Short Jackhammer Poems
Short Jackhammer Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Jackhammer by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Jackhammer by length and keyword.
Max Mason operated a jackhammer
in a reckless and dangerous manner.
He made threats with the machine
until a sheriff came on the scene:
Max and hammer are in a slammer.
My husband, Bill, snores with great might,
Like a jackhammer drilling all night.
Windows tremble and shake,
No sleep can I take.
Sleep in shed instead with my nightlight.
Staccato tantrum,
Mother Nature’s jackhammer,
doing overtime.
The notes are missing their staff;
floating aimlessly upon the wood.
There’s nothing quite so musical,
as the woodpecker.
rough and tumble fight fight fight
F.B.I. show on TV tonight
jackhammer sounds, gunfire too
battling a huge quagmire in blue
bodies flying through the air
grabbing guns without a care
rough and tumble fight fight fight
F.B.I. show on TV tonight
woody woodpecker had a laugh that carried us through the day
We cheered as he pecked his bill into every tree with a hey hey hey
He was like a jackhammer, this hilarious cutey pie with hair of red
His enemies were flummoxed by him, they tried to make him dead
Faceless, dusty windows quickly by a noisy, rainy jackhammer;
Gab calmly like dusty rain;
Cloudy it gets, moist rain falling wet;
Dip, dip, dip, drop the steamy rain;
as the cat inside meows, grrr's and banters;
7/4/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
jaunty jack-o-lantern joined
jingly jangly janitors’ July jamboree
jaundiced Jasper, Jack’s jackhammer
juggled and jostled the journey in jovial jollity.
Jovial Jukebox Julep juxtaposed Jasper and Jack’s
jonquils, joining the July Jubilee
Javelin, a jazzy jaybird, jangled Judy’s jaguar,
who jabbered jokingly and jauntily.
toe nail clipper? she asks. I laugh and scoff.
It’ll take a jackhammer to get these nails off.
They are thick, gristly, harder than a screw.
What about sheep shears? Asks my cousin Lou.
She does not have nails like these wretched claws.
I change the batteries in both of my chainsaws
It has to be done, all my socks have gigantic holes.
I reach for the first chainsaw whose battery glows.
Cobbler man spends his days fixing shoes.
Patent leather taps, and work boots too.
When he gets home his wife often complains.
Nothing works there, including two storm drains.
You hammer all day at work, but you cannot do it here?
He nods his head and says “I am too tired, my dear.”
They had to bring another cobbler in with his own hammer.
He fixes things so loudly, it sounds like a giant jackhammer.
One morning arising
and cursed with the burden
of thinking
My jackhammer brain’s
ceaseless pounding
the surface of concrete
I came on a leaf
dancing dangerously close
to my window
Chlorophyll stolen its
blood intermingled
with rain
Speckled and auburn
and falling and
grasping at nothing
Jesus with all of his
lilies could not have
designed this
I gazed at the leaf until
I and the leaf
were the same
Fast, dusty cigarettes calmly drive a big, small guy.
The worker stops like an old sidewalk.
All skyscrapers hustle noisy, dead cars.
Lord, work!
O, death!
Dark, noisy doors roughly fight a old, big car.
Why does the truck shop?
All flowers grab noisy, small cars.
The job shops like a dead cigarette.
Damn, work!
The slum shops like a hot jackhammer.
Anger, exhaustion, and death.
All jackhammers get misty, grimy guys.
Work, desolation, and life.
Three men are digging a hole in the ground
Their supervisor is casually standing around
A bystander is not making the slightest sound
No precious pirates’ treasure will soon astound.
Dirt brought up beneath is forming a mound
One says a jackhammer is needed to pound
Hard limestone rock is starting to confound
Six feet down will lie remains of a renowned.
HONORABLE MENTION
Written June 19, 2021
For “This or That, Vol. 4” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh