Long Pickaxe Poems
Long Pickaxe Poems. Below are the most popular long Pickaxe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pickaxe poems by poem length and keyword.
Here rest my oars.
A killick thrown to the school of fishes,
To still my boat from the peering waves.
Fishy-wishy scatter as water splatters,
Like wood chips flying when the pickaxe strikes.
A ship draws near, but my killick blocks its kiss—
Its stale mouth might stagger my rest,
And send my gathered fish fleeing the net.
Much of the mud my killick swallows,
So the wave won’t tug the boat an inch.
More students from the school must reach my net.
A long wait beneath the twilight-dimming sky.
Yet the fish market waits for a refill.
The cool breeze begs my eyes to close,
But hunger bites hard with its mocking teeth—
My killick just has to steady the float.
In the belly of Enugu’s coal-dark earth,
Men toiled beneath for all they were worth.
Sweat and silence, pickaxe and pain,
Digging riches, yet bound by chain.
No crown they wore, though kings they stood,
Their hands were scarred, their hearts were good.
But when they rose with voices loud,
The empire answered with gun and shroud.
November wept in forty-nine,
As rifles cracked a crimson line.
Twenty-one fell, dreams undone,
Beneath the unforgiving sun.
They asked for bread, were given lead,
By those whose flags in silence bled.
Their only crime? To dare to stand,
For justice on their native land.
The coal was black, but deeper still,
Was British greed and iron will.
Yet from that grave, a fire grew,
A cry for freedom, strong and true.
Oh Iva Valley, sacred ground,
Where martyr’s blood still speaks profound.
Not just a tale of loss and dust,
But how the broken found their trust.
Their names may fade from pages read,
But history walks where they once bled.
And every step toward liberty’s light
Was paved by those who dared to fight.
i represent an
invisible wall to
you
everytime you walk
by
i wish i was a
magician only for
you
everytime you walk
by
i would create the
most amazing art for
you
everytime you walk
by
i would totally
erase the maze of
confusion for you
everytime you walk
by
the bridge of
rejection sends my
inner fear into
ascension
i want to fall off
intentionally when i
imagine the natural
scent of you
internally i do
jumping jacks
internally i do
squat thrusts
externally i do
speed walks
externally i do the
shy guy stroll
everytime you walk
by
i guess i deserve to
be the ghost as
practice for the
sport of your
resistance
i wish i had a
pickaxe
i wish i had a
mallet
i wish i had a
poker....anything to
to help extend my
arms
everytime you walk
by
now the day is done
now the night
becomes the
masterful bully
now the dawn of day
teases me with its
indecisiveness
now the apex of the
torture begins for
me again
everytime you walk
by
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Despite the bellowing of loved ones,
you've chosen to go it alone.
Thus far you've had immunity to folly and mishap.
Now you're long overdue, but nobody knows.
You've left no itinerary nor coordinates.
There'll be no search and rescue
upon that avalanche of arrogance.
The pickaxe has slipped from your hand.
Sliding into the sweet blackness.
Days layer upon a twist of broken bones.
Blue ice licks its own thickness into a groan.
You've reached the black pinnacle of the purist, alone.
Under a robin's egg sky upon the throat of icy cliffs.
The alpinists ascend a blizzard of sorrow and bliss.
Sowing a string of prayer flags into the white heart soul of spirit pass.
Top of the world, Ma —
See those little fingers down there?
