Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Payton Feb 24
Imagine, I'm laying in your bed. Beneath your covers.
On your pillow.
In your arms.
Imagine, you press your thumb to
my lower lip, and you can hear my heart
beating like a hammer.
You remake my ribcage with your fingertips, and
you teach me a new language with your mouth.
You touch me with intention.
Imagine, I let you. I uncurl.
Moonlight filters in through the window and pours over us. That silky-white illumination is reflected in your eyes and it touches
you so softly, I could scream.
And the exquisite truth of it all is,
that if you ever did get to touch me,
I think I would die.
This poem was written in 2016.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2020
My joints ache inside my body

Heart is pounding like a hammer in my chest

Veins are itching with emptiness

It is lonely without the company of chemicals to converse with my cloudy thoughts

Come home
Need you now more than ever

I am waiting for you to make me feel alright
Written 1-20-20
Poetic T Oct 2020
I never drove by that was the ***** way,
             half time trying to hit a wet spot blind.
or killing the time of those who were never
meant to fall...

Got honor between the lines, I'll stop the car,
              open the door, walk out suited
not you average gangster, look like the others
and no one running till I pulls out your
friend it anit here for a meet and greet.


More like say hello to, goodbye...
   you bleeding on the floor, I'm a good shot...
One to the chest, you fell now one to the head,
   you aint paid you bills now your blood
                                           stained in the wind.


Casually walking back to the car signing
         autographs of his followers.  
This meet and greets been productive,
   Family signing you off on the morgue...

I aint going to lie the only necktie I be
           tightening is yours...

Tied to a chair, if I need information,
   asking as politely with a ball hammer
                                   and some pliers...


I had a few mouths shout off,
now they walk the street silently,
  never **** disrespect.

Show what silence sounds like,
respect is fear
         and I'm the scarecrow in the
field.

And you crows,
    you worm eaters ain't seen nothing yet..
Mark Toney Aug 2020
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night

Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight

With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight

On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright

Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife

As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right

He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might




© 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
5/26/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - © 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Heidi Franke Apr 2020
I almost took a hammer to my husband's car today
I was gardening and stopped by his wrapped-cloth car
So carefully cared for
more than I.
I thought, what if I took a hammer to his car
Would I just pound a few
Or hit it so many times it looked like a speckled egg the next time he drove
It was just a thought.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Forge
by Michael R. Burch

To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,

then bend this way and that, and slowly cool
at arm’s-length, something irreducible
drawn out with caution, toughened in a pool

of water so contrary just a hiss
escapes it—water instantly a mist.
It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...

And then the driven hammer falls and falls.
The horses ***** their ears in nearby stalls.
A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.

A sound of ancient import, with the ring
of honest labor, sings of fashioning.

Published by The Chariton Review, The Eclectic Muse, Trinacria, Poetry Life & Times, and  Famous Poets and Poems

NOTE: This is a sonnet about forging sonnets. The gray "anvil" is the human brain. The fiery "glow" is the poetic imagination. The cooling and shaping are the process of revision. The hammer is the poet's pen, producing order out of chaos. Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, poem, indestructible, irreducible, hammer, anvil, forge, labor, fashioning, shape, smithy, blacksmith, ironworker, sword, pen
Anya Jan 2020
The ring of iron songs
Like hammer and tongs
Speaks words of each page
With knowledge of every age
Colm Jan 2020
A clanging, banging, colossus
Creating cavital void until glowing orange apricot
Bear no more at this youthful age
Before fate of day lets fly another
Don't wait and fade
Strike hot, hot
It is the iron and the sound away
Clang, clang, CLANG!!!! Goes the conquests of my youthful twenties. Legends to some, nightmares to others. Hahaha! Love it!
Mark Toney Oct 2019
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night

Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight

With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight

On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright

Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife

As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right

He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might
5/26/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - In the context of this poem, "Wordsmith" refers to any who attempt to mislead by using lies or disinformation. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Jack Harrell Jul 2019
Somethings I do
Just for me
Paint this picture under my tree
Pull out all my drawers to find one tee

Drive the hammer
to hit the nail
Swing my car  
to set sail

Hit cruise control from my chair
Stare off until I get a cramp
Lay in by bed and make basecamp
Randomly run my fingers through my hair

But that’s fine for me
It’s not all for you
Some parts are lies
Some are true

I can’t have everything I want
So I’ll imagine the rest
Even when I drift off
I’m never at my best

I’ve never fully realized my
Potential
Never completely fulfilled my
Aim

If life is a game
I
Forfeit and forgive
All
Next page