"bulldozers" poems
timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass
timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass
bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix
bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix
on the Earth's mass, bulldozers and axes
vanishing timber habitats, lethal their mix
the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving
the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving
tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes
tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes
preserving and conserving, tree dwelling creatures homes
from eviction, the number one priority
tree felling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed
tree feeling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed
profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed
profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed
unabated the logger's tree felling goes on
satiating greed destroyed, wooded residencies reaped
wood residencies destroyed, on the Earth's mass
served eviction from their homes, tree dwelling creatures
timbered habitats are vanishing, the number one priority
profits to be ever reaped ,bulldozers and axes lethal their mix
tree felling goes on unabated, satiating the logger's greed
where is the preserving and conserving?
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
In this fRaGmEnTeD cage,I hear checkpoint moans;
anticipating our prone-positioned
brothers and sisters held
Prone positions against walls
Prone positions against fences
Prone positions against vehicles
Prone positions against buildings
Prone positions against prone positions
Slam-whacked, bloodied, occupied
like our great nation; like our souls
I remember a prophet's call, " love your neighbor
as yourself "
I hear Palestine weeping from Jenin
to Hebron, from Jerico to Gaza seized
I hear lamentations about blood tales
I see only FrAgMeNtS of our land
I see FrAgMeNtS of our proud people
Lo and behold my Palestine quakes as an earth quake
Doves scatter skyward as a prophetic omen
Blue skies and Sun momentarily claim victory
Then inhumanity's ugly face:
America to its Indians, America to its blacks,
America to women, America to its gays,
America to Mexicans,
America to South and Central America,
America once to Southeast Asia,
America to Islam, America with its war crimes,
America and Israel both innocence died
So, we pray Koran's verses upon our prayer rugs
We gesture all hope
The apartheid surrounds us
The dead talk to us
The smoke surrounds us
Perhaps better days we say
Entwined with bizarre everydayness
we accept sleep with fits
Fits without food;
Fits without crucial welfare
Roads, shelters, mock us
sculptured by missiles and bulldozers
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign of terror
We pray upon our prayer rugs
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign terror
And oooh how those awful missile FrAgMeNtS fly
and Muhammad cries with anguished tears, in this writtened
legacy...in written legacy
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
No sickle bar churns
repetitiously clanging two notes
while grasshoppers and field mice
scurry to survive the blade
Now yellow bulldozers with humongous tires
roar like thunder in a rainstorm and
scrape away black loam leaving
clay as red as fresh beets
There is no funeral for the hay meadow
that is dead and put to rest
without a tombstone
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
In March of 2010 a 46 year old white male was brought to this hospital after a severe 'episode'. He was placed in the Mental Health Intensive Care Unit . He was diagnosed with " Major Depression ". This is considered Slow Death , a treatable disorder by the AMA currently . Artist and Architect will lay out Hallucinations and conceptual designs , Engineers , Mathematicians and Surveyors will coordinate more pills at higher doses because minute details to within fractions of an inch followed by schizophrenia by Earth moving equipment , graders , bulldozers , psychotic episodes , dump trucks , Carpenters and Concrete , bi-polar disorder and Bricklayer will labor different Help treatment methods because the drugs are having absolutely no piece by piece constructing form , pylon , shoring embankments for Steel Worker and Welder ,Pipefitter and Increased risk of suicide was reported for Plumber and all manner of tradesman , supplier and Pharmacist ........
Psychiatrist and Psychologist will formulate a treatment plan which will include drug therapy and counseling sessions with Electrician and patient and Spouse plus other family members if needed in order to reach the island Drowning which will be a difficult task . Emory Hospital is conducting new research because they finally admit to depression drugs not working in Freak more than half the patients today , like every other building bridges in hopes of getting to the island that is depression .
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
You sit on the beach and pick at fish bone
after maggots and flies have had their way,
poke it with a stick, listen to the tide,
wonder what it sounds like underwater.
Whale songs, shark bites, seal birth, and coral
in a circus of clown fish, puffers, and lions.
I dig a hole to bury the carcass,
the bone, no flesh, you name him Sergio.
As the dolphin tide rolls in sand erodes
exposes the burial bone by bone
until it washes to sea like drift wood.
