Short Backhoe Poems
Short Backhoe Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Backhoe by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Backhoe by length and keyword.
the two footed tackle
we would deem most likely to raise authority’s hackle
so better the elbow
to the back of the head like a blundering backhoe.
backhoe
digging in the road
mantis
concrete dust in flight-
fog
cricket
on a window sill
frog
backhoe engine stops
hunger quenched
Mass Murderer thought about changing careers;
the chase was still chill, but the cleanup, too hard.
He bought him a backhoe, and oh, what a thrill!
He’s burying bodies all over the yard.
A sizable portion of my life
I've passed, slobbering over
The antagonistic ashes
Of an untruth.
Years down the road,
By accident, I exposed;
Though this untruth,
Was deeply entombed in my psyche,
Via a mental backhoe,
Satan periodically excavates it
Sans a spade.
Once upon a whim
As the excavating limb
of a tractor under-tucked
the feed it hoisted up,
It seemed as though it goes
Akin to an elephant’s nose.
When later the machine
Departed from the scene
With scary points hung in
beneath the folded limb,
Its appearance was akin
to a giant scorpion.
i express my love
rigor mortisly
ah the little
death
except mine for
me for you is
completely
deadly
i have a toe
tag with
more
then
John Doe
Dear John
or John Deere
which is actually
the brand name
of the backhoe i use
to dig my own grave over
and
over
and over
again and
again
Form:
My John Deere tractor is my favorite toy.
There’s nothing better that I enjoy.
I have many attachments I use every day,
That are used for more than just play.
My backhoe, chipper, and snow-blower are my friends.
Without them, my work would never end.
I love my tractor, it’s right outside.
Nature feeds my soul, as I take a ride.
Untie the knot, patriarch,
the broken kiss was
intimidating.
The backhoe picks up the
devil, it was within you
when you were casting stone
at the fear.
The pagan was covered
with leaves
raw and pailful;
belief in a thought
was not working,
think, man think.
The system,
the birth of rebirth of sorrow
was the tragedy.
The shaper,
I am, still wandering
to find the words.
Satish Verma
Form: