Short Machetes Poems
Short Machetes Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Machetes by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Machetes by length and keyword.
Haiku
to write haiku is
to distill to perfection
with only three lines
by Trisha Sugarek ©
Moths and Machetes
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
Danger looms as we gather together in clandestine
Anxious to overcome our rival`s plot
Never again will anyone attack us unprepared
Go-to-hell,machetes,axes,guns will do justice to many
Even the police and Army cannot stop this gory combat and war
Rapid attacks,burning and looting will weaken them,we are ready.
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?
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?
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
Use heads wisely
Never go where machetes
Thrive immensely
And bodies rest in pieces.
Warnings were given
These were not jokes said in jest
From some are rabid men
To stay away is always best.
Still many chose to go
To where Danger is instead,
They failed to think and so
They end up losing heads.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~~4.27.16
I have seen the government promise
I have seen babies raped
I have seen headless men lying on the road
I have seen mothers battered for daughter's pregnancy
I have seen old men dead on the road from hunger
I have seen grandmothers dead in a flooded house
I have seen mothers hacked by machetes by sons
I have seen and lost hope in people
I have seen life
While wielding a machete in my kitchen—
I had some foods to slice: tomatoes, cheese,
baked ham, boiled eggs, grapes, lettuce--I was planning
a scrumptious smorgasbord, one sure to please.
But then I saw the warning on the handle:
“Machetes are not meant for kitchen use!”
I had to face the facts. To use a weapon,
one needs a truly excellent excuse.
October 17, 2016
I am a snarly, growly, angry girl today.
I’ll snap your head off in a rather gruesome way.
My machetes are out, and my guns are blazing.
I’ll be cutting and chopping, and hell-raising.
Why I woke up in this mood is anyone’s guess.
I’ll leave bodies and pieces, a giant mess.
I’m a snarly, growly, angry girl today.
I’m warning you ahead of time, so you will please stay away.
THE KILLING NIGHT IN KENYA
Lush green fields cushion diamond skies--
Cattle rustlers burst through night
Machetes swinging like a game
Mid spring blooms whose scent delights
Rifles slung like children’s packs
Hug shoulders that should lie abed
Blood trails flow moonlit from stealth feet
Leaving sixty sleeping people dead
Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/30/12 ©
Death week of 12/22/12
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.
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
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.
Lovers then we became strangers
now full blown adversaries
enemies
gladiators armored for destruction.
This is no longer a relationship
it is a ruthless affair
a house of cards
kill zone
minefield 101.
Words sharp than machetes
actions colder than waterboarding
we massacred us
we are locked up in solitary confinement
you the king of North
and this Nubian Monarchy is mine.
To the last Iron and Crown standing
its game on!
Stillness in the night
Silhouettes of Zulu’s
Move along the ridgeline
Monkey’s howl
And men cry
The darkness has no friends
Evil specter of death
In the banana trees
Fruit bats on the wing
Sweating in this jungle
I have but one goal
Remain
Lock and load
Weapons
In the hands
Of teens
Machetes
Teeth
Cut limbs
From torso’s
Lying on the cracked
Jungle floor
Seeping loneliness
Into the heart
Of darkness
That bears no witness
To the soul
Africa In The News
Tanks hugging the
Unwilling ground,
Minute ants poke their treads.
As blackened trees still smoke
From the heavy rebel shelling.
A faceless child lays in a
Lake of blood,
Its toothless mother tries
To bite into a tree trunk
Just to get the last sap.
The filthy hands of other children
Weild machetes.
A colourless camera man incessantly clicks
For his modern world to see.
Paul Kasami
Why must I Die
Today I see babies born
Just to be torn and killed.
Thousands of young and old
Yelling why must I die.
I did nothing wrong.
Is it hate or is it joy
They don't know the fate.
Rwanda 's genocide killing all those that stand.
Swing clubs and machetes. Cutting them all down.
But they don't know why i must die they think.
The blood rolls in the streets.
Who can stop it we want to know
Peace is the answer not the dope.
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.
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.