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hammer me
hammer me
hammer me to the ground
hammer me
hammer me
with your hard hitting pound
hammer me
hammer me
hammer till I cry
hammer me
hammer me
blacken both my eyes
hammer me
hammer me
break my jaw with your clenched fists
hammer me
hammer me
so my face contorts and twists
hammer me
hammer me
I so enjoy the bruising pain you dole out
hammer me
hammer me
with your forceful clout
hammer me
hammer me
so that I bleed most profuse
hammer me
hammer me
keep imparting your gross abuse
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me
Those who have experienced domestic violence by a partner/husband will identify with this piece.
M-E Apr 2019
There is

Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer      Nail     Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer
Hammer Hammer Hammer


Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail hammer Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail Nail
Choose yourself.
Sa Sa Ra Feb 2013
We are hittin' hard in Oakland
Word!
We are hittin' hard in L.A.
Word!
Cleveland, Chicago & Yo-town is on fire
Word, word, word!
Atlanta's proper
Word!
And in Miami, we are mooovin' somethin'
Hmmmmm.

Turn this ***** out
Oaktown posse they will
Turn this ***** out
Yeah boy, they will
Turn this ***** out
M.C. Hammer he will
(chorus ends early)

Hammer, you ain't hittin' in New York
What?
So what you gon' do about that, Hammer?
I'm gon' turn this ***** out.

Hammer, he is...

Strong like a lion, no denyin'
I'm in effect and you suckas are tryin'
To get with me, you can't hang
Doin' it like this, I'm in with a bang
Goin' boom like thunda, and you wonder,
How in the world can the Hammer be underneath me?
He's gonna beat me, say yes to the master and I will teach thee

(chorus)
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out
Turn this ***** out

Hammer, tell 'em how you came up babeeee!

I was a student, now I'm the teacher,
I was a member, now I'm the preacher,
I was a worker, and you were the boss,
Now I'm gettin' paid and you're takin' the loss
Once says stop, the other says flee
No, don't perpetrate M.C. Hammer is the feature
Step off, you punk, no fear, I'm M.C. Hammer and I came here to...

(chorus)

I'm improvin', better start schoolin
Headed to the top where I'll be rulin'
On top, of hip-hop, I'm in effect and you're not
Your records aren't cool, your shows are weak
Duel with the Hammer and meet defeat
Every night, every week,
I'm comin' correct, you don't want none of me.

(chorus)
X2
I keep hearin' what you sayin'
"Yo Hammer, we knowin' New York's on the wayin'"
I don't care where you from,
I make most look silly, and others look dumb
Yeah suckas, you should, run,
I am, def on the stage, pumpin' at the club
Hammer is an eagle, and you a dove

(chorus)

(funky beats & breaks)


(chorus)
I'm from Oaktown, B-boy straight down
Takin all comers, whoever want to get some
I'm original, you're digital
You want somethin' to say, you're show is pitiful
Don't worry, I'm in tact
Whatever I say, the Hammer will back
Twice as strong, It's goin' on
And I willll...

(chorus)*


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1q2TA2zPtac
Truth be it me and my boy Jesse Jon, the first born he one gig DBA Stock City sound production PA company pumped the sound three flights of stairs down 3/4 ton worth PA equipment out of his new/used 3/4 ton extend GMC Cargo Van!!
Ripped three DJ's on one table all together spinning real 33 rpm Vinyl stole the show from the main room upstairs in this Jewish Temple!!!!
Yup, nope ain't slept yet somehow, plans NY the World gonna Turn This MOTHA OUT!!!!
Ya Uha!!!! Ya boogie bodies spun yahoo!!!!
Ra Ra!!!
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
This is a fictional account, but based
On truth for many women. I was,
Myself, abused by an ex-boyfriend.

---

Here's the ballad of Hammer Hand,
I'm here to spread it 'cross the land.
He loved to hit, as you can see.
What he hit was mainly me.
He was a brawler in the day,
But I left him where he lay.

This is for you gals out there
Who are hopeless, in despair,
Who are battered, made to kneel,
I do this so we both can heal.

I was kicked upside the head,
But now ol' Hammer Hand is dead.

