Wrenches Poems

What the Storm Splayed and Spared

Dust taints scent of rain
the wind wrenches gate ajar
lightning splits the clouds—
grime streaks down marble headstones,
as silver names bleed deep red

bouquets torn and flung
petals smashed into the mud
plastic stems snapped clean
weeds kneel and crawl up to stones
claiming what storm has laid bare

the squalls scour angels
driving grit deep into wings
puddles drown vases
pebbles scatter like lost teeth
pathways get buried in hail

beneath all this rage
the dreamless ones stay silent
beyond the storm's grasp—
no pleas get through weighted soil
moored tight in unyielding peace

storms don't bow to the names in stone
don't hear the prayers carved to atone.
the dead can't rise, the dead can't plead—
the wind takes all, it's wild and unforgiving
the wind takes all, it's wild and unforgiving

Unbroken Wrench

My friend comes through and talks to me,
With their stuck nails being all I can see.
Instead of listening further,
I get my wrench and try to loosen the nails,
Trying to make them no longer be a problem. 
However, what I couldn’t see,
Was that my wrench was damaging the nails,
The ones in my friend,
And they were only getting tighter in their flesh.
I reflect on my wrench, and I feel it’s broken.
But when I reflect some more, I realize it’s not broken.
Wrenches aren’t able to get nails out.
They would’ve asked for my nail puller if they wanted me to do that.
Even then, the pain of the nail would still be there from the force.
If I listened more to my friend, and stopped putting fixing their problems up to me,
Maybe the nails would’ve actually come a bit looser less forcefully,
And this, because I love them, I wish I could see.

Red toolbox

Some still now
	remember when
years ago
	it there stood

red enamel
	with handles of chrome
a polished top
	of finest wood

with drawers so large
	with tools filled
most carefully cleaned
	and put away

wrenches of chrome
	both tiny and large
some modified
	for particular jobs

and bars of brass
	most carefully shaped
that they did use
	in most curious ways

and how they did tell
	tales of old
in jobs they done
	over so many years

but now it’s gone
	just memories remain
of the red toolbox
	now they’re gone away

Out of Reach

Sometimes, life just fractures into pieces
Too many to put back together 
Time is  consumed with a lot of work
Often falling into circles going no where
Striving so hard for solutions and peace
As turmoil wrenches the heart and mind
It is easy to fall and hard to get up
It's not easy to see the beauty once there
As problems and the healing are priority
It's as if a veil is between conflict and peace
You can only do so much, when others don't 
So many things take waiting for to happen 
While time speeds and you feel stuck
What was once inner strength, feels weaker
You yearn to feel light as leaves fluttering in breeze
You try to slow down with the sound of wind chimes
You wonder, if anything that's done is ever enough?
You even wonder if you've lost yourself?
Memories return of joyful days and pleasant places
It all seems so long ago, so very far away!
You wonder why it's so hard to reach now?
How can it all be so far out of reach?
Walking on fractured pieces of life each day,
That feel like footsteps cutting your feet
And you wonder if things stay out of reach,
                - Will they ever be the same - ?

Heidi Sand
5/31/23

I Like Sad Music

I like sad music
that wrenches the heart.
It drowns me with the feelings
of not belonging but deeply apart.

It elevates me to the likes of the
Gods of hurt,
because of this genocidal earth
I was broken
from the moment my senses
began to start.

I could never become a stone,
dance in delight with happy tunes,
be someone justifiably
cruel and uncaring smart.

(April 07, 2023)

There Are Abilities In Disabilities

There are abilities in disabilities
So shun idioms that mock any form of disabilities
I know a fellow that has his physical frame unbalanced
And his head obliguely and disingenuously referenced

With slash reference Oriogbade may look dowd
But his wisdom these disabilities couldn't shroud
I hail his sense of humour for being so superb
And the philosophies canned in his proverb

The lessons in life are lives themselves
Oriogbade taught us to believe in ourselves
There shouldn't be such idiom again as turn a blind spot
For Oriogbade, his proverbs prove that he's a hotshot

Should there be someone that can help him to the top
I mean someone that can give him a leg up
Like those who brought him on air to grease his wheels
In order to fortify his resolutions against future ordeals

Oriogbade will be a recreation in the movie works
With his disposition he won't be a spanner thrown in the works
As he begins to breathe with profit and from his wrenches unclench
May he never be clenched again to go back to the trench

Teaching

Teaching

Learning is easy, 
we sit back and watch. 
It is a thing we think we do, 
all our lives. 
But it is not true. 
We skate, 
without doing the work, 
without being seen, 
as there is no reason
to believe
more is necessary. 

Understanding the difference, 
between living and dying is heartbreaking. 
It wrenches the soul from its roots, 
and throws it about. 
Lack of it is costly, expensive, 
brutal, carrying self-inflicted... 
wounds seen and unseen. 

"Sleep" is easy, until something changes. 
Then the world is upside down. 
Being prepared is a process, 
of reading and understanding. 
Freedom is the right to full information. 
It is the right to not go along. 
It is the right to tell others, 
what you see, is not what you might get. 
But the very idea of uncensored data, 
poses the largest threat, 
to their sovereignty. 
So, they jab us with needles, 
and pins till we cry out, 
and scream about fairness, 
about equality.

The truth is we are all the same. 
Our blood is red like the sea... that kills. 
We are alive because the Maker made us that way. 
We breathe at His discretion.
Take heart the King is real!

