Short Hatchet Poems
Short Hatchet Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Hatchet by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Hatchet by length and keyword.
Lizzie Borden took a hatchet,
because, in case you didn't catch it,
she didn't need that long a handle.
Sincerely yours, Dave Crandall
There was a dumb pig from Kauai
Who had a huge stye in his eye
While using a hatchet
He started to scratch it
Now the swine has an eye in his sty!
Donald Trump promised a Flat Tax
But cuts are more "Hi!" chat than axe
As sly as a fox
The Trumps loot Fort Knox
With lies quite shy of the facts
There once was a man from Chepachet
Who chopped at a tree with a hatchet
With one chop away
From the end of his day
It broke, what a cheap hatchet
put the past to rest
bury the hatchet
and let
bygones be bygones
separate yourself
from the unwanted memories
that you struggle with
and move on with your life
my lower left arm from the elbow on down
looks like a chicken leg, I fancy toasting it brown
imagining it moist, I bet it would be tasty.
Put down that hatchet says my husband; don’t be so hasty!
I'd got out the hammer, the hatchet and pliers
To attack the package of plastic and wires.
But the fix was so tricky,
The stickum so sticky,
I'd not even scratched it when I set it on fire!
Of all the things I do resent,
Time takes most precedence;
For He's a Thief- the giver of Grief,
And a Lover of the Present...
Today he plots to plague my thoughts,
And wrought His plans for Pain!
Ideals are fraught, my Mind hath caught-
His buried hatchet in my Brain
So Splendid hiaku
What was so splendid
After turkey day ended
No weight had I gained.
Never will worry
Hope turkey day will hurry
Hatchet will bury.
My momma just said
That we will have ham instead
And then go to bed.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Carrie Nation loathed saloons and whiskey,
And took some actions that were quite risky!
She chastised dudes who reeked of intoxication,
And used her hatchet to smash kegs of booze across the nation!
Entry for Andrea Dietrich's "Educate Me With Humor" Clerihew Contest
An ATM laughed at his check,
so Florida man said, “The heck?”
He took out his hatchet
to try to unlatch it,
So the cops bounced him onto the deck.
----------
Actual headline: "Florida Man Attacks ATM with Hatchet After it Refuses to Take His Check"
Carrying a hatchet to town
dressed up in a jester’s nightgown;
This victim of a painted frown;
The Devil’s clown, the Devil’s clown;
Slashing at pain with a wild laugh
armed with an old booth photograph;
On your heart carved his autograph
cut it in half, cut it in half.
Forgiveness is a tonic
A most powerful potion
It goes down ever so smoothly
It tickles my tummy
A surprise in the middle of a turbulent hot day
The cure for what ails my scorched heart
Forgiveness goes down the hatchet and just hits the spot!
Gwendolen Rix
5-21-15
Her blade was her tongue, sharper than any axe or hatchet
Her husband was the butchering block with slices stabs and punctures
Others saw it. He complained sometimes, but she had no ears.
Only a tongue that sliced and diced,
taking him apart gradually one little chip and chunk at a time.
Death hangs
on the poles
at our bank.
A Chinese
fishing net
sinks down
with baits
to lure into
the fate.
Doom lurks
between the
darkness and
the blue.
Joys dry in the
breathless net
at dawn. As
care snoozes,
snare catches.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet (Pear Tree Press)
Monsoon
begins.
The
first
shower
evokes
fragrant
vibes.
Washed
wind
cools
me
too.
Dried
soul
sprouts
again.
Fresh
shoots
appear.
Green
grows
wildly.
Like
life,
love,
wedding,
flowers...
Beginning
is
beatific
with
divine
charms.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
It soars
high like
thought.
A passive
thing
transforms
swiftly in
a current.
Moving
its ears as
an elephant,
it flutters
in the heart
of the void.
It becomes
unruly,
flying
beyond the
eye-limits
into ecstasy.
First prize winner (Poetry Nook Weekly Contest, US)
First published in The Literary Hatchet
His village
is
a plantation
of privations,
where
a variety of
sorrows grow.
Love
like corn
lives
within
a pale cover.
Pain
is buried
in the furrow
of misery.
Moneyless Majhi
plods miles
with
his stiff spouse
on his shoulder.
Here
to live
is to burn
like dried cow dung.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
the anatomy,my map of destruction
upon the reserrection of my madness
i will kill with no instruction
i live,you die
when my fury forshadows you
say goodbye
twisting and turning
my mind it bleeds
torment and anger
on others it seeks
crushing and destroying
a frenzy of bloodshed i spread
with a kiss of my hatchet
i'll be holding your head!
Carrie Nation and her cohorts stirred up all kinds of consternation,
As they raided bars leaving a trail of broken glass across the nation!
With hatchet and Bible in hand she preached hellfire and damnation!
She deemed demon rum and those who drank it an abomination!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
books
paint brushes
glitter glue
canvases
paper
sewing machines
balls and toys
bats and mats
scooters and bikes
Batman and Wonder Woman
Red Flyer Wagon
rakes
Two axes and a hatchet
Barbeque grill
Couch, chair, three tables
Microwave, TV, light fixtures
Shredder and Fax machine
Bed, freezer, extra mattress
A three car garage but no room for a car
All my letters
are deformed,
beyond a cure.
Contest judges
trample over my
clumsy curvy lines.
Voice of my bruised
verse is not heard.
Sentences zigzag
with slow-moving
fingers. Unanswered
questions become
coffin-bearers.
Ambition is lost
in the cloudy
chirography.
Black box sounds
my broken dreams.
First appeared in The Literary Hatchet
His face is ugly
as his creed,
rigid as his rituals,
and black as the dark ages,
with a Paleolithic look,
but he doesn’t realize.
His sneer is
a reflection of bigotry.
He slaughters smile
for being tender.
His frown is fathomless
as his fanaticism.
There’s
an imminent
communal carnage
behind his buffalo visage.
First appeared in The Literary Hatchet
Nothing to complain about
Not looking for an out
No hatchet to bury
No need to worry
No need for sorrow
Not here to borrow
Not seeing it as a mess
Just seeing how God does bless
I haven’t seen the other side
Where I know they don’t accept pride
No need as Jesus died
No need to take a side
Nothing to gain
Nor would I feign
Peace in my heart
Is only the start
Red hot desert sand bleak and abandoned,
Dried grass around the caves in the hills,
Digging a hatchet is found the ancestors left behind,
A thick heavy sadness enveloping like a shroud,
Shadows dance by the foreboding hills,
Following the coiled path between trees to a leafy park,
Animals foraging for food in hollow logs,
Lost in time and space yet having sensory fulfillment