Short Jackhammer Poems

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....

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 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.

...

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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...

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Early morning
rise to the icy window gleam
my head is a jackhammer
that is forcing me to scream

I stand in shorts
watching my breath rise to ceiling
there I stand on jelly stilts
no words describe my feeling

I down the stairs
and yawn myself fully awake
I am an autumnal leaf
brittle and cold, ready to break....

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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....

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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...

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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....

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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...

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