Long Chain saw Poems
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I woke, it was dark and some thing was on my face,
I tried to move my arms but found my self in a confined place.
My head was spinning and I felt sick
I think I was drugged and someone was playing a bad trick
I heard a noise but could make out what it could be
I lay there wondering what was happening to me
Who could have done this, I couldn’t think of a reason why
I started to pray, “O God please don’t let me die.”
I felt the lid “O God I’m in a wooden box.”
They going to bury me naked just wearing me socks.
Then I heard the sound, a chain saw, they were trying to start.
I began to panic, I was frightened, chest pains, I think it’s my heart.
Terrified my bowels flowed free
It’s ok I thought that the last thing I’ll leave them from me
I began to whimper still trying to figure out who and why
And praying louder “O God please don’t let me die.”
Then I heard my wife, she’s in with them I thought until she said,
“I told you not to drink, now come out from under the bed.”
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Form:
The man had always seen the dolphin in his tree…he never had a doubt
and using a chain saw when that live oak died…he let that dolphin out.
You see his parents used to love the stars…they’d sit for hours enjoying the view
and through the myths and legends they told to him….he learned to love them too.
But of all the stories they related…none of them was greater
than the one about the constellation Delphinus…
(found just north of the equator).
This story took place a long time ago…in the 7th century BC:
It seems Arion, a wealthy court musician, was on his way back from Sicily.
when the crew of the ship he was on…unconcerned for Arion’s health
conspired against the musician…to relieve him of his wealth.
The crew offered Arion a choice…with no place for him to flee…
they would kill him where he stood or he could fling himself into the sea.
Deciding to throw himself overboard…and knowing he didn’t have long
Arion asked his captors…if he could sing a song.
So beautiful was his singing…so sad and hypnotic to the ear
that a pod of dolphins out of nowhere gathered round…to hear.
and when Arion finally flung himself into the sea…according to folklore
a dolphin, charmed by the beauty of his singing, carried him to shore….
The God, Apollo, as a reward for saving Arion from a certain death at sea
found that dolphin a place among the stars…for all eternity.
Today that man continues to see that dolphin
as he enjoys the stars in an evening breeze
and he no longer wonders why he also sees them
among the rocks, in the clouds…in the trees…
For he knows it goes back to those quiet nights
and the part his parents played in his creation...
in opening of a young boy’s mind
and the birth of his imagination.
Tell me, my friend, when can I send
My spirit gently into that good night?
How many times do I have to die
Before I get it right?
Every car crash, train wreck,
Overdose, misstep,
Splintered bone, rug burn,
Danger zone, poisoned cup,
Open sore, bitter root,
Slammed door, rotten fruit,
Tool shed, chicken shack,
Demon seed, heart attack,
Foul deed, flash flood,
Drowning pool, splattered mud,
Ridicule, taut noose,
Hanging tree, hot seat,
Safety latch, knotted sheet,
Lover’s leap, cruel twist,
Sudden shift, slashed wrist,
Whiskey breath, itchy wool,
Charges due, paid in full,
Circus freak, Judas kiss,
Hide and seek, losing streak,
Broken tooth, swollen lip,
Busted jaw, sinking ship,
Hard luck, hockey puck,
Sucker punch, mother f*ck,
Hot iron, nasty cold,
Phantom limb, flat spin,
Steel glove, rusty nail,
Faded love, hammer claw,
Twenty gauge, monkey paw,
Tombstone, gaping maw,
Friendly fire, lost and found,
Piano wire, last rites,
Foul deed, prairie dust,
Jimson weed, stock tip,
Bad trip, razor blade,
Muscle rip, chain saw,
Pole axe, pin prick,
Candle wax, crack pipe,
Dope ball, monster high,
Bad call, de-tox,
Padlocks, sweat box,
Ticking clocks, hair lip,
Pratfall, bull whip,
Brass balls, matching set,
Sacred cow, tangled net,
Marriage vow, and every other
Barren point of blackness
That litters the
Eternal Book of Life
Are only punctuations
In its bloody text,
While waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting
For the death
That’s written next.
I shave every morning after making love to my wife at night;
My beard now drags across the floor.
If I had a nickel for every time that I was right,
The next time I am right I’ll have one cent more than four.
I am so tired I feel beat like a rented mule;
Seven days a week I must go to work.
Scratch my back with a chain saw and call me a fool;
For dropping out of college, I am such a jerk.
“Who licked the red off your apple”, is what she asks of me;
My mood is always kind of sour;
Civility lies buried in the grave with chivalry;
My days need another twenty hours.
I’d eat a one ton tomato, are the words I thought they sang
In that song from many years ago;
If the world really did begin with a cosmic blast big bang
Then Genesis is fiction, don’t you know.
If I had common sense it would be the pamphlet by Thomas Payne;
Though the pages would not be too well worn.
In a world all gone mad, normalcy makes you insane;
The civil contract, politicians have all torn.
If you had seen what I saw, you would saw the table in half
And crawl out the whole that the two halves now make;
If two wrongs make a right then I would be the one with the last laugh
As my life is but a series of mistakes.
Walk slowly with me until we reach the other end of the sea, pick up a bucket of sand and throw it all over the land; dig a hole in the earth and plant a tree for the universe; it will tell you what to do so that your dream can come through.