Yucca

Daddy brought it home to mother
She did not like it at all, in fact it made her angry
Those innocent tough spikey, sword-shaped leaves
Centered with white rosettes in tight buds caused anger

Today when I see those buds appear
I think of you~ Sadness wrenches my heart
You meant well and that Yucca has spread
There are many white rosette buds dripping dew and rain

You called it bear grass while laughing
Finding it in the woods you dug it up
Those rosettes still in bud waiting to open
Mother did not laugh~ she wanted a lilac bush 

Years later I told my husband not to dig it up 
Let it stay, memories flood my heart, mind and soul
Each spring when the spikes appear straight and strong
Loaded with rosettes of your laughter~ my grief wanes

Then joy fills my being because
Yucca's creamy buds remind me of your love and joy
How your emotions could change
When seeing the beauty of the simple Yucca buds

I think you were a poet and romantic at heart

I know this is not a quatrain but is more free verse.

Mama Vise Grip Feeds Her Wrenches

Mama vise-grip had but two meals left for her little baby brights. 
Her wrenches were beak up, waiting for her to do the right thing.
Being a mama, she knew she had to give them the last two bites. 
They gulped down their meal eagerly and began to happily sing.

Our mama vise-grip is the best, long live our mom, we love her so!

They settled down for the night, all snug and happy for the time. 
She felt better already, though she knew they had a long way to go. 
In the morn she would scour the sidewalk for a nickle or a dime.

It’s what a mother does she told herself, as her tummy grumbled.
Even a vise-grip mama? An internal voice asked in way of a sad song.
Especially a vise-grip mama, she replied, feeling more than a little humbled.
She knew people said vise-grips were cold, and she knew it was wrong.

Heart-Wrenching Fight

On this earth, which the man beholds
As his sanctuary own, he has proved
The mightiest of all and defied 
Challenges unthinkably hard,
Has taken the route of science 
To go up the value chain
That shields him from disasters  
And plagues but at what price? 
Lives sacrificed and centuries wait, 
All seem to go up in flames 
As out of the blue Coronavirus strikes.

A reminder that the world is flat for all
Crowns and paupers no difference 
None owing its pardon for a bribe
Coronavirus the cruel is at his door
With its penchant to attack the crowds,
And known for its savor for flesh vintage 
Goes on the rampage in search
Of the vulnerable old, raring
To afflict and put him to death,
Heart wrenches as digs invisibly the pest 
Into his kith and kin to reach unto him.

Fight between the man and the devil 
Is heating up every second
As destiny stands with bated breath,
With the economy in ruins and so the life
The man needs to hit the devil fast
Where it hurts the most
By cutting off its wingspread
By him moving into a loner's life 
A skill that's not easy on the man  
But once mastered Coronavirus 
Is bound to lay down its arms.

Contact Corn

Words fell through my mind
in plumber’s wrenches
you walked
through a room
my hands shook 
I kept pebbles in my pocket
to hold on to 

you
kicked at my desire
broad hoofed 
your head became
an Olmec icon
my fingers reached
reached for you
like skinny cobs 
of ancient maize

Sound of Scraping of Shovels

This banyan tree on the wayside pasture
boughs cradling the nests secure
the birds of blue return, 
verdant foliage making shade serene
the scorched travelers rest awhile,
the tree revels in pride.

The winds of harsh time take the toll
gaping trunk wrenches the soul,
defoliated, the skeleton stands stripped.
The birds don’t return,
the travelers pass by,
in sorrow the shadowless tree tracks the setting sun.

Until the storm comes
lays the tree on the ground it stood so long firm,
shovels scrape the soil, fills the void,
buries the last remains of its roots.

In the twilight hours of loneliness
as I see dark clouds gather on the horizon
the sound of scraping of shovels
returns to me louder and louder
from the empty pasture
where the banyan tree once was,
and I wait for the storm.

March 7, 2019

Hunger No, Starvation Yes

‘No hunger, no starvation’,
His voice booms
The lusty crowd 
Wearing emaciated faces
Claps, whistles and cheers
She musters 
A disinterested smile 
Eyes brimming with tears 
Their roles
Everyone knew
She too
Ferried in buses rickety
Of course for free
And then the promised money
So tempting, you see
But, she’s been away now 
Six hours 
Doctor had given her twelve
She gets nervous
Another two hours 
Homeward journey
In the bus
But first Netaji must end 
His speech,
Her misery
A deafening roar
Boundless glee
Time for rewards
Near stampede
Outstretched hands
She with others wrenches
Jostling, pushing and pulling
Finally the promised 500 rupee note 
She clenches
Makes haste
No time to waste
The money thus given
Can fetch her some morsels
She cannot afford
The last of her brood
To also succumb to want of food.

Infinite Love Slumberous Soul

Infinite Love Slumberous Soul
~

Over the hill and far away my luculent love sustains yet another day
Thru valleys and mountain peaks my soul surrenders as heaven speaks
In Cupids arch and botanical bouquet, a ruminative rose begins to decay
Above landscapes and cradle creeks my spirit searches the love it seeks
~

In its punitive plunge of raging rivers, my love dries its tears as it shivers
Thru rapturous realms unseen my heart seduced by the quixotic Queen
In love, one receives the other delivers like the magic of smoke and mirrors
Within the jealous jaded green of wrenches in the marauding machine
~

Thus amidst the suffering sorrows, your love silently steals and borrows
Into the echoing eyes of sleep dimensioning dreams that soundly seep
With zestful zeroes, not even a zillion will protect me from falling arrows
For when the ambient angels weep my love is within the abyss of deep.



...theme/Over the hill and far away...




May.21.2018
Let Your Pen Drip
Sponsored by: Broken Wings

Fistful of Memories

Clenching right fist tight
wrenches your memories fast.
No need for string tied
around a finger knotted,
for left fist clench pops recall.

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