Those tiny rivers runnin’ thru the valley —
You fall, you won’t be repaired
Gimme pickaxe, gimme rope-ladder
Gimme both McKinley and Everest
I think best at highest altitudes
I’m hottest at my grooviest
Sheer fall —
You’re goin down
You’re goin down all the way
(2x)
You know the Donner Party was up in these parts
And they ate each other up
Much like those handsome boys from Brazil
Who were tryin’ to win the World Cup
When you finally scale that mountain,
Of course there ain’t nobody to witness
And then your ego sends the avalanche down
And you’re a sacrifice to physical fitness
Sheer fall —
You’re goin down
You’re goin down all the way
(2x)
12/26/21
Time I make a splash
Got to fulfill important tasks
Can't rely on hiding behind masks
It won't always be what you asked
Staying intact or full of bug splats
Broken and cracked windshield glass
The wings of bats
Continuing to flap
Before returning to the cave for a nap
Out to get snacks
Packs of rats
Eating trash
Watching their backs
Looking out for cats
And traps
In a flash
Another clash
On train tracks
Or in the grass
Followed by maggots and gnats
It had nothing to do with cash
Just the way of the animal world, real facts
No cap
Comprehend and imagine that
A lot comes with a catch
It goes by fast
The good things in life rarely last
Live a life full of laughs
And have a blast
Close and far from flax
Just about everything getting a tax
Whether or not in burlap sacks
Often outmatched
Souls being snatched
By the batch
Evidence buried underneath a hatch
With a locked latch
Hundreds of feet below a vegetable patch
Never went to mass
Pushed it to the max
Then ran out of gas
So I ate some bass
Then took a dab of wax
Back to work on this obstacle I slash
And smash
I'm causing cracks
From swinging my pickaxe
Originally, I was barely making a scratch
For the last time I'll rehash
It was slapdash
So there was backlash
Wrote about it in my raps
Often I'd relapse
Perhaps
It's time I detach from all this crap
Too many chaps
Obsessed over apps
And others fighting over scraps
The curtains getting pulled back
Not going to keep it under wraps
Before it all turns to ash
Learn from the past
And other despicable acts
As time continues to pass
What's the haps
Do you truly have a clue?
Do you know the half
Or are you an ignorant ass?
People harass
Cause others to feel like an outcast
No wonder they eventually snap
And are full of wrath
Causing bloodbaths
This is turning into a plague, not a rash
Why are we going down this path
Where most burn and crash
Though dormant, your strengths are still present...
within the silky staircase of God-woven DNA.
Just peel away layers of perceived weakness
climb through the fiery muck and mire...
through acidic jive-devil-clawed lies.
Climb with a pickaxe of love and faith.
Shed decades of doubters and layers of deceivers.
Buoy the desperate dreamers, along the way.
Climb until ogres cannot reach your lowest high.
Until jealousy no longer bangs a cymbal against your mind.
An enriched life awaits those with fair intentions.
Climb as if every step uplifted the heavens.
Climb until you smack your face against the stars.
Just climb.
The 49er arrives with the virgin sunrise.
But the golden veins have long ago dried.
Pickaxe in hand, dynamite in his good eye.
He's the only one left of the calloused kind.
Back in spring, Blackjack the burro broke free.
Bolting for the last watering hole
Licking the salt from his reins.
Deeper and deeper the miner burrows in.
It's all about double blind commitment now.
The poison of pride over the succulence of time-
Willowy faith over the slag of good reason-
The gristle of isolation over nectar of companionship.
At the very edge of the dimming lamp light.
The black snake has all but tapped the vein dry.
A dusty angel sips the last of the moonshine.
The 49er rolls two stones over two black holes
that once were hazel stars on the rise.
In all honesty
I believe Love is actually blind
That she lost her road
And headed straight
Into the mess, she lays in today
I hope we all find her, bathe her and clothe her
Cos she's really a mess right now...
Love used to be the gatekeeper
Between the legs of young girls
Keeping the invaders out in the wild
But these days,
She's more like the green lamp on the traffic lights
Beaconing every car to drive that route
Deep into 'The Virgin Close'
Love used to be the backbone of every man
The strength and blood that pushes men to fight
Work and be the better person
But these days
She's become the gravity pulling every man down
She's the pickaxe used by gold-diggers
Digging the wealth out of our young men
Leaving them broke—like some shattered glass
Love was so innocent back in the day
All she knew was just letters
Written by some secret admirer
And believe me
The shadiest part of the letter is
You've got beautiful brown eyes
That's a classical one
But these days
Love does Sexting
She's all about the unspeakable...
Love is so rusty
She needs some work done on her
She needs rehabilitation
From her figure to her concept
Especially her use in this context
She is meant to be the binder
Between us all
But sadly, Love is blind
We've gotta spit on the ground
Make mud and rub in her eyes
As we proclaim the phrase (Jn. 9:6)...
Here's Mud in Your Eye
And all will come to know that
Love is not blind
Love is not proud
Love is not self-seeking
Love keeps no record of wrong
Rather, Love is kind
Love is patient
Love is true
Love protects
Love perseveres
Love is beautiful
Just like the Sea...
Inspired by Martha Machief
Critiqued by Ess—Jay