Tweezers Poems | Examples

Seventy Years Without a Whisker

I lived seventy years without having whiskers
but then one popped out of my chin
it was thick and long
tweezers bent when they tried to pluck it

the whisker laughed at my attempt at removal
he was tough and determined to remain in place
he has been imbedded in my chin for two years now
it will be three at the end of the week

I put tape on each side of this stubborn whisker
and cut through the tape
expecting to hear him scream
the whisker howled, not in pain, with laughter

I grabbed a razor
the whisker snatched it out of my hand and threw it against the wall
I am pretty sure I am not winning this battle

The Two-Cent Daffodil

The Two-Cent Daffodil

My Nana Pat, with a careful hand and eye,
Would've loved this stamp, a piece of sky.
Two daffodils, sun-kissed and so bright,
Held in a square of soft, creamy light.
I can picture her now, with her albums open wide,
A small world of paper and ink by her side.
With tweezers so gentle, she'd settle each one,
A small victory savored beneath the afternoon sun.
This two-cent flower, a promise of spring,
Was the sort of small treasure she loved to bring
Into her collection, a record of place,
Each stamp a new story, a moment of grace.
And though she is gone, I can still see her smile,
In this tiny landscape, worth more than a while.
For this isn't just postage, but memory's art,
A daffodil blooming in a grandmother's heart.

Lies I never told, but never clarified

They with masks and scalpels
rewatch 
the seconds I was given without consent.
My breath      hitches
as warnings stillborn in my throat.

At this moment,
I am but
a body
opened 
for overdue answers no one asked for.

A poet’s gift lies in the voice of Truth.
No—
A poet's gift is to lie, 
constantly,
in lavender-gray syllables
threaded through with near-Truth—
The answer to unvoiced questions,
clipped out with tweezers,
a scorched coil—
my vocal cord.

I, a third-party haze—
rewatch
the moments I lived through like 
faint      breaths 
fogging an oxygen mask.

My lies will be forgiven,
when they split open my sternum,
and find Truth still beating—

They’ll know,
late Truth cuts deeper than scalpel.

X Rated - bawdy

With my girlfriend in tip top condition
To film sex scenes for late television
She got sick in bed
So I went instead
And was heckled with spiteful derision

Well their laughter had made me feel silly
As I stood there butt naked and chilly
They said, “Get a hair dryer,
Or an electric fire,
For you sure need to warm up that willy.”

The director called three naked geezers
Who he said were real audience pleasers
Then he looked at my lot
And said, “Let’s get this shot,
With my new close up lens… and some tweezers.”

Grabbed a sock and ran home in the nuddy
And I tripped in a field, wet and cruddy
But I’d slipped on the sock 
So my girl got a shock
When just one bit of me wasn’t muddy

*

That’s my self respect gone for a burton…
Then the morning sun shone through my curtain
I awoke in my bed
“Only dreaming,” I said
But I took a quick peek to be certain

the resilient whisker

With resolve in my soul
I went after the resilient whisker
On the left side of my old chin

He has been removed three times
But he is back, to torment me.
I could not believe he was here again already.

I think t plucked him last Tuesday.
This whisker’s visits are more frequent.
Each time he arrives bigger and bolder.

He was three inches long last week.
Today he lands on my chest, about eight inches long.
How did I not notice him until now?

I look for my tweezers.
I need the giant ones.
He is as thick as a boat’s tow rope.

They did not work, so I tried scissors.
Then I ran to get my butcher knife.
Hmmmm
Where is my axe?

A Trip to the Dentist’s Office

Manslaughter, murder and massacre is one
But a visit to the dentist is another
The eerie smiles hidden behind the masks
The twinkly eyes filled with plots
To offer they have lots and lots
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!

Rubbery gloves and broken headlights
Red sinks of blood
The dirty water or is it mud?
Disgusting pastes and painful syrups
Tweezers, hammers, and drills
Certain of our deaths!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!

Every visit every time
Oh.. the noble hearts.. 
put on their smiles and say
-“it is just another month or two!
Have a Good Day”!
Oh… those dentists I wish I had never met…!