~~CHORUS~~
Hammer Hand, oh Hammer Hand,
Did beating me make you a man?
I have suffered your attack,
You have made me blue on black,
Your heart was black, my soul was blue,
Your soul was false, my heart was true.


~~~~~~

Hammer Hand was tall and lean,
He was big, and ha was mean,
He would snack and he would punch,
Then he would demand his lunch.
He used to hit me when he drank,
His breath was fetid, his body rank,
Whenever help I'd try to seek.
He would hit me into next week.

~~~~~~

Hammer Hand is dead today
And this is what I have to say,
I told him when he broke my teeth,
He would pay and come to grief!
Satan himself will take you down,
And you'll be six feet underground.


~~ CHORUS ~~

I'm a woman so you're bold,
But Hammer Hand, you're getting old,
Hammer Hand you've had your fun,
But don't forget I have a SON.
You can make me black and blue,
But don't you go and  hit him, too!
Don't make him hate you, make him mean,
Soon he will be seventeen.

You said a thing which I believe,
You said you'd **** me if I leave.
But me 'n Jamie gonna pack,
We're gonna leave and not come back.
When I die, at least I know,
Where I'm bound, which way I'll go!
Down inside you know as well,
You are goin' straight to hell.

Hammer Hand, O Hammer Hand,
Now we've left, are you so grand?
You won't hurt us anymore,
'Cause you're dead upon the floor.
I don't think that you'll survive,
Shot with your own 45,

It wasn't me, I'm not that brave...

T'was Jamie put you in the grave.

At sixteen he was pale and shy

But he put a slug between your eyes.

You made him beg. You made him bow.

Well. I hope you're happy now.



SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) June 11, 2011
I was abused by an ex-boyfriend.
I made him leave.
Threw all his stuff out.
He stalked me for one year.
Ilhan Kacapor May 2016
The hammer always hit the nail on the head
Everytime they met the hammer attacked but the nail never even thought about striking back
The nail let the hammer feel strong around him
And even talk **** about him
The nail let the hammer be a hammer
Let him hammering while thinking he was better
Because the nail knew what was really going on
He knew that nails are not among,
tools who are just used once and then they are gone.
He knew he had to keep a chair together,
to keep a house from falling apart making safer so he knew he did matter

On the other hand he knew that you can hammer with anything,
you didn't need a hammer you could use many things

You can use a spoon a book or a stone
And when you are desperate soon you will use your foot or even your phone.
So the nail let the hammer figure out on his own,
how hard it is to hammer when you have nothing to hammer on.
AJ Mar 2015
When you hear the word "hammer" you may think of it as a tool for pounding a nail onto a wall, to hang a beautiful painting done by a beautiful girl, or to hang a beautiful family photo of a beautiful family.

Or maybe you think of building. Building a house, building a swing set, just those stupid belts those stupid builders hold those stupid hammers in.

But it's rare to have someone think of a hammer as a weapon.

To think of a hammer as a ****** weapon, as the weapon that's bagged, locked deep in the chambers of the evidence room.

As the weapon used by the murderer, and how their twisted mind thought of using a hammer to take someone's life away.

But it's even more rare to think of a hammer as a self harm tool.

It's  even more twisted to think that a person would take a hammer to their own skin, and pound it over and over again until their skin turns red, and then to such a scary bruise you would think it belonged in movies.

That they would keep bruising themselves with that hardware tool until they're shaking so hard they can't even hold the hammer anymore, it feels too heavy in their shaky hands.

Until they fall to the ground, covered in bruises just because they think they'll go away faster than what a razor blade could do.

But little do they know, the shaking is worse than any bruise or cut could ever be.

Why can't a hammer just be a simple hardware tool again?
1:00am-******* twisted I might as well say
preservationman Jun 2018
This is not in reference too THOR nor R&B HAMMER themselves
This subject is totally about something else
But I got your attention
Now I am truly ready to mention
This specific write will literally be about a Hammer tool
It’s the one that puts the nails to the wall
Its makes the most noise to all
Car Denses hammered out
Home Fixtures I am definitely talking about
It takes skill in maneuver
Now there’s nothing to think over
The Hammer is used with precision
How you use the Hammer being your total decision
Hammer can also be used as a protective weapon
But I will not touch on that
It’s a one of a kind tool being within the stack
Screws can be tightened with the Hammer
But the Hammer has the weight of power to nails enforce
But do not try on your fingernails
Again, its precision
But it takes the human hand in control
The right angle to take hold
Then it’s Presto!
The Hammer chore will be done
Hammered thought
At least being a sought.
Derek Yohn Dec 2013
Tuesday afternoon construction projects,
i am framing an argument,
holding my hammer white
knuckled tight.

