1905
Geronimo went to Washington
to meet the Great White Father
(where he hoped to bury the hatchet)
and save his Indian Nation...
checking into his hotel, the desk clerk asked,
"Do you have a reservation?"
The perfect poker face when playing cards
(his guards were nearly always broke)
said to be blood-thirsty, his winnings used he
to pay for educating children of the Apache.
He later rode with Pawnee Bill
in what was known as the 'Wild West',
(and what a circus)
a chief he never was,
1909
died of pneumonia all too soon,
'Geronimo Now a Good Indian,'
read the headline of The Chicago Daily Tribune.
I'd got out the hammer, the hatchet and pliers
To attack the package of plastic and wires.
But the fix was so tricky,
The stickum so sticky,
I'd not even scratched it when I set it on fire!
He was a hatchet-faced guy with snaggle-teeth,
most said he was okay in a peculiar way.
It happens sometimes;
snaggle-toothed hatched faced guys get itchy,
the kind of itch you can't buy a cream for.
After his first three murder victims
he confessed to the cops
that he felt like the very hand of God!
He was a squirrely guy if you know what I mean,
with horsy snag-teeth that grinned
all friendly-like,
yet I always sensed a hatchet
raised above my head
when he smiled my way
and he smiled a lot.
burst of hatchet
aroma of pine
woods in winter.
Nobody ever forgets where he buried the hatchet. ~ Kin Hubbard
Riley was a control freak
barking orders at his wife
who'd scurry like a timid mouse
knowing if she didn't conform
a barrage of blows would rain down on her body
Of course, he made certain
not to mar her pretty face -
he needed her to look good
when she collected
his beer from the local store
leaving home at the same time every day
she was always back within the hour
But...unbeknownst to Riley
his wife Lou had caught the eye
of Sid the store keeper
they would steal passionate kisses
on his coffee break
which coincided with her visits
Sid knew her life was unbearable
and secretly he hired a hit man
to do the deed when Lou was out shopping
Riley was felled with one blow….
Nobody ever forgets where the hitman buried the hatchet!
Quotable Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
10/18/20
Sitting on a stone my hands brushing against the cold water
I gaze upon the night sky searching my reason in the heavenly bodies
floating up in the universe...
The secluded life which I had chosen away from all the hustle
and noise of the humans, was it a wish to attain peace?
In my heart I truly new that it was a way to escape my past.
But is any human capable of doing that?
I did forgive him, but has forgiveness ever lead to forgetting the truth?
No matter how far you run, no matter how much we admit to move on
The day we had that quarrel where I saw his real unmasked face
can never be obliterated.
The moment your whole life is declared a lie
you loose your purpose.
In the forest near the river I now live my life in complete solitude
this is how I imagined it would be.
And the present is alluring.
Quotable
Regina McIntosh
He was a hatchet-faced guy and snaggle-toothed.
Most said he was a good guy,
but sometimes it happens
with snaggle-toothed hatched faced guys,
in time they get itchy,
the kind of itch you can't buy a cream for.
After the first murder he felt better,
after the second, better still,
after the third he felt like the very hand of God.
He was a hatchet-faced guy if you know what I mean.
Tread gently around such folks,
even when they smile at you -
especially when they smile at you.
lust is a silky feather to the loins - and rusty hatchet to the soul
Donald Trump promised a Flat Tax
But cuts are more "Hi!" chat than axe
As sly as a fox
The Trumps loot Fort Knox
With lies quite shy of the facts
Burying The Hatchet
©Ben Burton 4/7/2018
When burying the hatchet, make it deep
Thus none who travels by might ever see
That designee of senseless, squandered time
Wherein the guilt lies not in any crime
Save arrogance or stubborness gone wild
Which should have been abandoned as a child
The path that leads us to maturity
Yields tolerance for those who disagree
For rancor clouds the hearts and souls of men
And festers, making enemies of friends
Much better to omit uncommon ground
Since harmony exists in huge amounts
Still, civil disagreements can be good
If hatchets are confined to chopping wood
The genesis of its life;
Inadvertent step on the toe.
The little dark seed is planted;
A spark starts a fire.
An enemy is born.
The valley of the shadow
Of unforgiveness;
A fiery way for hatred
Roasts dark
The heart borne out of purity
Of the creator.
Desperateness to kill
Metamorphoses the pious.
A sword is wielded
By the hand
Of the new-borne
Into the dark kingdom
To do the avoidable -
Revenge!
Of all the things I do resent,
Time takes most precedence;
For He's a Thief- the giver of Grief,
And a Lover of the Present...
Today he plots to plague my thoughts,
And wrought His plans for Pain!
Ideals are fraught, my Mind hath caught-
His buried hatchet in my Brain
I remember their faces, every single one.
Crying for help, but no one would come.
Short ones, fat ones, skinny and tall.
One by one, I hacked through them all.
Someone must stop me, I beg you to try.
Though it won’t matter, for you will still die.
Victims have tried, and tried again.
But the ending’s the same, I always win.
I’ve quit before, several times.
But it called me back, in my mind.
I need to kill, I can’t help it.
I’ve tried before, to bury the hatchet.
You can’t stop me, no one knows how.
Never happened before, so why should it now?
I hate myself. Why can’t I stop?
Can someone please help me? Maybe a cop?
I love the feeling, of ripping through skin.
I need to feel, that feeling again.
I don’t know why, truth is, I don’t care.
I’m going to kill you, somehow, somewhere.
Face it my friend, you’re out of luck.
You can’t get away, just give up.
No one can stop me, no one will.
It’s all that I know, God I love how this feels!
I've argued and fought
But nothing's changed you
So I'll bury the hatchet
Only after it runs through you body
Cutting and hacking
Impailing your skin with vengeful force
It's been so long since my last tear
But the pain lingers back in my mind
Buried by the love of another
The shaken voices tell me something wonderful
Your life's end could be near
I'll send you south of Hell
Where I'm looking down from above
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.