Long Wrenches Poems
Long Wrenches Poems. Below are the most popular long Wrenches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wrenches poems by poem length and keyword.
Dust taints scent of rain
the wind wrenches gate ajar
lightning splits the clouds—
grime streaks down marble headstones,
as silver names bleed deep red
bouquets torn and flung
petals smashed into the mud
plastic stems snapped clean
weeds kneel and crawl up to stones
claiming what storm has laid bare
the squalls scour angels
driving grit deep into wings
puddles drown vases
pebbles scatter like lost teeth
pathways get buried in hail
beneath all this rage
the dreamless ones stay silent
beyond the storm's grasp—
no pleas get through weighted soil
moored tight in unyielding peace
storms don't bow to the names in stone
don't hear the prayers carved to atone.
the dead can't rise, the dead can't plead—
the wind takes all, it's wild and unforgiving
the wind takes all, it's wild and unforgiving
Daddy brought it home to mother
She did not like it at all, in fact it made her angry
Those innocent tough spikey, sword-shaped leaves
Centered with white rosettes in tight buds caused anger
Today when I see those buds appear
I think of you~ Sadness wrenches my heart
You meant well and that Yucca has spread
There are many white rosette buds dripping dew and rain
You called it bear grass while laughing
Finding it in the woods you dug it up
Those rosettes still in bud waiting to open
Mother did not laugh~ she wanted a lilac bush
Years later I told my husband not to dig it up
Let it stay, memories flood my heart, mind and soul
Each spring when the spikes appear straight and strong
Loaded with rosettes of your laughter~ my grief wanes
Then joy fills my being because
Yucca's creamy buds remind me of your love and joy
How your emotions could change
When seeing the beauty of the simple Yucca buds
I think you were a poet and romantic at heart
I know this is not a quatrain but is more free verse.
Make for the corner, Fresno-Whittier
(there’s neighborhoods a whole lot prettier):
it’s probably ten-ninety-six,
but don’t draw weapons – that’s a Nix.
The man before you’s not a “perp”,
so don’t come on like Wyatt Earp.
Latina (claims she’s J-Lo’s cousin)
talking nineteen to the dozen
says she almost bought the farm,
but totally (we think) unharmed.
Find the pale-blue shotgun shack:
he’s out front, and she’s out back.
Ten-zero, boys. Proceed with caution.
Blame’s not something we apportion.
They love each other – had a fight,
same as any couple might.
Bear in mind one simple thing:
no-one wants a Rodney King.
So, L.A.’s Finest, when you swoop,
he’s sitting on the streetside stoop,
and spouting incoherent crap,
samurai sword across his lap.
Don’t pay no mind to what he’s blurting –
the guy’s okay. He’s simply hurting.
Don’t see a spic from Zapopan,
look at him closely. See the man.
Don’t think, “one of the wetback horde”:
think what it took to make that sword.
Someone tempered, shaped, embossed it.
And Juan’s a man. He simply lost it.
He came up here in eighty-eight,
and settled in the Orange State.
Wielded wrenches, welded axes,
raised his kids and paid his taxes,
and now he’s slowly catching on:
there’s nothing else. His youth is gone.
He mops the floors at Taco Bell,
and Carmencita gives him hell.
He’d wail a horn, like Bobby Prewitt,
but doesn’t have the art to do it.
So let’s forget the “better than”.
Go easy, fellas. See the man.
Sometimes being dad is tough
And parenting can be mighty rough
When I have to say no and they think it’s not fair
They stomp away screaming that I don’t care
It wrenches my heart that I have to conflict
It hurts so bad that it makes me sick
But if I don’t intervene
And fight my way through their screams
The choices they make may condemn us all
Them, for what they do and I for letting them fall
I love them dearly I know this is true
Because of the pain that we all go through
If I did not love them and it were all a lie
I would not hold them when they cry
I would not care about their accomplishments
I wouldn’t cherish all the time we’ve spent
But I do love them and I do care
I would fight for them, anything, anyone, anywhere
And through my love I understand
That they're growing and they need my hand
Sometimes friendly soft and gentle
Sometimes steady and firm and parental
Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009
Mama vise-grip had but two meals left for her little baby brights.
Her wrenches were beak up, waiting for her to do the right thing.
Being a mama, she knew she had to give them the last two bites.
They gulped down their meal eagerly and began to happily sing.
Our mama vise-grip is the best, long live our mom, we love her so!
They settled down for the night, all snug and happy for the time.
She felt better already, though she knew they had a long way to go.
In the morn she would scour the sidewalk for a nickle or a dime.
It’s what a mother does she told herself, as her tummy grumbled.
Even a vise-grip mama? An internal voice asked in way of a sad song.
Especially a vise-grip mama, she replied, feeling more than a little humbled.
She knew people said vise-grips were cold, and she knew it was wrong.
We can smile like a child who does not know yet many things,
In simple things he’s satisfied, showing his contented feelings.
We can smile like a drunken man, feeling so drowsy and woozy,
Who sings and wears a smile , trying to forget and not to worry.
We can smile like a chimpanzee, who’s so happy with a banana
After giving us a big grin, we can leave him and write our stanza.
