#rake - Hello Poetry

Inside my heart there lives a snake Maliciously it slithers around It's poisoned fangs poised to bite In fright I don't utter a sound In my garden I left a rake Lying littered on the ground Around it the leaves dance chaos Workers never to be found All this destruction life likes to make It's swirling confusion does astound Until my heart and home it wrecks And burns both of them to the ground

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Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC

sarah-strack

Snake in my heart

Inside my heart there lives a snake Maliciously it slithers around It's poisoned fangs poised to bite In fright I don't utter a sound In my garden I left a rake Lying littered on the ground Around it the leaves dance chaos Workers never to be found All this destruction life likes to make It's swirling confusion does astound Until my heart and home it wrecks And burns both of them to the ground

12

"It's all your fault" The Leaf Blower complains "Well, now you've gone and done it" the Rake, my supposed friend admonishes me My head is buzzing Says the Leaf Blower, "Always favoring him over me" Ms. Leaf Blower and I have never gotten along, Me, because of my seeming inability to properly use her, and the irritation when my dad could and asked me to hold the wire for him Her, because of my, from a very young age, obvious favoritism towards Mr. Rake, who used to be my best friend until he passed away and my family disposed of his plastic remains His predecessor, Rake junior, is far sharper than his old man But rather than make him a better rake this simply adds to his narcissism Unfortunately, this increases his attraction as well and each time he's swept about it's not just the leaves that are unearthed Despite this obvious flaw in his being overly sharp, he sees it fit to admonish me for breaking Ms. Leaf Blower Don't think I can't see the two of you flirting out there! But indeed I did, Break her that is, clearly none of the wires were pulled out yet, she refuses to work So now, I'm left with a sullen rake And a thousand- Scratch that, A seemingly never ending yard full of leaves

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Mar 24, 2019

Mar 24, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC

CynicalStrawberry

I was asked to Clean the Lawn (My imagination Gone Wild)

"It's all your fault" The Leaf Blower complains "Well, now you've gone and done it" the Rake, my supposed friend admonishes me My head is buzzing Says the Leaf Blower, "Always favoring him over me" Ms. Leaf Blower and I have never gotten along, Me, because of my seeming inability to properly use her, and the irritation when my dad could and asked me to hold the wire for him Her, because of my, from a very young age, obvious favoritism towards Mr. Rake, who used to be my best friend until he passed away and my family disposed of his plastic remains His predecessor, Rake junior, is far sharper than his old man But rather than make him a better rake this simply adds to his narcissism Unfortunately, this increases his attraction as well and each time he's swept about it's not just the leaves that are unearthed Despite this obvious flaw in his being overly sharp, he sees it fit to admonish me for breaking Ms. Leaf Blower Don't think I can't see the two of you flirting out there! But indeed I did, Break her that is, clearly none of the wires were pulled out yet, she refuses to work So now, I'm left with a sullen rake And a thousand- Scratch that, A seemingly never ending yard full of leaves

20

While Raking Fall Leaves in grass I wondered if poems Of modern things Would endure— This line, a rake’s pause: Doubt, hope, and Uncertainty tangled Like stems in the teeth. Keats and Burns Still hum in the wind, But what of the poets Who post at midnight, Their lines lit by screens And caffeine? I recall the forecast— Rain, maybe frost— And how Frost went “Out, Out—” Over a chainsaw, Not a saw. The tool changed. The cut stayed clean.

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Nov 6, 2025

Nov 6, 2025 at 10:30 PM UTC

photodude

Poetic Succession

While Raking Fall Leaves in grass I wondered if poems Of modern things Would endure— This line, a rake’s pause: Doubt, hope, and Uncertainty tangled Like stems in the teeth. Keats and Burns Still hum in the wind, But what of the poets Who post at midnight, Their lines lit by screens And caffeine? I recall the forecast— Rain, maybe frost— And how Frost went “Out, Out—” Over a chainsaw, Not a saw. The tool changed. The cut stayed clean.

22