When we were young we captured frogs out back
in the creek in the woods behind your house,
and once I tripped into a small ravine.
We found door sized slabs of concrete or rock
engraved with names and nineteenth century dates.
Civil War gravestones, some professor said,
and they were moved somewhere to some museum.
Later on the news they interviewed us,
and in the background bulldozers dug holes
that exposed some two hundred year old bones,
skeletons and skulls, excavated from burial,
as we smiled to the channel two reporter.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
Waking up one morning
It's a normal kind of day
Only there are bulldozers
on their way
It goes this way:
At the end of your driveway
down to the right
in front of the picket fence
The land is graded
a horizontal drill brought in
made to feel at home
You see,
We you me may own the land
But the mineral rights are theirs
A concrete utility structure goes up,
in what do you think?
About three weeks?
Chemicals are shot
horizontally under the land
under the house
to release the gas from the sand
While the ground water
is fearfully shivering
it knows
its days are numbered.
The concrete utility chimney
pouring out chemical smoke
24 hours a day.
The County says,
"What do you expect us to do?"
The State says
***** You "
Cancer clusters
Sick kids
Chemical water tasting very weird
Guess what?
Whether it be our 89,000
189,000 or 889,000 dollar
American dream home
The dog is going to be
taking a **** in the backyard
claiming ownership.
Welcome to LA too
No matter where you are
Every other day
the earth is shaking
buildings tumbling
Dance Dance Dance
Dots on a map
thousands of them
all around us
coming our way.
Better take a drive
next time on talk radio
"Drill baby Drill"
All hail Exxon
Cars love Shell Gasoline
The old USA
******* gas
And it sure ain't nitrous
cars idoling on a stop and go freeway
finding our true purpose
a grounded oil derreck
for the Koch Brothers
He who pays the piper calls the tune
Oh yeah
Drill baby Drill
I'm heading up Highway 101
The Earth hot and *****
for a new life form
Welcome to the new world order
Welcome to the new USA
Purloined, poisoned, polluted
The United Petro States of America.
Hey Hey Hey
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
Jumping, bouncing and swinging from tree to tree
In a sparse forest just outside a village on the outskirts of Antananarivo
They adapt to the changes flung at them and strive to survive
On the ground a troop leaps sideways side by side in a straight line
What a comical spectacle
However solemn their purpose, they must find a home
The little one abaft of the line
Takes one last glimpse at the home he leaves behind
Oh it’s up in flames now and bulldozers knock down his trees
Beyond, just yonder
Over a hill further down south, the prospect is in sight
A new forest with new opportunities
It’s denser; it hasn't caught the eye of encroaching villagers
They forge on towards it in that spectacular procession
High up in the trees they mark their territory
Males call out to females and they howl in response
The young ones frolic in the underbrush
They mate, they eat, they thrive
Another forced migration
There they go again in that sideways march
More deforestation for infrastructure
There must be leeway for civilization one way or the other
One must wonder now
What future lies in store for these that have no place in government?
Their trails fade away from the Malagasy ecosystem
Their lives hang in a balance at the brink of extinction
Will our grandchildren ever get to appreciate
The extraordinary feats of agility they display
The gymnastics they perform from day to day
On the trees and on the ground in the jungle everyday
Ostentations of dramatic optical presentations
In their furry coats of monochromatic patterns
Perhaps they will disappear and my son’s sons may only get to
Read about them in the has been list of the annals of history
At this rate since erecting urban jungles
Of tar roads and skyscrapers is the order of the day
They might even be able to catch an obscure image of the lemur
In the form of a costumed trapezist mimicking one
Or a twisting contortionist in The Cirque Du Soleil
Nellie Nkosi
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
men see me
little more than a face
legs
****
*******
to you
i am only a hole for you
to stick your **** into.
i am so much more than that.
i have eyes and fingertips
ankles and feet to hold me up as you kick me down.
i was 12 and naive
when i was *****
i was 17 and in love
when i was *****
i was 19 and moving too fast.
when i was *****
did you know that you ***** me?
did it ever cross your tiny ball of grey matter that i meant no when i said it?
that the look on my face was not pleasure
but pleading
for you to stop?
no, it may not have hurt my beautiful little cuntgirl
but it hurt the girl inside my heart
and she hates you
she never wants to see you again.