If I had a hammer,
I'd hammer in the morning...


i would hammer the love between us all,
helping clarify between
getting what you want
and having what you get.

i would hammer it's face
till i was breathless,

standing at the left of what is right,
writing about what is left.

Can most of us tell the difference anymore?

Don't answer that...
you can't.  You don't know how.

Don't speak to me about love,
or how if you don't have it
you will surely die from
neglect or razor slashes from
your own hand.

You would end the same if
you had what you thought
it was, because it isn't
that at all.
James Jarrett Mar 2015
He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to **** and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear
James Jarrett Apr 2015
He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to **** and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear
Written for a liar and a coward. Look away little man, look away.
Your love is like a hammer, babe
hits me like a twelve-pound sledge.
Your love is like a hammer, baby,
hits me like a twelve-pound sledge.
Breaks my hard heart wide open,
knocks off the rough edge.

Your love is like a fire, babe
burns me to the ground.
Your love is like a fire, baby,
burns me to the ground.
Glowing in the ashes
some diamonds I have found.

Your love is like a mirror, babe
one I don't want to see.
Your love is like a mirror baby,
I don't want to see.
Staring in the fiery eyes of truth's
not a place I like to be.

Your love is like a hammer, babe
It can break or it can build.
Your love is like a hammer, baby
Break or it can build.
Your love will make me stronger
if it doesn't ****.
A blues, for S. Revised 12/25/10.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved.
MdAsadullah Dec 2014
My presence makes
the wall more thicker.
My presence makes
the wall more bigger.

Wanted to give strength
to truth's hammer.
But instead hammer
was becoming weaker.

Let me go away from
truth's hammer and wall.
You all alone with hammer
and wall grown so tall.

Time will pass quickly
and wall will not grow tall.
One day you'll pick the
hammer and wall will fall.
Shanath Apr 2017
The last three days were hammer on a nail,
A nail that doubt planted.
You went thud thud thud
And the nail burnt a hole in my heart.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I moved not an inch,
I gloried at the sight of blood
That sipped to validate my fear.
Thud thud thud.

I was clamped up in terror and pain
For months past now,
Words I counted before sending them on.
You scoffed at them
And wielded the first thud
You screamed at me
Two nights back.
I smiled and fainted to a sleep
That lasted until you dragged the hammer
With a screech,
The nail rusted a bit with my blood
But it stayed.
Thud.

I grasped my words tight to my throat
Only muttering a handful of them now,
You played with your other tools
And I happened to see a weapon in them all.
A sharp edged knife,
A gun with bullets,
A cannon from a war,
I was crouched in a ball
Still looking at you.
Thud. Thud. Came the second blow
You whistled at a bird across.
The nail bent a little to the right
And made it far beneath my skin.
The blood now formed a wall,
Like concrete and bricks
Blood and rust.
Thud thud.

I shivered between sleep and wake,
Flinching as you dragged your hammer,
A bolder screech across the wall,
Like your voice before you speak.
And then as if a habit
You raised your arm
And dropped was the hammer
On the nail,
Thud thud thud, the last blow you made.
You said how I was made to mend,
By a hammer in your hand.
The nail tore to my bones
And lodged itself as a note.
The hammer ringed in my head,
Blood didn't flow like sleep out of my bed.
I cried in silence
And was gone unlike before.
You dragged your hammer still,
I know.
Thud thud thud.
It rings,
You were hammering my memories.
Thud thud thud.
I was gone now.
Thud thud thud. Stop.

There is a nail lodged in me
But that will be all,
Thud thud thud
I walk on.
Stop.
LDuler Mar 2013
The leeching color from my eyes
My parched mouth puckered
My joints are stiff, stubborn and brittle
Creaking like exhausted floorboards
Wringing my fists, white ands shriveled
Twisting my hands, skinned and raw
I'm ill with desperate thriving
Too weak to carry on, don't have the choice
Veins laden with liqueur, thinning hopes and regret
Pulsing pulsing pulsing
Bones fluttering with birds of bad omen
Scalp rid of hair to make place for the thorny crown of vanquishment
Blood diluted with bitter disappointment,
Sloshing, smearing through my mucked-up system
Aching from the deadly drone of existence
From small victories, large defeats
I'm the mortar, they're the pestle
Clobbering into my hollowed life.