We can smile like my grandpa who dearly loves my grandma
Feeling Adonis with his strength, he’s never been into a stigma.
We can smile like blooming sunflowers on those summer days,
Despite the debilitating heat, we can still stand tall with grace.
We can smile like the sun that often shines so bright
Assuring that everyday you and I will gonna be alright.
We can smile and smile even the world sometimes wrenches our heart,
For sadness is a transient and in God’s love, He keeps us without a doubt.
You can smile just like me, who’s already experiencing a bad memory,
But I think I’ve nothing to worry about, for the computer does all for me.
At all times, you and I can wear a smile in any way we want
Infecting others to retain beauty, stay young in body and in heart.
June 24, 2013 4.55am
Second Place
Contest: Smile
Judged: 6/26/13
Sponsor: My greatest poet and sis, Linda
Note: Giving my best to make you smile by making it a little bit funny ;). Have a great day in sunshine! Big sweetest hugs!
The autumn leaf curls within tree tops.
Fresh off the frost-lined arm of oak,
vibrant as the sweetest of tangerines.
It passes its crinkly brethren,
trekking through those yet to venture to roots,
gliding by ghosts of the already travelled.
Branches glare with eagle-eyes,
gnarled limbs twisting,
plotting to capture the leaf
with wooden talons and bramble nets.
The vengeful wind,
jaws at the ready,
wishes to shred the traveller in two
with crooked wrenches in all directions.
But the leaf dances around the branches,
and tucks its corners away from the breeze.
It whistles along with a playful tune.
Forever elusive.
Forever free.
As years have passed and I’ve amassed
More tools than I know I need,
I have to stress that I’m impressed with
The roles and goals they fulfill.
I love the hours with power tools
And hand-held ones are grand!
Each one is fun but some essential
Some so technical; all respectable.
But what I’ve learned as time has turned
Some tools matter more than others.
It takes a chisel to carve a whistle
And drills fill things with holes.
It takes a hammer to drive a matter
And a tape measure is a treasure.
I like to draw all kinds of saws
And cut up boards and cupboards.
Screwdrivers are my “McGyvers”
To loosen and tighten, lower or heighten
This one is fun for all ages!
Count on seeing a lot, in every toolbox.
I have dozens of wrenches, strewn over benches
And clamps and vises for when I can’t clench it,
I find the right tool and the job becomes cool
And I look like a pro, cuz my tools say so!
I have found it foundational, absolutely essential
To revel in the power of the level!
If the base is not true, your work off the “bubble”
Everything else from there is in trouble.
Good carpenters care what is true and square
And lay good foundations to build upon there.
Don’t be deceived, your projects reveal it;
Time always tells if your work’s “on the level.”
the reasoning the fishing in the trenches
beyond tire swings and monkey wrenches
follies crawl behind the hanging logos
of unseen filth across 124th street
tassels dangled above an oasis
of fine dining and soiled linen
over the board rooms covered
in a mesh of purple mustard
beckoning ancient aura solid creed
coming throughout hidden rivalry
tampered with ankara's answering service
gravely time passes abaundantly
coarse and yet shunned quietly
we remember the malitia moreover
we began a new wearing gray hoodies
offering our youth to silent the storm
that brewed inside a percolator
pot of copenhagan snuff chewing tobacco
screaming a cure for cancer shall rise
over bob marley's tears as we munster up
courage a courage of faith challenged
behind the wrecking ball of ground zero
we count one more time mon
freedom will soon come
in our most sinful hope
If I had my magic with me
I would have touched the ailing humanity
And cured it would have been,
Within seconds,
Cured, forever,
Without ever fearing any sort of darkness
Grapple at their souls
And inhabiting in them!
If I had my magic with me
I would have touched Death
And never again would it have been tempted
To harvest mortal souls again
For purposes known to itself!
If I had my magic with me
I would have made sure
That Earth remains fulfilled as a Mother
That her tears fall never
That her heart wrenches never
That her breath falters never
At everything that we, her children,
Are doing to her!
If I had my magic with me,
I would have created, for humankind,
A world within this fallen one
So as to have them believe
In the romance of fairy tales,
In the magic accompanying them
In the everlasting pleasures that they promise
Why,
I would have imbibed in their hearts,
The way
To have true and genuine love
Burning therein, all the time!
If I had my magic with me
I would have saved my own soul
And that of Love's
I would have touched his inner essence
And would have showed him
The meaning hidden behind our purpose
So as to evoke in him
The urgent need that the skies
Have thrust upon me
To have him acting accordingly
To the musical beats of celestial piano players!
Pray,
My magic, though
Is left back there
In that realm from which I fell!
Without it,
I become as useless
As is a rabbit in an ocean
As is love in evil's realm
As is music in a hater's heart!
Without it,
I become powerless
Relying solely
On the mercy of the skies
On its might and its potency
On the faith I hold for it in my heart
On the trust I have for it as well!
Pray,
Magic,
Would have been of great use,
Yet, sadly,
Without it,
I can't help but let my heart wrench
And let my teeth clench
As I watch life on Earth roll by!