"chainsaw" poems
they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.
in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.
she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.
the demon version is grisly and cruel.
the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.
to conjure some
thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
i. "Why did the number of parking tickets spike
when Persephone was carried off to the underworld?
Demeter wasn't working."
She liked greek mythology puns.
It was a good thing I was creative.
ii. Truth or Dare, I asked her what
was the best decision she's ever made.
she answered with, "In 7th grade I named my puppy Achilles,
so when I saw him I could say, 'Achilles, heel!'"
iii. It took me two weeks to realise that
when we held hands, I wasn't really
holding her hand, but a chainsaw,
ready to slash through anything that stood in our way like
Hercules chopping off the Hydra's head.
I was immortal.
iv. August eleventh; 9 PM
we watched for the meteor shower.
I connected the freckles splayed upon her knee,
told her they looked like the constellation of Cassiopeia.
"Be Sirius" she jested.
v. She had a bad habit
of smoking at the beach and I
Wondered if she knew that with
every single flick of ash into the water,
Poseidon was cursing her to the River Styx.
vi. Headaches visited her often, I joked that
maybe she was getting ready to birth
a Goddess from her cranium. She
did not find it clever.
vii. You could say we became like Aphrodite and
Hephaestus. I, longing for her. She,
lusting after another. A synonym for her
headaches would be me.
viii. Apparently if you hack off a Hydra head, two
would grow to replace it. Knowing this sooner
probably would have saved me from numerous
amounts of Kleenex and chocolate.
ix. She left me a note on the dresser,
"Fun fact: Medusa's favourite cheese was
Gorgon-zola. PS - you remind me
of Medusa, please remember to brush your hair."
She reminds of Medusa as well, I do not doubt that if we
meet again, her eyes would still turn me into
stone.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
Let me tell you the story of my death:
Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!
*"Exist beyond my death, oh please...
So I could live in bliss at least."*
But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. **** selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.
*A massacre,
... a massacre of my every being!!*
I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "papers", the poems you lead...
Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.
I died a hero,
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
Every inch of my body is screaming, blazed with fire
There's lightning between my shoulder blades
Rain dripping from my dewy greens
And electricity weaving between my tendons
There is a chainsaw cutting my bones
There are needles piercing through my chest
There is lava rushing through my veins
There is a hurricane in my head
I can feel my cells shrinking
I can feel my branches breaking
I can feel my leaves crumbling
Everything hurts and there is no remedy
This is the life of inevitable misery
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
My girlfriend is upset,
and I have no idea why
For some reason she's mad,
and for some reason I made her cry
I tried to calm her down,
but she wouldn't look at my face
She told me to leave her alone,
and that I'm a rotten disgrace
I tried to speak to her,
but she did not want to tell
I tried to ask her what went wrong,
but she told me to go to hell
She did not cook me dinner,
so we ate Chinese take-out
I tried to smile and start a conversation,
but she just sat there with her pout
I wonder what I must have done,
to unleash such unholy wrath
I tried to figure it out,
I tried to do the Math
My girlfriend was trying to **** me,
and settle some unknown score
She tried to hit me with a frying pan,
and chase me out the door
I fear for my life,
my girlfriend has turned into a witch
Now she's got a chainsaw,
and she just turned on the switch
Her eyes were glowing red,
and she spat out blasphemy
She came at me with the chainsaw,
and I almost jumped out the balcony
I never saw her this worked up,
I must really be at severe fault
She was always so loving and kind,
but now all those things were at a halt
I tried to recollect if it was something I did,
or could it have been something I said?
Was I just a terrible boyfriend?
or was I just awful in bed?
As she chased me and I ran,
I wondered what started this vicious spat
It suddenly struck me and then I remembered,
Oh yes... I called my girlfriend FAT.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
The opening night,
in front of packed house.
The story, a fight,
between a cat and a mouse.
The cat with her guile and
the mouse, all the while.
Powers up a fuckin' chainsaw
with a knowing wry smile.