The hammer of that thing
Routine so dull and tedious
Pounding and pounding and pounding
When you can't even scream or weep
Thud thud thud
My temples scream with dank submission
My brain is reeling, hurling from the vertigo of it all.

Morning, noon & night
The dead avenues, the empty buzzing
Beats hammers in my brain
Throb throb throb
I'm quivering with numbness.

I'm mature now, I'm ripe
So ripened and rotten
Adult things, adult preoccupations pulsing around me
It seems like person really only has two choices
Get in on the aimless hustle or be forsaken
I've taken it all up
Rent, coffee, wine, cigarettes and newspaper
Forgotten pills
Unpaid bills
Thump thump thump
Anguish, pain, woe and misery
Turbulence and stress, the banging hammer.

I'm a drunkard, a wanderer
With a beaten, battered suitcase
Days like these, weeks like these, when all the weapons are pointed at me
I'm a ***, an outcast
A pigeon in the pummeling rain
Dribble dribble splash
The ache is a relentless thing.

My job, my rent, my house
My walls limp with memories stuck with rotting glue
Wallpaper torn, curling at the edges
The cold hard floor radiates and screams
The couch, cold & hollow
Incrusted with bits of filthy grime
The dead radiator hisses like an angry snake
The shades down, no sunlight
No life seeping through the venetian blinds
And my clothing sits in the chairs
Like the dead emptied out
The blankets are thin, frayed and tattered
As hope is
The moths, on the other hand, are alive and well
They weave webs of moribund rot
Interlacing me into their strands of decay.

Surrounded by the coldhearted, they snarl
And their laughs abash, dishearten the pure
Bruising me relentlessly
They are so tired, mutilated
either by love or no love
All their bleak and sunken eyes
All their weak and drunken souls
All their meek and shrunken hearts
Vultures with neckties
Weasels in frocks
Collared beasts, that's all they are.

The mournful poet with the shrapnel wound
Was so wrong
I guess he wanted to be lyrical, but his words led astray
Time is not water
It does not flow easy, smooth and transparent
It drags you into dark alleys and batters the hell out of you
Punches you in the ribs, rips your skin,
Jerks you by your hair, stabs you, disfigures you
Leaves you crippled and broken, gasping for air.

Sweating in a rocker
Lanky skeleton hands clasped, praying- for what?
I'm not living, or dying
I'm simply crawling backward
Or no, I'm not crawling, I'm being dragged,
Through nights of lonely perfidy, breathing the beaten dusty air
The dark wind wailing, ebbing through the frail curtains
Laying in bed, too wretched to move
When memories, of heaven and hell,
Droop like broken shades
Across the window of my mind
And ****, I can feel my soul slowly dropping down through the mattress
My stomach is heaving, my teeth clenched and gritted
But not with fear, no, it's too late for dread
And it *****, because we realize we were all so caught up in a life in which we can find no meaning...we end up wrong and graceless and sick
We're born shriveled and alone, we die shriveled and alone
No matter what.
The Hammer by Geneviève Pardoe Macchiarella is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2017
A Carpenter’s Hammer

A craftsman does not hammer with a hammer -
He wields it with surprising subtlety
As delicately as a scalpel poised
Or as an artist’s most elegant brush

A hammer is balanced to mind and hand
Its journey planned and scheduled with great care
To bring about something that was not before:
Through muscle and thought it falls, it dives, it drives

And when the hammer strikes the waiting nail
It sings to Creation a workman's hymn
matt d mattson Jun 2012
Have you forgotten?
The Iron
The Fire
The hammer and anvil of it all
The pile of **** and scrap metal
The dirt ore heap in the corner of your soul
The useless heavy burden
On your shoulders, and in the heart of you

Have you forgotten the forging and the beating
The sweating and the bleeding
The swing and the crash,
And the pain and the smash;
The heat from the fires that purify
And the hiss from the waters that solidify
Have you missed the bending and folding
and the way that you're constantly molding?

