Excavator poems on Hello Poetry

Jesse LaPointe Dec 2012

A lonely warrior of dust and dirt
Taking eternity off his metal shoulders
Perched atop a mountain of enemies
Narrowing down the endless battles to be waged

Lora Lee Apr 2016

Archeology

I am an
emotional
      archeologist
digging d
                 e
                        e
                                p
into the contours
of the heart
trying to discern
what spots
need tender healing,
how to treat and
soothe its
fissured parts
I am a soul-mind
                   excavator
discerning
temperature and hue
measuring the depths
of textures
as we get down
to the root
We work hard,
my team and I
mapping earthen layers
we use the implements
                     of wisdom
to try and heal
this pain acute
and as we gently
cut through the strata
of history, of scars
I know that this
         explorer's work
is worth it
for we will reach up
to the stars
So we continue on
in patience,
into the
blazing core
      like truth-warriors
like healers
      unlocking secret
ancient treasures
that will rise up
to the
fore

#pain #letting #ourselves #soul-searching

Marshal Gebbie Nov 2009

The Victoria Park Tunnel

The peace in this seclusion
Of a tranquil park in green,
With stately trees of ancient years
And walkways in between
There's deep shade under foliage
With sunspots everywhere,
And a velvet sense of peacefulness
Pervading in the air.

But:
Should you step beyond the green grass,
Should you venture onto seal,
An abrupt and harsh transition
Manifests, as quite unreal!
There's a cacophony of engine noise,
The headlong rush of cars,
A kaleidoskope of steel and glass
And frantic men from Mars!

The grind of wasted hours
With inertia breeding dread
And putting up with maniac's
Ignoring stop lights turning red.
There's a quagmire of congestion here
A head ache for the Tsar's
And for myriads of people
Who queue daily in their cars.

There's a White Knight in the future,
There's salvation in the air
For the God's of your deliverance
Will relieve you of despair.
They will forge a mighty tunnel
Deep beneath the grassy park
And divert congested traffic
Out beyond congestion's arc.

Melding with the motorway
To make breathing space for all,
The Victoria Park Alliance
Guarantees their clarion call.
Energetic men and women
Who are planning round the clock,
Engineers and excavator's slave
To work without a stop.
Concrete slab and steel amass
To build the tunnel strong
And sleek attenuators
Keep the traffic flowing on.

Salvation in the form
Of a tunnel underground
Beneath the spreading boughs
Of an oak in green surround,
Beneath the peaceful turf
Of a verdant park as planned,
Found amidst the million souls
Of Auckland, New Zealand.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Auckland City
New Zealand
6 November 2009
www.worthyofpublishing

mjad Jan 2019

Terrain

My head is against the hard plastic, my hair softening the uncomfortable edge
I catch a sliver of the snowstorm when I look out, blocked by his silhouette
My hands place themselves on his waist, preparing for the worst
Lips on lips feeling the unequal pressure and my heart feels it's cursed
My chest feels strange as he transfers his kisses and finds my hands
I feel him pressing against me and I sink myself into the stained fabric as far away as I can
My body tenses and my mind tells it to stop but it doesn't understand
His movements are choppy as he tries to explore the new terrain
Does he know this terrain is 17 years young
Because the ground can tell the excavator is at least 21
Teeth collide with my lips and I cringe at the lack of skills for a man
My eyes drift to the snow outside the warm well used minivan
Wishing how badly I could be a snowflake on the other side of the glass
I pull my sweater up
And let him take off my bra clasp by clasp
But I don't want him
I don't want this to last

#underage #*** #assault #heart #21 #young #man #girl #mistake #regret

SG Holter Jul 2014

Of Broken Things, and Fixing

There's something in his
Eyes. That construction worker
With more dirt on him
Than the ground.

I recognize you, I say
To the reflection in the
Excavator window.
You look like the guy she

Fell in love with.
Not the one
She left.
Perhaps I should change

Back into him again, or
Just not. Me: Yet another thing
That wasn't broken until
I started fixing it.

Anto MacRuairidh Jan 2016

Blood Diamond

already I feel empty

still...the mining of my heart
continues apace
...the riches are almost
fully depleted now
...and still I open the gates
to 'this claim' with hope
each time you arrive in your
grimacing excavator.

I watch as the
gallows **** heap
that is soon to replace
my once priceless gems
grows in ugliness
in the full knowledge
that you are already
prospecting elsewhere

Olivia Heron Oct 2018

Seasonal Anxiety

Bright heat shelters me,
Absorbing doubt into a glowing orb.
A cocoon,
wrapping me up in silky denial
And
offering the freedom to pretend.

Crisp air weaves it’s way between my bones,
Shedding burs
into every notch.
The prickle in my neck taps Morse into the skull,
The truth that looms like Babadook:

      The excavator of ideas
       is a soulless body
       that only dreams
      of digging the earth.

Suspended in-security,
turning thoughts to stone.
The chisel makes its mark

My hands are tied, the artist is fear.

John Edward Smallshaw Nov 2014

jacks hammer

There's a dinosaur
outside my door
making such a row
I think it's called an excavator,
I call it a selfish cow.

