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Jonathan Moya Nov 2020
All you wicked men
what is wrong with you?

There is no black Justice
seen on the Sistine Chapel.

Only the stupidities that
can make a stuff bird laugh-

the small axe ready
to cut the big tree down.

Based loosely on theSteve McQueen anthology  of films.  The first in the series is titled Mangrove.  The title is from a Bob Marley song.
Vivian Zems Jul 2020
A tree stares in disbelief at
an axe with an unsharpened edge
Unsure if its fate is to be beaten rather than
chopped to death
before giving birth to tables and chairs
A pavement recoils in disgust
that weeds and not roses sprout from its crevices
Indignant at the unfairness of it all
Even the pictures painted
by words scrawled on anguished walls
seem to have something to say
While I’m lost in thought
on a park bench
trying to make sense
of masked
lockdown/murdering/rioting days
Prossnip42 Jan 2020
Please don't scare me papa, i am but a humble man.  Why my end had to be an axe, i don't understand. A decent life and a beautiful wife, never lived in dread.Until you papa came that night and slaughtered us in bed.
Please don't scare me papa, me or my mistress too.Wound up with a hatchet to the temple, and it is all thanks to you.Later on my mistress thought that i was you.Though i may have been a bit odd dear papa, i wouldn't be such a fool.
Please don't scare me papa, i ain't got no grief with you.Just a pregnant woman you tried to slay, but you failed to do.
Oh please don't scare us papa, New Orleans is wide awake.That night you wanted Jazz to play, is that what it will take?Well then that dreary night, no one will be in their beds.So swing to the music dear papa, instead of swinging heads.
Technological progress is    
like an axe in the hands        
of a AI and Robotics Saviours.
© From the book Quote +/-
Austin Hunt Sep 2019
Two bros converged into a fellowhood
And stoked to share their Fight Club quotes
And be two broskis, juiced they stood,
And shotgunned PBRs, long as they could,
till they were wrecked in a sweet-*** boat

Then proclaimed the bros, into the air,
“Turn on the flatscreen, let’s watch the game”,
it was Saturday so the day was theirs;
and as they sat in their folding chairs,
the smell of axe the air became

And clad in their Costas they loudly played
a song no bro’s cracked iPhone lacks.
Oh, they know their bops like they know their whey!
They smelled their teen spirits and exhaled away,
JUUL clouds of fruit flavors with swag densely packed.

There is no replacing these two guys
and their dudely jockish fashion sense.
Two bros converged as two would, and aye-
They forged the path bros travel by,
a path of bliss and ignorance.
Nigdaw Sep 2019
The shiny blade cuts
Running with the blood of the forest
We must have trees for books
To pass on knowledge
And political ethics.

So we destroy the world
Telling everybody how bad it is
To destroy the world.
Abby M Jan 2019
Tucked between bark and the life blood of trees
Shrouded in shadows and leaves
Deep at the core of the heartstrings of woods
From magic and elmwood conceived

Living in silence but also in wood
Falling for none but the axe
Standing in stillness, her shroud is a cage
Her only consolements are tracks

She watches and wishes as travelers come
Hoping that one will commit
To chopping her life giving elm cage away
And helping her learn to forget

A man did just that in the forest one day
He swung and his axe whistled through
She fell to the ground and she tried to get up
But her elm cage had trapped her there too
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017

Even in my long sleep,
I dreamed of this.
A waking by strangers
A grasping of my wrist
And I wrench it back from them!

My dreams beneath the ice
Were warm, in summer vales,
Where children played
Under my watch, old but hale.
An easy thing, my guard was then.

I tend sore limbs as supper warms,
And aching joints inflamed,
And muscles tough as ibex horn;
For a while I can be lame.
And see my copper ax in the red-gold flame.

I dream of how it came to me,
After vanquishing a headsman.
Intruders fell before me!
And I earned this talisman.
Weapon, scepter, power of my clan!

Then I was sent across the mountain,
A lone journey I knew well.
To trade with kinsmen in a the northern glen,
With gifts, arrow shafts and tales to tell,
Never guessing betrayal that walked behind.

Alone upon the highest peak
I ate my last meal by the fire.
To me the gods seemed trying to speak,
As men I knew climbed higher.
We had words, but they were my kin!

In my long sleep I wonder why
These false friends turned to hate.
I’d watched over them, yet they cried
That my rule was done, and it was too late,
So I turned from them and faced my doom.

I crossed the last protruding rock
And now felt safe from them.
But then a blow, beneath my heart: a shock!
I fell in a soft, snowy glen,
And then a dull pain in my skull…and black.

Beneath me, I can feel the ax;
They’d never take that from me!
Nor my arrows, quivers and packs;
And risk the fury of the gods.
They’d taken my power and left a naked soul.

Five-thousand years I spent beneath the frost,
Until I was found and freed.
My scattered ions watched, angry and lost.
They dragged my body from its bed
And my soul from another life.

Now part of me lies in a crypt
Another frozen tomb.
If only I hadn’t run and slipped,
All those ages ago,
I would now lie in sacred ground,
Back in the earth to which all are bound.
Based on the 5,000 year-old, frozen body of a Neolithic man, called  Ötzi, resting under a glacier on the Austrian/Italian border. He has been widely studied and they theorize that he came from a transitional community at the base of the Alps in Italy, who were early farmers but also hunter-gatherers. When his stomach was finally autopsied, they found a meal of grain, mutton and greens. He was about 45 years old when he was most likely killed by an arrow in the back along with a blow to the head. He fell and bled to death between two large rocks, which kept his body safe from the moving glacier. Two hikers found him and assumed he was a recent ****** victim. The latter is true. His body is now kept in a temperature controlled refrigerator, taken out only briefly for various studies.
Nameless Apr 2015
I am one of many
Small branches of a broken tree
Always looking to the ones above
For guidance, strength and security.
One little branch trying
To keep the others from breaking away
Who will fall?
And who will stay?
Now I stand alone
Looking at the earth through the rain
And I see the broken branches I knew
Scattered about me in pain.
There are those who have taken an axe
To the root of our very foundation
And who have passed this destruction
Down to every new generation.
If I could take that axe
I would toss it deep into the sea
Never to return again
To harm the generations that follow me.
I am one of many
But alone I will go
And plant the new seeds
Where a beautiful tree will grow.
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