Have you forgotten
You are the hammer
You are the anvil
You are the iron and the forge fire
That creates the steel of your character
The sharp sweeping sword of your soul
For no one else can change you
Except for you

So slam the hammer down!
Swing it without flinching
Tense yourself, your muscles your nerves and sinews
Grit your teeth and clench your jaw
Grip the metal like a white knuckled vice of certainty
Focus on the spot and
Slam the Hammer Down!
Beat it into something useful
Beat if into something beautiful
Beat it with meaning for it is meaningful!
Did you forget that!

No, You did not forget
You dreamed of throwing it off,
You dreamed of being rid of it
You  hoped to wake one day
And find that it had melted away

But

“You cannot dream yourself into a character:
you must hammer and forge yourself into one.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Christian DeBuys Oct 2011
Shots
Hammer
Trigger
Bullet
Cylinder

Shots
Hammer
Trigger
Bullet­
Cylinder

Shots
Hammer
Trigger
Bullet
Cylinder

Shots
Hammer
Tri­gger
Bullet
Cylinder

Shots
Hammer
Trigger
Bullet
Cylinder

Shot
­Hammer
Trigger
Bullet
Cylinder

Shots
To be read with "Six"
Matthew Mefford Apr 2014
Join me in the sky,
Hell defined body and mind,
Raise your hammer high.

The angels are kind,
White feathered wings are a lie,
Raise your hammer high.

The sun is my light,
Follow the path where it shines,
Raise your hammer high.

Heaven says goodbye,
The hammer is to be swung,
Down with all your might.
Michael Vukmer Mar 2013
The cool winter air makes the grass sway like the ocean's waves.
Makes the limbs of trees, both young and old, dance fancifully without care of who's watching.
The brilliant sun, bold as it is, is shy this morn
Only peaking over the icy mountain tops.
The sky is as clear and beautiful as a newly forged glass sculpture.

As I turn around, I see my home,
The furnace still warm from yesterday's work
sits quietly in the center
The bellow, old with use
waits impatiently for it's next push
The anvil, stubborn with age
tightens it's muscles, prepared for the torment of the day
The mallet and hammer, young with ambition
remember the creations so recently forged with creativity
The ground is riddled with steel and coal
The grass here is burnt and covered with the now stagnant embers of the furnace
The walls are filled with the tools of my trade,
all made in this very place.

The day has begun.
I act with repetition as I have so many days and nights prior.
I lay fresh coals upon the furnace
I push the bellow with all my strength
The furnace begins to roar with vigor like a newly awoken bear
I pull new, unworked steel from the bin
Laying the steel upon the fire,
I can see the color change and shift rapidly
I prepare the hammer and mallet for use, and hear their excitement fill this place
Pulling the steel from the fire, I lay it upon the grouchy anvil.
Then I begin my work of creation.
Hammer meets steel,
sparks and embers fly,
steel morphs it's shape,
the day is now warm in this place.

For hours, this process continues
The furnace only grows warmer,
The bellow only grows more worn,
The anvil only tires with work,
The mallet and hammer only become more ecstatic.
Until the creation is complete.

The day is complete.
The wind has all but ceased.
The grass now as still as all the sleeping creatures.
The trees' festival is complete.
The air is now freezing.
The furnace is cooling again,
The bellow is at peace again,
The anvil is relaxed again,
The mallet and hammer are quiet again.

I sit here now, watching the sun retreat behind the lake.
It's setting as colorful as a painting.
My work today is done,
My tools are silent,
My creation is complete.
I too, can now bask in the serenity of the night.
Jim Kleinhenz Apr 2010
'What they don’t know, of course,
is that you don’t **** with the Hammer.
The Hammer smiles, you smile, you wave the truck
ahead. It’s pretty simple,
for poetry does not make assertions;
philosophy does. When the Hammer speaks,
he speaks of something wild.  You stop your world,
the phony one, the constructed one. It stops
and stops and stops—'