What a noise
can hardly sleep
dig,dig,dig,and
beep,beep.beep
I think that when it's in reverse
it's filling in the holes it digs
and that is even worse.

What a waste of bleedin' time
diggin' holes outside of mine
fillin' in with concrete mix
building homes with
stickle brix
I wish the thing would go away
I need to sleep a bit today.

In ten million years from now
that ****** rotten
selfish cow
will be extinct and
so will I.

morallygray Apr 2023

remember?

A balance beam
the edge of the sidewalk

Excavator escapades
the sandpit

Sundry scenes eclipsing face
Mom's cooking

Turn around
Nothing

Star BG Apr 2017

A Poet Is

A poet is like excavator,
digging through cave like walls of self
even when dark visions come.

A poet is like ballerina,
using words with poetic power
to spin thoughts inside readers mind.

A poet is like hiker,
walking up mountain with stored words
to be sorted out inside quiet.

A poet is like farmer,
planting a crop of words to help grow
a new perspectives for reader.

A poet is like a painter,
creating a masterpiece to excite
conveying visions with their gifts.

A poet is a human,
opening their precious heart
as they share a personal reflection.

A poet is like a pregnant female
laboring to birth a creative work
for the world to see and feel.

A poet is me,
who writes, to tame a raging sea of words within.
Who writes with her passion and heart.

StarBG © 2017

poet, passion, heart, writer

matthew scott harris Aug 2017

Hurricane Harvey Landfall August 27th, 2017

This long time doodling Yankee
(who calls Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania LV
plus III four seasons visited
upon swath of topography to see
and hear flora and fauna over run
via industrialization he doth experience pity
sympathy, humanity deafening cacophony undermining
once abundant bounty, which mutiny
upon bounty outwits mother nature
in this REAL LIFE “GAME” of jeopardy
where survival of the fattest dominates avast geography
thence a tempest in a global teapot doth brew
which phenomena Gaia foments,
inducing meteorologists due
tee fully issuing catastrophic fallout
asper category 5 carved foo
tang clan along Gulf Coast
reserving special vengeance (alas domino effect)
for oil derricks hue mans insatiably drill into
ever more difficult to access reservoirs sans fossil fuels, but Jew
blintz echoes across watery expanse when excavator loo
king for liquid gold hit a mother lode
(or off shoot) exciting new
man hick pumps furiously fracking gnome hatter
watching grim faced absent magic spells such as phew
fi foe...aghast at the rapacious, pernicious, malicious....rue
th less ness heaped upon Planet Earth,
where tipping point
re: specifically **** Sapiens over population will true
lee interrogate meteorological altercations, conflagrations, and
exterminations of multitudinous
botanical and animal genus or species
as wrath of monster storms akin to a oceanic brigand
wreaking loss of life and limb, additionally bringing destruction
as megadeath metal lick ha - monstrous maelstrom
mercilessly muscles itself when making land
fall, where record rainfall submerges
once smug Texans man
dated to evacuate far from the pan
demon harum-scarum as retribution
for incessant lambasting wan
ton ness exploiting terrestrial resources selfishly that will eventually ban
hush the dominant primate requisitioned to become extinct – anon

miss lee as voluntarism spontaneously spawned and spun off from Biblical deluge
strangers reaching out to rescue folks unbeknownst to them without a wince
forever prompting that age old question asper why do person only evince
good Sammaritism during disasters proof
mortal camaraderie, defensiveness, from giving, generating
kudzu offshoots providing salutary assistance doth convince.

humanity amidst adversity.

Ilya Krivonosov Mar 2019

Impressive crocodiles

Impressive not open spaces,
Crocodiles in the swamp.
Not because the knackers,
I'm tired at work.

White teeth excavator
Clearing the swamp mud,
I would also scare fishermen
Twisting the green back.

I would also splash my tail,
Swimming, diving, kicking.
I would become an african whale
With webbed fins.

#wild #nature

Static Heartbeats Jan 2021

The Trade

Is a life worth living
If I only live to keep on living
To see another sunrise
But reject the many pleasures
That don't come free
After all, as my shadow grows longer
With the light behind my eyes
Slowly setting
Setting the sky of my mind on fire
With beautiful colors
That signal of my brain's decaying
My body starts to slow and ache
As everyone I know dies off
Because I chose to live for living's sake..

But is it any better
To live for life's pleasures
To trade a rusty *****
For an excavator
And accelerate the digging of my grave
A life that's short but full
Of tastes and experiences
To become a smiling gluttonous corpse
Spending every future sunrise I had
For instant gratification
For the joy
Of never having to tell myself no
Escape the fate of a long burning, dim star
To be a shooting one
Shining bright but only for a moment

30 lines, 337 days left.

#unusannus

John Edward Smallshaw Sep 2020

All systems go

..and then it was now
how
did the weekend go
so fast?

A block and tackle to
help me rise
an excavator to dig
the sleep from my eyes
and coffee to oil the
moving parts,

..and now it is then
time to go to work
again.

— The End —