So never bet against the mouse
with either money or your house
because the crafty **** takers
have slashed the odds at bookmakers
as to what's in the pies
at the new high street bakers.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Traveling backwards through time;
To give Mother a chainsaw abortion.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Her Father's old wool jacket,
from Johnson Mills,
in creamy white,
dark forest green,
golden amber,
in a lovely patchwork,
A soft dark winter tuke on her head,
that dark green in the background,
with rusty speckles on her cheeks,
Wet snow falls silent,
the sky is a crisp Winter blue,
the air is cold and clear,
& intoxicatingly clean,
As she breathes life in and out,
then,
looking down at her black Sorel boots
and her worn black denim jeans,
a nice old holey wool sweater,
and a maul,
A **** lumberjack?
Maybe...
Dressed to hack the wood,
the plumber thinks so,
he stops by,
a friend of hers,
sorta,
Huh?
Not invited,
but no one is around here,
we all do it,
so he helps too,
Hey I'll make lunch,
harmless flirting,
I suppose,
Because,
wood warms you 3 times they say,
Once to chop it,
two to stack it RIGHT,
three to bring it in & burn it,
But if you count the starting of the,
cantankerous chainsaw & the guy,
helping you,
And you hafta arrange & rearrange, everything,
cleaning the flue and chimney,
I'd say a few more than that,
& don't ferget to pay the man,
the cantankerous one,
Yeah he got lunch too,
and about them ashes,
could be pretty hot,
take 'em out regular,
that stove cranking too,
OUCH,
She ends up gets burned,
a few times each year,
Taday,
she's on step too,
as she picks up the heavy maul,
not to heavy for this gal,
all the way back,
watch yourself,
As a neighbor winches,
a woman chopping wood?
Yup.
That's right,
a way of life,
for her,
always has been,
poised and ready,
swing and smack,
if you hit it right,
you hear a crack,
Just like a baseball bat,
hitting a homer,
Big pieces,
are made more manageable,
when you don't try to control the force,
when you let the sharpened maul,
Do all the work,
for you.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
I am nobody,
I am nothing,
I hate me,
this is the truth.
I am the enemy,
my own worst enemy,
I am a victim;
I am a fool.
I am who I am,
a useless man,
I am weak,
I am fearful.
I am rejected,
I have accepted
that I am pathetic,
I am a tool.
Life is pointless,
so very pointless,
until the day I finally meet you.
Then I am able,
so very able
to open my heart and start anew.
I am humble,
I am willing,
I am ready,
to start rebuilding.
I am caring,
I am loving,
I am happy
to say 'I do'.
I am sharing,
my heart mending,
I love me because I love you.
Time passes,
we are fighting,
you get upset and say 'we're through'.
I am checking,
I am questioning,
I am worried,
I can take no more.
You lied to me,
you used me,
I am banging on the bedroom door.
You broke me,
you hurt me,
I break it down and enter with force.
You are screaming,
you are running,
I am about to settle the score.
I am pulling,
I am yanking
on the chainsaw starter cord.
You are crying,
you are begging,
then the engine begins to roar.
I look down and remind you
I am an artist to the very core.
I am sculpting,
I am painting
I am writing,
a metaphor.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
Sea serpents still smash ships
In the dark seas of my subconscious,
Devilish legends roam
Giggling, chainsaw wielding
Masked maniacs are at home
Hunting and being hunted
By whip wielding antiheroes
With black leather biker outfits, with the right sleeve missing
The theater of my Id charges a penny admission
Sold my soul for a remote control
My mind ruled by visual opiates
Of violence and flesh
Creative outlets come
In sporadic outbursts
That ****** your imagination,
What some men call horror
I call liberation.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 7:21 AM UTC
My father says he’s not sexist
He taught me how to work a circuit breaker
But only my brother learned how to install light fixtures
My father says he’s not sexist
He taught me how to mow a lawn
But only my brother learned how to work a chainsaw
My father says he’s not sexist
He bought me slacks for a program
But only after saying I look better in skirts
My father says he’s not sexist
He encouraged me to play soccer
But only got excited when my brother played
My father says he’s not sexist
He told me to be confident with my body
But he told me that I need to work out more
My father says he’s not sexist
He said that he’d love my hair no matter how I style it
But he’s forbidden me to let it be less than 5 inches
My father says he’s not sexist
He wanted me to speak my mind
But he rolled his eyes when I stated my opinions
My father says he’s not sexist
He insisted that both of his children were equal
But only his son gets rewarded for doing what’s expected of him
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
My beautiful Oak stood nobly on its own
It embraced my troubled mind and all my deeds condone
And when its sickly leaves lay crushed upon the soil
They would cushion me in comfort
as Id dream there for awhile
A chainsaw massacre!!! How can this be?