I force open the lock, let in the sun.
The Hammer and I confront synaptic death
each day we live. What’s left is fire now.
‘Welcome to the Republic of the Sane.’
I smile and let the fresh air fill
the cabin, fill their lungs. The Seine is just
a river in France, right? I smile and say,
‘The hard part is over.’—though we all know
it isn’t. I tell them, ‘Wallace Stevens
once lived in this house’—though he didn’t.
Let be be finale of seem, I quote. I speak
with care. This is the current reply: The only
Emperor is the Emperor of ice cream.
We hold our arms heaven-ward, like
we are angels in heaven. Since it’s winter
I have a fire burning in the fireplace.
The kids can have a bedroom to themselves,
upstairs. There is hot water, take a bath…

‘In transit to the blank planet,’ I say.
‘That’s your answer: where we are, a point,
circumference points, vectors maybe,
an asymptotic self-description,
that’s the best answer to your question.’
We sit next to the fire
and listen to music. Tonight it’s Schubert,
Winterreise. I read a little from
The Hour of the Star. We talk about Adorno,
Emil Cioran, Gaston Bachelard, Chaucer.
We talk about poetic thinking. Is
the goal to have
an ultimate clarity or is
the poet’s mind composed of play
and speculation? I prevaricate,
I lie, deceive, evade. We open up
a decent bottle of port. The Hammer
has prepared calamari in a butter sauce.
There’s fresh pasta, fresh bread.
‘My friends, a toast,’ I say. They have to know.
‘Today’s word is vector, a vector like
ticks are for Lyme disease, mosquitoes for
malaria.’ The transmission of disease,
is that what humanity is? ‘Human
intelligence,’ I say, ‘may be the result
of a virus. It would explain a lot.’

Among the things we console ourselves with
I will put other people at the top.
I know, my dear, you tremble at the word
thing. ‘Think to say I and Thou’, you would say
were you here, were you still with me.
That people partake of Being as objects
is only part of the story. Well, perhaps, I err…
perhaps I do. One of the things I read
to the people who come across the line
is this from Clarice Lispector:
'It must be said the girl is not conscious
of my presence. Were it otherwise she would
have someone to pray for and that would mean
salvation. But I am fully conscious
of her presence: through her I utter my cry
of horror to existence. To this
existence I love so dearly.'
It is very beautiful, is it not?
© Jim Kleinhenz
Emma May 2014
My heart splintered
Smashed by a hammer
My mind swirls
It is a midst of clouds
Forming rings of smoke
It is polluted
Every day
Hammer Time!
Ryan P Kinney Jul 2015
Hammer
by Ryan P. Kinney

Picks up Hammer
Swings Hammer
This one’s for every woman who didn’t love me
And for every one that ever did
This one’s for every person who has ever doubted and underestimated me
For those who ever thought my life should be a mirror of their journey
‘Cause theirs worked out SO well for them
SMASH
This one’s for my Father,
Mother,
Brothers
My brother’s keeper,
Sins of the Father,
And inheritance of Mother’s malice
This one’s for every time I’ve had to prove I’m the GOOD son
SMASH
This one’s for the bigots,
Racists,
Hate-spewing monsters
For the ******* morons
This one’s for those who assume I’m gay
‘Cause that’s SUPPOSSED to matter
SMASH
This one’s for those who have passed their petty judgments
Based on the surface of my face
Or my visible scars
Or my hidden ones
This one’s for those who have called me freak
For those who judge me on who I was
Not who I AM
SMASH
This one’s for those who lack the ability to see in color and shades
Locked in their boring black and white senseless absolutes
There aren’t just gray areas
There are tints of every shade we a capable of perceiving
This one’s for the LITTLE people
SMASH
This one’s for those who patronize my intelligence
But yet are so easily fooled into acceptance
With a pair of plastic black frames
This one’s for IRONY
SMASH
This one’s for those who have let me down
Disappointed me, failed me
Failed to live to their potential
This one’s for EVERYONE
SMASH
This one’s for me
For not living up to my own potential
This one’s for who I AM
SMASH

And this one...
These tears...

Drops Hammer
Looks to the sky...

This one’s for my son
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEJep5vmtrM
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkjJ76rjI_8
J Harris Jun 2015
With chisel and hammer
I carve the length of your legs
and the width of your waists
and the bend of your arms
and the ***** of your shoulders
until I arrive at your brain
where I reach with chisel and hammer
until I come across your spring
of wisdom and knowledge
your fountain of thought and belief.
Paul Mar 2014
if i had a hammer
i'd hammer in the morning
probably not in the evening
and definitely not all over this land

if i had a hammer
i'd be tools down around midday
but that's just me
B Nov 2014
Unfurl your courage to the wind, like a sail
Begin a new journey, make a new trail
You can't look back or be afraid to fail
Are you proud of the story you will tell
When time shall lift to you its final veil
And ask, were you the hammer or the nail?
I want to feel you.
Scraping against me.
I want to taste the,
Mango in your kiss.