did you know that you ***** me once?
i was 12
on a tattered couch
reeking of cigarettespotandcatpiss.
and he pushed my head further down
until i gagged
and i gagged
over and over
did you know that you ***** me?
whatever reason.
whatever reason you gave me
will never
could never
heal this anger
and disgust.
i was 17
when he assumed
that i wanted his **** inside me.
and he granted me the favor
over and over
and i loved him too much to say no
but i cried
when it was over.
and i left him in his sad armchair
with his pants around his knees
and my heart on my sleeve
but no more.
i was 19
and i was no longer stupid
i knew that two weeks was too fast
i knew that if he asked, i would say no
i told myself, if he asks, i will say no.
i will tell him no if he asks.
i knew that if he asked, i would say no.
he never asked.
he penetrated
and shoved against me like bulldozers
and left me feeling so cold
with my head on his chest
but you were not the first
and you will probably not be the last
man
to see ME as a hole
for your ****
did you know that you ***** me?
you did.
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC
Sweet wisteria
Weakly protesting their death
By covetous hand
Never had they bloomed
In such profuse abandon
Till those last three years
Trailing sad windows
Lush purple riot of vines
Struggle to protest
One morn I woke to
Roar of angry bulldozers
At the empty house
Nothing there remains
One brief hour quickly shattered
My belovèd home
~Hilda~
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Things didn’t turn out to be the way that
I thought they really would be.
Often times, and more than not, they’re not
done the way that they should be.
It’s approaching that time when I move my
old mountain—this fact is most certainly true.
It’s time that I carve that big old mountain
that is blocking my one and only view.
My fifteen minutes are still on the way—
but coincidentally, I just might need twenty.
You say that there are no silver linings,
but touches of grey are surely plenty.
With time of the essence and all in a hurry,
I’m simmering the meat for the great big stew.
I believe it’s time to move that old mountain,
the one that blocks my incredible view.
Bulldozers, trucks, and backhoes not needed—
I’m thinking it will only require my hands.
For once in my life I’ll go to the source,
the untapped one that even I can’t stand.
So as I tunnel deep while digging in the dirt,
it’s time to find soil that bleeds all blue.
No better time to move that **** mountain—
you will be glad when I’m rid of it too.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
I'm a lightweight and a cheap date.
I've got reassurance in my corner
and I'm willing to stand my ground.
I will not hit the mat.
Even if I fall, I'll probably fall but I will not stay down.
Right hook and I'm on par.
Wounded. But standing.
Round three.
My bout with confidence -- a true heavyweight.
The only thing that will collapse
is a little tent labeled insecurity,
it's a piss-yellow tent they typically set up near the entrance
staffed with two guards built like bulldozers,
who have the longevity of snow -- and fall just as easily
because they know the truth,
because they only speak in lies,
because the only security they offer is the lack thereof,
because they know that I have used words with more purpose
than they harness in any of their possessions.
Jab. Gut. Eye.
Broken.
Vessel.
Skin.
Dizzy.
And I'm fourteen thousand feet above -- and you look radiant awesome,
from up here you look stellar and harmonious.
From up here any omnipresence would be content with its creation.
From up here everything shimmers.
Stars. Blurred. Focus. Pulled.
It's when we get down -- face to face --
on the surface -- in the details --
this is where we find discomfort
embodied in the discontent of being knocked out
by truth.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
Trucks shake wilderness
To its core
Bulldozers make the forest
Its *****
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
You build your walls thick and high
so it won't come crumbling down again,
but they have bulldozers,
and all you have are bricks.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
The ashes fly
From their bowl,
The birdies squeaking
In their hole,
The jets that zoom
Aggressively by;
But I could flick them
From the sky.
The beach is tamed,
Picture the past,
Bulldozers dozing
Through sandblast.
The locals crying
For their lost cove ,
Two white men gloating;
In their self-made
treasure trove.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
When I die
throw my heart
into a dying forest
so that way
when the bulldozers
and the saws
and the cranes
and the shredders
obliterate the tree line
my heart might be
obliterated with it.
When I die
throw my heart
into a dying forest
so that way
i will have topped
every poet
every writer
every lover
who has ever insisted to know
what love, or beauty felt like.
When I die
throw my heart
into a dying forest
so that way
everything i've ever tried to
give you, show you
finally ends up on paper.
