closed tight
Good eye, black eye…. averting side to side
Where is this mess taking me next?
Tantalizing fury!!
Your fingers clasp about my throat, astonishing the gods on high
I have never seen the angels so irresolutely fly!
Bite me and let it be over!!!
This pain I have inflicted upon you is far beyond my conception
The ink being squeezed from me in tasty inception
Your teeth sinking in me and pulling….stretching like liquid elastic
The less of me makes certain of my love for you—so drastic
Your breathing mightier, more intentional, strove in the soles that tread for eons!
You have me dancing on your razor-sharp ledge…
The sledgehammer waiting for the moment you make your pledge
Testify!!! Or die…
Cringing, singing, dormant in disparity
My words strive so illusively, vainly for clarity
Smoothing the edge of your lips— two swords that clash
I hasten within the slit to the tongue that dares such confirmation…
You are my only,
Without you, I am so very lonely..
Look at these tears feverishly fall
When truth denies the wretchedness of your livid calls
In futile reserve, it seems I have made my mark
Misery is central in this looming, squirming dark
You devour my mind’s passions until all that remains is yours
And for a moment, I allow the rehabilitation of your force
AGONY…..cruel AGONY….
Hold onto me, again
I have dulled those swords, the entrance to your mouth
So that when they pierce me again,
I will fall to the earth with no doubt…
And you will penetrate me with all of your strength,
You will utter your love to me again,
Then I will close my eyes in peace,
And the gods can again breathe…
Nowadays I find myself
In church windows reflected
By the surface of my tea,
Too hot to drink.
I try anyway,
My nose against a brick wall,
(This Jasmine is my sledgehammer)
I burn my tongue,
(This Jasmine is a non-factor)
I set it back down.
I see the fractured, colored glass shimmer in my mug.
Am I like the image of the lamp in the tea?
Glowing for no reason?
Nowadays I rarely find myself.
I take orders.
If I did find myself,
I wouldn’t recognize me, anyway.
It’s just these fractured lights I remember.
Beaming like living lanterns shining towards the way to goodness.
Like I use to.
Like I use to be.
But now I think life is a quantifiable bucket,
The bucket half-empty, half-over and me completely stir-fried,
Gazing over what I see as minefields.
Nowadays I go back-and-forth.
As it suits me,
As it suits the occasion,
I wrangle and ramble, dribbling and babbling
Staggering through empty suburban warfare.
Nowadays I thank God for the emptiness.
The minutiae, the random acts of silence
Can send shock-waves through the spirits made of light,
Secretly keeping them in rhythm for the rest of their lives.
One day I will drop my post as the Barbarian Guardian of Willy-Nilly.
One day I will remember what all the colors mean.
One day I will remember what all the glowing was about.
One day I will skip lousy repetition,
And never repeat a mistake again.
"SHE'S HERE!!!....SHE'S HERE!!!"
This waiting is murder!........Even though I will be seeing her shortly.
Anticipation has already reduced me to well beyond that substance called jelly in that full bowl!
I am beyond those pliable timepieces in a Salvador Dali masterpiece. In comparison they are standing straight up! I literally melt like the witch in the "Wizard Of Oz!"...I become a puddle!...A PUDDLE!!!...right where I'm standing!
I am thoroughly surprised that I am even able to write this with the beyond the realm of human hearing "BOOM-BOOM" sledgehammer poundings of those thousands of bass drums in my heart!
I wonder if she even knows what happens to me when I see her???
We literally run to each other with our arms wide open in full abandon with her knowing that I am going to sweep her off of her feet and we are going to spin and turn and turn and spin in a pirouette duet that does not even have a near relative in ballet!....and she does do ballet...I've witnessed her classes!
She will call me "that specially wonderful name" she has reserved only for me and it is the name that melts my entire being beyond any recognition of being a man...A STRONG MAN!
OH!!!....OH!!!....
There she is!!!....
THERE... SHE... IS!!!
She sees me!!!....
SHE SEES ME!!!
The heck with standing still.
I CAN'T!!!
My feet automatically go into warp speed overdrive! I'm running towards her making the speed of light look snail-ish with it's super slow pace!!!
She's calling me!!!....SHE'S CALLING ME!!!
She's calling me that "wonderful" name she has anointed me with as she runs so quickly towards me with her blinders on!!!
SHE'S HERE!!!...SHE"S FINALLY HERE!!!
"PAW-PAW!!!......
She's screaming.....out loud!!!
"PAW-PAW!!!......
Everyone's head has turned to look at her!!!
"PAW-PAW!!!......I'M HERE!!!
My three year old granddaughter has arrived!!!
Sledgehammer was so enamored
Of my wife Elizabeth Bard
'I am a modern beau
Never, I cannot go slow'
Oh Sorry, he was caught offguard
"You can't keep an innate survivor down for long" - quote by poet
smited down by misfortune's sledgehammer
picks up his pieces, rises...
now standing firm, tested.
Form K - Kimo - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme picked: Life
Date written: 03/26/2022
[Psalm of obsession]
Sleep with the remembrance of Death, and rise with the thought that you will not
live long. - Dwais El-Qarni
He huffs and puffs
impatiently,
anxious at seizing
a moment unknown
of mercy
He scavenges on me breath
in every nook
He fossicks after me soul
in every cranny - as
He pounds verily hard
on me footsteps and whilst
His nostrils unravel me
existence upon horizons dreary
[Time possesses nay reprieve]
His, ain't a pogue,
but a sledgehammer
trademarked of fatality.
Patience oughtn't be
His becoming, 'cause, either
He do or die ...
DEATH,
i've realized,
will have to do - for, if not,
none will be left to inject
mortality's folly upon me:
DEATH
rather
DIE
me.
He runs on a velocity
terrifying than the throbbing
of me heartbeat;
the pursuit
grows desperate every time.
He endorses that
i speculate of Him
a fore i taste Him.
lately,
D E A T H
stalks me shadow
as of a nocent marauder
devoid of mercy ...
irrespective!
So I was just a child
And they said that this was "just a phase"
That lasted 17 years
And 364 days
Tomorrow will I switch
From an adolescence damaged mess
To a mature adult
Able to cope with the stress?
Or will I just remain
Embedded in my concrete routine
That's waiting to be smashed
By my sledgehammer wielding dreams
Give me the key to the door
I will turn the knob fast
Clockwise to see the future
Back again to remain in the past
So I was a child
And they said this was just a phase
Melatonin helped me sleep
Right through this melancholic haze
But tomorrow I will wake
From an adolescent slumber
Shake off the shackles
They have only served to encumber
My free spirit, free will
And most importantly my free mind
With a lifetime of whispers
My voice has been difficult to find
But I'll take the key in hand
Clear my throat as I toss it away
Smash the door from the hinges
Now you'll listen to what I have to say
Use a sledgehammer to crack a nut
Use a howitzer to blast you butt
This was the rule of Timmer
He was a creative beamer
Put fire to his hut in imaginative smut
Monica, I tell you that’s an awfully hard door.
I don’t think I should be hitting it anymore.
I’ve given it the works with this sledgehammer.
Yes, I know we are in a big jammer.
How did I know the old man would lock the door on us?
We are stuck in this basement. That’s not too fabulous.
A pick and a shovel is all we would need.
I know you can’t stand it anymore and want to be freed.
I’ll get some dynamite and blow a hole in the wall.
It will cause just a little explosion, that’s all.
You want me to try the door again? Whatever you say, dear.
Just like you, I want like hell to get out of here.
Based on scenes in the 1963 film "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, World"