Some dammed blind fool your beauty couldn't see
No passion or affection, this man knows
His love a plastic piece or chalk repose
Things without a life , like this mans heart
He looks upon and calls a work of art
At his uncultured hands, your acquittance bell did tone
To see your life all drained has chilled me to the bone
All my innocence and youth has been severed
with your mighty root
My embittered heart or so it seems
has cursed the man that killed my Oak
And all my dreams
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
you needed each other
though neither of you yet knew it
each ingesting what each season offered
growing beyond near defeats
each winter bare and shivering
each summer consuming broad and open
laughing all the while
showing bridges
between deep past and next season
neither existing without the water
the other poured willingly
one for the blinding yet nurturing
impending solar singularity
and the other for the pleasant aroma
and the welcoming blossom
and the predictability
the companionship
and when you
our beautiful ample matriarch left us
so did your sister
and her leaves fell
and then her petals
and her pistol
stamen
limbs
as if weeping for the loss of her confidante
when you
my mischievous sponsor
when you fell
so did your rival in beauty
i used a chainsaw
i tossed away her lifeline
turned off the faucet and tossed the hose
stacked her limbs on the curb
for the garbage truck
they wont let you
bury trees at the cemetery any more
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
"Muffle the sound
like a chainsaw
to a birdsong.
Fowl play,
I suspect
foul play.
We owe
something.
Risk & rivalry
over silence."
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
the little tree
took root from
an acorn nut.
the years passed,
she watched the loggers
come and go.
taking her friends
and family off
on the big beds
of the timber trucks.
year after year,
season after season,
there she stood,
winter, fall, spring, and summer,
one slow grow.
first she was short,
barely a spurt,
then she branched out,
and up and up and up.
the trees stood
all around her,
so serious,
oh so silent company.
however,
never a mean word nor
loud shout was ever heard.
never any other music
but for that of the birds,
and the wind and the sun
and
the creatures walking the
woodland floor,
those traveling through to
far distant exotic lands.
at least she never heard
“girl, you are some fat tree.”
or was the target of any joke,
“when you sit around the house,
you sit AROUND the house.”
nor any
“you gotta do something with them leaves,
they are looking like a rat’s nest.
Oh i see, it IS a squirrel’s nest.”
or for a stray bump or large hideous growth
no one ever said,
“you better go get that removed,
that's one ugly lump!"
years and years passed,
her soul inside,
couldn’t be heard,
not a word.
then one day,
the fellows came through,
looking and measuring,
measuring and looking,
out came the chainsaw.
eyes alighting on she,
on all of her
tall, majestic beauty.
with swift, quick work
she fell,
down,
to the earth.
loaded on the flatbed,
chains wrapped securely around,
engine roared to life,
and she took off,
racing into the darkening night.
she knew tears did fall
as forests thinned
and were laid bare,
but all she could think,
all she could say,
was
“so long suckers!
i’ll see you on broadway one day!”
and so it became true,
her dream of yore,
it was finally in,
Radio City Music Hall,
she landed as the floor.
night after night
to her lasting delight
tap dancers tapped
making her sing
bringing out the music
in she
so previously
imprisoned inside,
for so long.
sanded and polished
varnished and cleaned,
her secret inner beauty
finally brought to life,
finally brought into the light.
she beamed and sighed,
every time a new star
stepped on to her,
to her extreme delight.
any day or night,
when every eye of
the house,
every one of the audience
was riveted on she.
oh what a thrill
when the Radio City Rockettes
did finally come out,
for only for she
could they dance
so straight,
so evenly.
Sometimes i look
at the woods laid bare.
my heart drops low
so sad i feel,
a tear spills out.
then i recall,
the tale of this tree,
the little acorn nut,
how a trip to
a city,
made her so
lastingly
happy &
so very
pretty!
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Resting couched and cross-legged
by the hearth at Old Faithful Inn
I read of fire-seared Montana.
My restive mind roams back
a century and a half
to when flames ruled Yellowstone -
cracking open Lodgepole cones -
spending seeds on blackened soil.
Youthful pines soared skyward:
tutored by seven score seasons
of showers, frost and sun
nourished by leaf-meal and char.