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
I was building walls through the middle of the sahara using only cardboard, scotch tape, and bulldozers, when I got bored and decided my time was better spent looking up flowers on the internet that I would never see firsthand
I realized then how I wanted to be someone to follow so I bought an ant farm at Miller's Corner Store, and set them free but not without first covering my whole body in honey and letting it seep through my skin to sweeten my heart
I put the queen in my left shirt pocket
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
You have broken me
Every part
Of my lonely heart
Has been shattered
In millions of pieces
On the floor
I let you break down my walls
Crawl into my mind
And see all the dark parts
I was so scared to let anyone see
But you
You crept in to see the real me
Apparently you didn't like
Everything you were bound to see
And you left
With the door wide open
My walls broken down with bulldozers
Left me in the ruble of the crash
Unbearable and broken
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC
Forests burn in ashen skies
Atmosphere of putrid lies,
Fat Cats write their cheques of gold
Another thousand hectares sold.
Forest fall for short term gain
**** tomorrow's children's pain.
**** the leaden poisoned air
Here and now is all they care,
High grade autos, classy chicks
Snort white powder, cash for kicks.....
Use it all at headlong speed
**** tomorrow...Let it bleed!
Off the Serpent's head I say
Abruptly end the Fat Cheques day.
End the **** of forest green
End the poisoned air obscene.
We owe it to tomorrow's sky,
We fix the problem...or we die.
M.
6 APRIL 2014
And.........
You know the tragedy at hand?
It's that no one here will make a stand;
We'll shake our heads and turn away
And pray that sanity will play.
The Dogs will ride roughshod and bold
Until established stranglehold
To throttle those who dare to caw,
Intimidate with threat and claw.
I've seen it all, I'm sick to say,
The Bulldozers shall have their way.
The Powerful, who write the cheque,
Stack all the cards and rig the deck!
M.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
Mother Earth
Mother Nature gave birth to our world,
So we thanked her for the wood
And complained when it rained.
We’ve only just begun to burn,
Mother nature’s twigs.
We only need the trunks and tusks today;
You can leave the rest for the vultures and the natives.
Burn these trees, they are in our way.
That bird just crapped on me!
Thanks a lot Mother Nature.
He, he.
Move out all the animals, put them in a zoo.
Empty the jungle of life, so the bulldozers can get through.
Shoot them if they get in the way, no-one’s bullet proof.
Hey look! A monkey! Let’s shoot it with pollution…Shame on you!
Did you hear about Sam?
I know! He got torn up;
By that thorny bush and that tigers lunge.
Mother Nature. She never thinks of us;
While we work **** hard,
To bulldoze her jungles.
Mother Earth indeed!
She doesn’t care about us…
Her Destroyers.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
Broken spirits.
Walls of brick.
Smouldering pavements.
Fractured sticks.
Butterfly struggling sky.
Bright red admiral before thine eyes.
This admiral is not military.
Laying claim only to flower beds.
Bulldozers.
Not sleeping cattle.
Digging up landscape.
Hearing them rattle.
Lady birds in pretty spots.
Eating aphids'.
All they got.
Before they fly away home.
Perished woodwork.
Children gone.
Nothing better than mini beasts.
Once they were insects.
Now they're deceased.
-----------------------------
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
THE ARTIST'S SOLILOQUY*
I reproduce the world
in pictures
man in himself
in life
and in the universe
this eternal inter-play
is the sanctum
of all my works
I am a visionary
(a humble one
but no less sensitive)
I cry more than I laugh
as the world is the place
where mankind's tears fall
without end
due to man's own making
the heart desires
what it should not
for things
that don't sanctify
but man is weak
and morally falls
too easily
and drowns
in the nameless sea
nature weeps
for the callousness and greed
of man
who has her beauty defiled
and marred
progress
what progress?
it's just the breeding-ground
of greed and indifference
bulldozers knock
down the trees
chemicals pollute the seas
grasslands and fields
are sacrificed for construction
land has turned into concrete--dirty and ugly
as I paint
my heart
is heavy-laden
and I ask
over and over again
what has happened to man?
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
I can hear the gasping of a dying child
covered in dusty rubble,
even though there is a howl occupying my ears.
