Hatchet Poems - Poems about Hatchet

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...

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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!...

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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...

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burst of hatchet aroma of pine woods in winter....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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lust is a silky feather to the loins - a rusty hatchet to the soul...

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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...

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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...

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Hatchet in the tree Hatchet in the snow A snowman’s hand gripped A snowman slashed low Low falls the timber Low level UV light Light reflects white Light will then entice Entice by photoelectric effect Entice by photons in cadence In cadence with yuletide In cadence with Christmas time Time is itself a gift Time and time again Again the winter solstice Again the world will spin Spin on it's axis Spin...

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Hannah, I haven't seen or heard you cry not in the gray of winter day or in the cold silence of our prisoner nights, the others can hardly keep up with you on the marches your face is changeless as polished steel and you speak like thunder in the distance... Would you like me to say that Hell isn't real... No Hannah,...

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I've never seen a baby so merry as Martha... They say March newborns are bellwethers for blissful Springs Mary... Hannah, Haverhill has been a hard place to call home I'm sorry about Elizabeth's hanging, Thomas has honored you with every ounce of his heart, eight of your children have survived the birth storm... Mary, I'm grateful for your gritty...

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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. ...

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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...

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