Then loggers came to notch their trunks
and sent them arcing to the forest floor.
Carpenters fixed them to the wall
where the moose head stares me down.
Montana pine cones crackle as I read.
After soaking rains have quenched the flames,
those seeds will rise to giant towers
before yielding to the whine of chainsaw teeth.
A gray haired man will enter
a rustic Montana lodge,
a coffee mug clutched in one hand,
the morning paper in the other
and sit fire-warmed by a granite hearth
set in a wall of Lodgepole Pines.
January, 2007
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Do you ever sit and dwell on thoughts
of your old, unrewarding crushes?
They're always the world at first, but over time
their personalities begin to decay.
And sadly, I still believe
I caught a glimpse of something real
through the seams
of a stitched-up heart,
even though many truths were spoken in jest.
I will continue nail-chewing,
nervously,
'cause I can still taste their salt on me;
Never regretting-- yet, denying-- the deafening growl
of my chainsaw libido overpowering theirs,
as it cut right through,
leaving our bodies in a lifeless spoon.
This somehow helped me to overcome that kind of rejection
when I was still tangible to the elitists I wished would keep
out of my reach.
But now, I've paid my dime
to come to terms with the cool of the discomfort
crashing down around me, like
a black raspberry avalanche.
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Do not ask why you are here,
Treading the waters of a
Planet leaving tears on the
Straight razor held
Firmly to her throat by her
Children.
You are here to dance your life
Out from birth to dust
On the floor between Satan and
Seraph, between kind and
Selfish. Between
Poet and predator.
Know that a light heart, love
For yourself and others; a
Whispered gratitude for the
Smallest of things, is the tallest
Tree in Paradise.
Anger is an axe.
And fear. Fear is a chainsaw.
See the flower; ignore the
Thorns.
Look past the hurtful comment;
More often than not, it was a tickle,
Not a slap.
Be the finger that begins the easing
Of the grip around the razor's
Handle. Form an open hand upon
The face of our blue mother.
Kiss her. Kiss her every sweet
Tear of relief.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
If you were a shrub, you would be a good shrub!
Hello! SNIFF You smell different when you're awake! (Courtesy of Kollitiki)
I hate a lot of people, but you are not one of them. I also hate ducks. WOW do I ever hate ducks.
Hi there! Will you marry me?
Wanna come over to my place? I'll show you all 89.3 of my cats!
Hey babe, you wanna buy me a drink? Oh, no just water. I'm not allowed alcohol in this bar since the chainsaw incident last month with my exboyfriend....
Look babe, I know this sounds like one of those fake sobs stories made up to get you laid, but how about coming home with me? I have a terminal illness and it would just make my life complete if you would come home with me. Thank you so much baby, bless your soul. Oh, what illness? Ummm ...leprosy....
Tries to be seductive with scalp and elbows
I LOVE YOUR FAAAACE!!!!!!! (Courtesy of the ever brilliant Spencer Craig)
Your left eyebrow is ****
I don't care about my dates having good hair or a lack of BO, so you and I should date.
HIIIIIIIII I BAKED YOU A SALAD!!!
Here is a fire extinguisher gorgeous ;) .......Sorry for lighting you on fire...
Hey babe, did anyone ever tell you? Your eyes are as green as um those green sticky note thingies they sell at Walmart, and your hair is the color of frying pans.
Hey cute thing, wanna hear a fun fact? It is physically impossible to lick your elbow. Well, I mean, for you. I meant to say it is physically impossible for YOU to lick your elbow, I could lick your elbow if I wanted, that would be physically possible. (demonstrates your ability to lick the "cute-thing's" elbow) HEY WAIT COME BACK!
HEY! WANNA SEE MY SNOWMAN COLLECTION???????
I have your name tattooed on my **** wanna see? (Courtesy of The Girl Who Loved You)
Did you fall from heaven? Cause you look a little banged up... (Courtesy of The Girl Who Loved You)
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
By the time he'd hit eighty, he was something out of Ovid,
his long beak thin and hooked,
the fingers of one hand curled and stiff.
Still, he never flew. Only sat in his lawn chair by the highway,
waving a *** wing at passing cars.