The flaming metal of their incendiary bombs
throws up clouds of smoke
that mingle with the dust, and obscure
the worst of the horrors.
Give thanks that you are spared of those horrors,
be glad you are unaware of the children
who cannot imagine a future
where they can be guaranteed of anything,
except the whistle of the bombs,
as they descend on the innocent,
the jagged shriek of the rifle fire as it rips
another child apart,
and the clatter of the ceasless treads
of the lumbering bulldozers,
that level whole communities.
Nothing that we are
can be allowed any peace.
We only wish to be,
to them our being is an outrage.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Sunset burns
in my eyes
like a piece of nostalgia
not yet extinguished
at the border
of steel and soil
shadows stretch long
become a silent giant
bearing the weight of all these years
standing still in the fissure
of time
at the street corner where
town meets countryside
I remember the sparkling beach
waves murmur in foam
lapping the shores of memory
on the other side
it's the roar of bulldozers
the arousal of city’s neon
sinking into a soft sofa
is what many dwellers here call life
two souls twist in the night
loneliness heavier than our skeletons
two unfamiliar thoughts pressed
in a momentarily illusion
breaths synced like a metronome
falling and rising
searching for any place to land
wind tapping the windowpane
bringing the paleness of dawn
behind us
who are numb to the passion
mountains stretch on
silent and strong
lifting a vast sky
beneath it all
is the weave of city and country
the tangle of dreams and reality
and the countless footsteps
of the faceless
setting out again, fading down the hall
in the morning
faint click of a door
sealing off the shape of
a little comfort.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
Once upon a time,
we lived in Shangri-log
It was hollow and cozy
and safe from the fog
We built us a kitchen,
out of sticks and stuff
We built benches and shelter
and swept away the duff
We were working on the hill,
early that spring
Away from our log,
when the bear gave a ring
He raided all of our salty snacks,
and even some of our liquor stash!
And all he left was a big bear mess,
and a pile of.. I'll let you guess...
So we learned our lesson, no more storing food
We cleaned up camp and life was good
But we had to return to our toil
Spreading horse ****
amending soil
The next time we returned
to our big round squat
Something was wrong,
but we didn't know what..
We decided not to worry
and we had a party
We were lit up all night
and the sky was starry...
As the sun was coming up,
the time for sleep rolled around
But as we laid down to rest,
we heard a startling sound...
Beep! Beep! Beep! Filled the air!
And a churning of trees!
They were clearing the area,
We needed to flee!
We snatched up some things,
hid the rest in a stump
Our buddy was collapsing
his tent on the run
We got to the commune,
but no sleep would be found...
We all were uneasy about
bulldozers on ground
At the end of the day,
When the workers were gone
We dashed up the hill,
to check on our zone
Our camp was untouched,
Our things were all fine
But the brush had been cleared
all under the power lines...
And since our log was exposed, it was time to go
(I think we can take a hint, dontcha know...)
We cleaned everything up,
Tore everything down
Well almost everything,
Our old bed's still around
The years have gone by,
The brush has regrown..
It's hard not to wish we could live in our old home...
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
Worrier of the world
We reap what we sow
Forget the answers to
questions once asked
Plea for forgiveness
Holding on tightly,
As if it were our last
Clinging to the brink of death
We remember to forget
We remember to forget
You can’t escape the inevitable
It won’t last
We get lost in metaphors
and allegories and rhymes
None of which make any sense
History repeats itself everyday
We remember to forget
We remember to forget
The blinding bridges
The winding pathways
That led us to demises
we never knew existed
Before reality hit us
Like a ton of bricks
hidden in a sock
We’re all lost, lost
In a tangled web of all the lies
we've been told
The eyes we peered into
Weren't the windows to the soul
But an open doorway
To secret realms we had
yet to explore
We raged fires on and on
Into the dead of night
We remember to forget
We remember to forget
What future truly lies ahead
For all of us, we’re borrowers of time
leaking off the mysterious invisible clock
The hands are broken, and we simply forgot
All that ever was, will eventually be lost
Never to be found again, buried so deeply
Bulldozers will be summoned to unearth
The secrets we shoveled into the ground
Some long lost years ago
We remember to forget
We remember to forget
So we can all rest peacefully
when we finally lose our heads.
© 2014 Christina Jackson
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC