Machetes Poems

scared of shadows

dogs are barking
loud deep hoarse angry barks
staring up the driveway

I expect to see soldiers carrying machetes
or machine guns
or the secret police

dogs are concentrating on a walnut tree
there are moving shadows on the bark
reflection of moving leaves

Dog Bark Warning

My dog is outside warning strangers off our property
the neighbors, delivery men, me if I walk up the driveway
stay away or you will be sorry, says his ferocious bark
it is deep, hoarse and fierce sounding
He treats us all as if we have machetes and stabbing knives

until we get closer….
if we get close enough, he leaps all over us with joy
me, the delivery men, neighbors, burglars, murderers
He is joyful to have a person to play with
If a child comes by, he goes nuts
Follows them home

His bark is totally deceiving

My Dogs Have Fun Outside

Beau my young dog gazes toward the west
He stands, barks, and runs up the driveway
He comes back from the east
Meaning he has circled the house

He stares at me
plunks down and puts his head on his front paws
I hear other dogs barking
At least two, from the south

Beau does not seem to notice them
A loud rough bark from my right startles me
It is Buddy, my big dog; I did not know he was there
He begins running up the driveway, Beau chases him

They are barking as if bandits with machetes are up there
Lopping off the neighbor’s heads and feet.
They come back from the east,
With long tongues and happy smiles.

dogs stand their ground

mack trucks on the road
big, burly and loud
angry rumbling sounds
my guard dogs hear it
they run out to stand between me and the road
barking as if virile hitmen with machetes are after us
holding their ground, showing their teeth and their verve
Hundreds of yards away from trucks who will never know or care

coconut vendors

Beneath the cobalt sky, where legends are spun,
Island life unfolds, as traced by the sun.
Amidst the palms, a verdant ballet,
A choreography of chores, in the island's sway.

Fishing boats gently bob, tales in their wake,
Nets entangled with the morning's ocean handshake.
Fishermen, weathered, their hands tell the story,
In salt-stained shirts, a testament to the island's glory.

Coconut vendors wield machetes with pride,
Husks cast away, like secrets to hide.
Sweat beads on brows under the tropical sun,
As the islanders toil, their day just begun.

Children laugh, chasing the tide's embrace,
Building dreams in the sand, a jubilant race.
Their laughter, a melody with seagull cries,
As the day unfolds 'neath endless skies.

In the market square, colors burst and bloom,
Fruits and spices scent the island's room.
Vendors banter, a lively exchange,
Commerce dancing in the island's range.

As dusk descends, shadows embrace the land,
Twilight whispers with a soft command.
Stars emerge, a cosmic display,
Over the island, where dreams hold sway.

Cry Uhuru Cry Freedom

Until the blood
   Flowing in my veins equals
     The blood flowing in theirs 
 The cry for freedom
   Will persist and insist
     Uhuru is my cry for freedom

 Until the tongue
   I speak and my religion
     Is no different than the
       Colour of their eyes
         Uhuru is my cry for redemption

 The cry for freedom 
   Will always prevail over
     Machetes and AK 47s
      Uhuru is my cry for freedom

 Until our villages and towns
   Are properly called 
     In their mother tongue
      And not abused versions
 The cry for freedom 
   Justice and equity will 
     Reach high pitch
      Uhuru is my cry for freedom.

Into the Swamp

The mango grove hums,
insects sing in the scratchy thrum,
the wet-lead air.

Knee-deep, the water sweats
a dark smudging fear.

We are a party of four,
four machetes,
four slouch hats,
four men looking for
reasons.

Trailing tendrils snatch at us,
lacerate skin and courage.

After a few hours
we are drained,
barely speaking
just wading our way
inwards,

all four
longing for

that tropical beach bar
and the girl
we left behind it.

In Their Hands

Nightfall,
   Fear awakened 
Guns and Machetes, 
     Bonds and chains.



May 13, 2022.

Squealing From the Gym

The third-grade students are squealing like pigs
being chased by axe murderers waving bloody machetes
I smile as their voices bounce off the gym walls
I hear the coach’s voice now; squealing is interrupted.
For a few minutes while she speaks.
Beginning again; louder now.
Is there a roller coaster in there?

Squealing From the Gym

The third-grade students are squealing like pigs
being chased by axe murderers waving bloody machetes
I smile as their voices bounce off the gym walls
I hear the coach’s voice now; squealing is interrupted.
For a few minutes while she speaks.
Beginning again; louder now.
Is there a roller coaster in there?

Elephant Acrostic

Elastic evil in encroaching European’s enterprising motives.
Level-headed land animal leaves African lowlands.
Eventually they are followed by those who shall not be named.
Private collector hopes tusks will not be a mismatch.
Horrific hunters hold hand-held machetes.
Active game wardens wait for the hunter’s hammiest moment.
Newly arrested poachers rapidly chew their pink mastiche.
Threat to tusks thwarted, wardens sit down to taste tasty tzimmes.

You Cannot One Up Flo

Flo’s relatives are the worst
If yours have stolen your cars
hers have stolen her house, garage and garden shed.

If you are whiny, hers are chronic complainers
who are more annoying than finding a live mouse in your soup.

If yours are hurtful, hers have killed people with machetes.
None of us have ever been able to top or one-up Flo’s stories.

You should see us scatter when she appears in the lunchroom.

Angry People Trigger Me

Angry people trigger me
I am terrified of them, 
pushing myself into a tight ball
sliding into the cracks between the floorboards

I cannot get away fast enough
They might as well be carrying machine guns
and machetes and hatchets and hammers
my body shrivels up and dies

I slide into a place I do not fit
trying to get away before the blood bath
always expecting to be the first one mangled and killed

Saving Me From My Imagination

Sophie dog is bark-crying, howling in consternation
As if robbers with machetes are in the closets
As if home invaders have slept under our beds.
As if sixteen escaped convicts are eating her bologna.
As if someone is approaching with two assault rifles.
As if a SWAT team is getting ready to break down our windows.
Someone knocks on the front door and I jump straight up to the ceiling.
Amazon delivery.

I Am Juggling Machetes

I am juggling machetes
There are rhinos on my toes
Raccoon and opossum are on the porch
Growling.
My teeth hurt my gums.
I am wishing they were gone.

A Mack Truck has come down my driveway
Or there is thundering outside
I don’t care which.
My toilet is perpetually making dripping sounds
Is this driving me any nuttier than I have been all week?

Who is coming to save me from this warped mind?
This mind that is afraid of her own closet?
An imagination that does not dare
Look under the bed?

Where is my exotic, inspired, dangerously handsome super hero?
Why am I the one who brings the meat to the potlucks?
I am juggling machetes and there are rhinos on my toes.

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