I was a timid kid, easily spooked. And it seemed like touchy gods
were everywhere—in the horns
and roar of diesels, in thunder, wind, tree limbs thrashing
the windows at night.
I was ashamed to be afraid of my grandfather.
But the hair on his ears!
The cackle in his throat!
Then on his birthday, my mother coaxed me into the yard.
I carried the cake with the one tiny candle
and sat it on a towel in the shade.
I tried not to tremble,
but it felt like gods were everywhere—in the grimy clouds
smothering the pine tops, the chainsaw
in Cantrell's woods—everywhere, everywhere,
and from the look of the man
in the lawn chair, he'd ****** one off.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
Ive
got that
Killer Herbal
The **** that make you
lose your mind,
and rob a convenience store
with a chainsaw.
The **** that make you
throw away everythin
and ******
love it.
That **** that
makes you say
God ****
I feel alive again!
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
she'd been placed
on a missing persons register
she was last seen
walking to the shopping precinct
her whereabouts didn't get solved
for some time
police had no positive leads
from the public
a full scale search was conducted
but nothing new
came to light
she'd just disappeared
like a wisp of air
some twelve months later
a jogger happened upon her
upper torso in amongst
the Taylor lagoon's
reeds and muddy sludge
this discovery was something concrete
for the police to go on
a forensic unit scoured the area
in the hope of finding further body parts
and other evidence
a state by state missing persons
search began
to try and identify the victim
who'd met with a ghastly end
in the autopsy report
it stated that she'd been
sawn into pieces
with a chainsaw
as the marks on her thoracic cavity
and neck
indicated this...
the detective sergeant
complied the information
he had on the lady
for a brief in court
as luck would have it
she had breast implants
and on them was found
a code number
by tracing this number
and the hospital who performed
the surgery
pay dirt was hit
she was a resident of Kentucky
who'd gone missing
in July of two thousand and fifteen
a chainsaw murderer
did the deed
as six female victims
were found
across three other states
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
Worry is a scurvy rat
It is a man's main bane
It chews on your self esteem
It nibbles at your brain
It will take your precious time
Your energies will claim
It will hobble your very life
It will make you lame
You may try to capture it
But that is all in vain
Doubt is like a cancer
It eats at your bones
It takes breath from your very lungs
It turns your mind to stone
It makes you feel incomplete
It makes you weep and moan
Under it's all-nagging pain
You will retch and groan
It is resistant to all cures
And you cannot atone
Fear is like a little death
It turns the heart to straw
It strikes like a rattlesnake
With poison in its maw
It's like a fascist dictator
Who makes the harshest laws
It can take your greatest strength
Make it pernicious flaw
Like a sadistic doctor
With a large chainsaw!
How can a person battle
Worry, Doubt and Fear?
How can our lives get better?
How can we have cheer?
Jack Daniels has no answer
It's not Budweiser beer...
It may be elusive
At first just like a wraith
But once you have a hold on it
*The answer is our FAITH.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/27/2016
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
I recall hearing that term once in high school,
"Urban forestry", a paradox, seemingly and yet,
That is exactly what it is.
Strips of land sanction to be aesthetically pleasing.
For whom, I have not a clue.
I would have preferred a lane or so,
Over the regular 8' by 1' square of trimmed trees.
I also grimace within the grace
Of those knotted furled fists toward a sky asking WHY!?
After a much calmer gardener had pondered the same word
Underneath his humming chainsaw
(Though probably for a more debatable material world)
Amongst other cuboid amputations.
Not to mention those solid soldiers
Whose attention is really standing dead in plain sight until
Wrinkled pavement is not enough ground to hold.
Then our hero makes local news in an inhumane, absolutely atrocious,
Final act of trespassing, vandalism, homicide, and suicide.
Of course nobody saw it coming.
Undetected and decayed for half a decade.
With so so many Ys it is easier to yelp for for those Xs
Crossing against our assumed perfect grids and parallels
To those stories of stacking passed from older cries
For HELP! Though those did not settle quite so well
So I proceed passing over a particularly loud leaf
Amidst this dry pondering
And snap out of the whats and whys and wheres
To take another look around at my illustrious
Urban Forest.
Unto a more practical pensive test,
Which side of that phrase,
Burdens the winning emphasis?
Well, still warblers and sparrows to inspire a song
For how this within time shall also pass along.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:48 AM UTC