Daylight burst through the ceiling with a coffee mug, pudding pans, hammer, chain saw, pickup truck and two dozen handy men with a vision wrapped up in heaven.
Take them with you to the sea and circle around the coast and recharge the engine in the boat, turn the compass to the north then pivot to the south, go slightly towards the east then maneuver to the west and there you will find your Sunday best; the sun is baking in the East and message is wrapped up in the belly of the beast.
Time has no time to spare so organize your team before you get there, the tectonic plates are shifting; the mountain is lifting and the wave is sweeping the mountain away, you have got to set up a thousand flood lights so that you can workday and night and move the mountain from the sea and build a mansion for you and me.
You have got to hire ten thousand strong men to work on shift to complete the lion’s den, they must work, day and night with no pause between except for when they change the shift.
Twenty thousand men completed the Taj Mahal, twenty thousand men laying concrete that parachute to the heavens; twenty thousand men work together with one mission to build the world most renown structure; twenty thousand men lift the stone from top of the hill to build the Taj Mahal and the pyramid of Ginza.
Look for the fragments in the sand and make it drain for one day before the activities begin. Create a solid base with concrete and well cured steel, thread it around three times and seal the pockets with sturdy iron and look for the fragments in the sand and get rid of them before you land.
He used to hunt and fish
Shoot the bull with ease
But now he has Huntington's Disease
He could cut a right of way
For the Rural Electric Company
With chain saw and saw blade
Now he can't even feed himself
For he has Huntington's Disease
He advanced up to line-man
Learning all about electric power
Going to work handling high voltage by the hour
Now he can hardly walk down the street
For he has Huntington's Chorea
He is at times a danger to himself
At times to people he meets
But is not right for he has H.D.
Sad but true it is inherited
If one has too many CAG's repeats
On their DNA they will come down with H.D.
Chainsaw Poetry
David J Walker
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of the
Whirrrrrrrrrrrr into
Action
The attraction of
A curio crowd
Loud
with big gulp glops of dripping
snow cones drops melting on the summer
mountain of a westbound sun
they have all come
to see me cut
Poems out of Pine trees
And catch prose
In the breeze
Of a hot grease
Smelling salts
Tourist trap gas station
Not even
On the map
To some other destination
The chain saw whine
Drowns other sounds
As I cut
Four letter words
That rhyme
With Pine
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of a blur of
The naughtiest words
Learned on the playground
Found and impounded
Into poetry
As the parents hide the eyes
Of the kids and stop and watch in shock
At the artistry of
Chainsaw poetry
bloodied fingers madly claw
caskets hermetically sealed
bullet riddled bodies crazily didst draw
triggered bloodshed tsunami,
where logic insists there must be a flaw
precious priceless proud loved ones demise
festers "stunned disbelief" to gnaw
perhaps shell shocked next of kin
utter primal wails resemble distorted hee haw
lifeless loved ones alive just moments ago,
these special darlings (dozen plus youth)
premature death deprived
never delight one or more in-law
whereat deceased brides and grooms
denied pledging troth
from permanently stilled jaw,
while bereaved
inconsolably cry deafeningly, drenching
cloths cupping raw cheeks,
a cruel prank sans burden thrust upon a maw
(whose womb once housed
forever lifeless son or daughter),
rigor mortis out buzzfeeds Stihl chain saw
shrieking, how,
this "NON FAKE" living nightmare
cast an excruciating pall,
whence diabolic demons lear
into the opened seam,
where under a sheltering sky Gaia doth hear
the deafening lament against
a cool, calm and collected
frenzied maniac whose flare
ring nostrils adrip with rage
exchanged slugs of lead for dear
lee departed souls,
where dark clouds may never clear
as the living suffer horrendous psychic hemorrhage
agonizingly bid their own
flesh and blood affixed atop a bier.
Form:
Christmases and Christmases ago down where the Camelias grow
There was a family whose money was low__not so much cash flow
'Twas the day before Christmas Eve and they didn't have their Christmas tree
nor stockings in a row
Their old artificial tree was looking very used_not even Charlie Brown could give
it a look renewed
There wasn't funds to buy a new one or a tree that the stores sold freshly cut
Mom decided to the woods they would go for a cedar to hunt
The whole family piled in that tiny little truck and across the creeks
and to the woods they flew like Santa in his sleigh
Walking, searching, searching not one suitable tree_fatigue, cold and huger
began to set in
So back to the truck they did plod sadly
And there right there was one Cedar which looked green and shapely
The man of house with his strong muscles and a chain saw quickly_cut that beauty
swinging high onto the truck proud of their great luck
Arriving home with tree in tow and placing it in its stand you know
Mom in the kitchen popping up some corn, making hot cocoa for us to warm
and
a fire she lay to heat up the room _then the tree we'd all groom
With the tree in place and a roaring fire, hot cocoa to warm all desires
An odor began to permeate the air_floating over here and there
"What is that scent?" mom did despair..
From that lovely green Cedar Tree a fowl scent circled the room
Dad laughed and laughed with a twinkling eye..
"A Tom Cat had sprayed that tree with a scent not very nice."...
So out the door the tree flew and Christmas Eve the hunt repeated...
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Happy Holidays
Free Verse
I chose Christmas Eve