A Short History of Underarm Hair

Under her arms
    was a tangle of hair

  It was quite easy
    to get trapped in there 

  But thanks to the razor
    the tweezers and laser

  Drops of sweat now
    love to betray her

Hocus Bogus: a Curse That Could Be Worse

HOCUS BOGUS, BOGUS POCUS!
A hex on the dryers of you who owe us
A pox on your socks never to be found
Unwound and pulled down underground
I voodoo better than you do, and you'll rue
The day you walked my way because I knew
If I'm toil and trouble, you're definitely double
So bubble bubble grow no more than stubble
It might seem weird as something feared
But I know you've always wanted a beard!
You think I'm too lily livered to deliver?
Just wait until I conjure... A WOODEN SLIVER
Didn't think this is something you'd fear?
You'll think twice when near tweezers disappear!
Such sorcery the likes you've never seen
An enchantress so mean there's never been
My final vengeance enclosed in this vile
You cry and I smile, I fly while you're in a pile
A potion with eye of storm and tongue of twist
And whatever else is on my list, with a flick of the wrist
I cast a spell you cannot quell that’s straight from hell
You’ll swell as you yell in pain as you fell
Unable to imagine such a fate is more than fable
As your pinky toe catches the corner of a coffee table!

MWA HA HA HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nervous Tick

There’s a guy with a nervous tick;
tweezers make him queasy and sick.
In a walk through the wood,
it crawled up where it could;
removal will be quite the trick.

The Next Nest

claws contracted tightly
squeeze something dropped
on the forest floor
like a dark metallic tweezers
the pointed beak catches a branch
while red and nervous eyes
look everywhere
he turns the body
opens immense wings
and in a rustle of brown feathers
fly towards the treetops

at nightfall, the figure rises and disappears
fading among dark leaves
he rebuilds his castel
his refuge
his palace
his next nest

Your Past Should

Your past should be a reminder,
Of how far you have come.
Your past should be the key to the present,
Not to a ball and chain.

Your past should be a line in the sand,
That you never step back over.
Your past should be a record of past mistakes,
Not re-visited.

Your past should come with a map,
To buried treasure,
Not a bowl of rotten fruit.

Your past should spit you out,
Not suck you in.
Your past should leave you with a pair of Tweezers,
To pull out those annoying thorns in your side.
Not a microscope to pick out the nits.

Your past should send out some echoes of laughter,
Not waves of pain and regret.
Your past should be all present and accounted for,
So, you can stride confidently into a brighter future.

Each Others Keeper

Together; Two arrows much stronger than weaker
Apart; Broken arrows thrown out of the quiver
Together; We’re the tweezers that pull out the sliver
Apart; There’s no tweezers so the sliver gets deeper
Together; We’re the warmth that’s needed from either
Apart; There’s no warmth so the other gets fever
Together; Forever we are each other’s keeper
Apart; No forever so each other have neither

It Has Not Always Been

This piece is my thought alone. If it upsets anyone good, because we women need to fight the internalized Patriarchy which has colonized our thought for thousands of years.

it has not always been

sisters are you clearing now
with tiny tin type tweezers,
the patriarchy that sits bone deep
among our apple flowers.

until we form our own thoughts
unshadowed by Adam’s folly
until in freedom are our choices made
far from misogyny’s rule

the tide will remain rolling in
a thoughtless flow of misbelief
about our very being 
informed by patriarchic lassitude.

it is useless trying to explain,
no matter how fine the language,
the daily life each woman lives
in fear so deep it binds us

to definitions, not our own,
of what it is to be woman.
we have forgotten who we really are
but SHE has not forgotten us.

Hope and Light

I gather up
the pieces of
my heart like
a shattered
light bulb

I sweep every
little bit of
eggshell-thin glass
up with my hands
some of the pieces

cut my hands and
make them bleed
but I need every
single piece
I sit at a table

and reassemble
the broken glass
jigsaw puzzle
that was my heart
painstakingly

with glue and
tweezers and
a magnifying
glass because
if I get it just

just right the
light bulb may
light again

Question Mark Existence

walking the floor
regular pastime
not about you
more about me

tweezers and splinters
droplets of blood as blues
not about us
more about life

accidental klutz
lumps and swellings 
not about happenings
more about hurting

dynamic stone teardrops
cubic zirconium crockery
not about pain
more about truth

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