Drag from your chest to your neck.
to claw from your ribs down to your hip.
I want to feel you on me.
And taste the citrus on your lips.

Starving for the touch of,
Hoping for your grip.
Trying not to think too much.
About your blackberry bliss.

Distracted by your hammer hits.
The water against the ship.
The boat begins to tip.
Spilling fruit into the wavy rift.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Luz Hanaii Jan 2014
Many think, I used to think this as well, that to be happy you must fill exalted and exited. When good things happen to us we naturally feel good and elated, it's a natural human response. Good things make us feel good and what we consider not good, make us feel bad.  A natural child and human response.

The sense of  happiness I'm describing here is not the mere result of a reaction to some happy event but is rather the state of being of our spirit, the acceptance that there will always be things that we have not control of, which we feel are bad and make us angry or sad.  True happiness in my estimation is being at peace, not letting our emotions, either good or bad determine our inner balance.

How many times those things I considered  bad, latter where the very things which help me learn and grow.  Experiences such as, illnesses, poverty, abuse, ignorance, depression, anxiety, fear... on and on, are nothing more than teachers, though we may see them as tormentors, when they first strike at us.

We are taught to live in this world using our five senses.  Therefore we estimate that happiness must be having good things and good feelings. We are thought to judge in order to survive in this world.  And that is fine up to a point, if we don't look before crossing the street, we take our chances at getting hit by a car.

We are taught that happiness is outside of us, we look for entertainment, material things,  and people to make us happy.  We look for support and words from others to value who we are, it is the normal thing a child does. It is the normal process of the primitive survival geared mind.

Some of us have not have the blessing of having parents that were happy within themselves, we've been verbally and physically abused, publicly ridiculed,  beaten, not validated/ignored, minimized and made to feel sick and disconnected etc... we've come from broken homes and broken people trying to raise us as best they knew how.  We are trying to heal and grow. We are all seeking to be happy.  We are all seeking support from an exterior world and from people, it's natural.  But as we mature and awake, we realize that no person, entertainment or thing can ever truly give you the happiness you need. We need to stop comparing ourselves with others or taking to heart their estimation of us. We need to revise and update the old programing in our minds given to us by our parents, school, the world. We have to learn to forgive others, love and accept our selves to find true happiness.  

I once heard a good example of what happiness is, which I had not considered.
Example below
*******
Look at your hand and observe how each finger is happy.  They don't ask for anything, they simply are.  Now if you were to hit one finger with a hammer the finger would stop being happy.  It would start to throb with pain and depending on the impact the pain would go away or stay longer.
True happiness is simply that, just being.

Revised @9/21/16
-Luz Hanaii
I revised this, for growth is not set in stone, my way of seeing things changes as I move on with time. There are different angles and ways to look at things. I understand that we don't all use the same eye prescriptions, my limited perceptions may not agree with yours.  Also that by me judging your way of observation as wrong, would only limit me and my growth.
Victor Tripp Dec 2015
From dusk to dawn I raise this hammer to hit the railroad spike
On the ground, when he heard I was serving life doing hard time
Daddy had a heart attack, and looking around in this crowded place
I know to home I won't soon be going back
I hear somebody say, son forget about your woman , she'll write saying
She tried to be true but found somebody else
Hear the sound of the hammer talking now to me
I know to the other prisoners a man can never show any fear
But looking at these high stone walls, I'll probably die up in here
Nights I stay up not able to sleep, holding steel bars in both hands
And slowly start to weep, listen to the sound of the hammer
Locked up here there is no hidden glamour
This is a place where dreams go up in smoke
No laughing here, grimness is no joke
I remember so well when the world fell in on me,
Mama forgive me for all the wrongs I've done
I know that there's no coming to my rescue
Said goodbye and held you at the prison gate
Turned away from right, now it's to late
Hear the sound of the hammer, beating the steel spike down
And the dead sound of steel slowly going into the ground
g clair Sep 2013
your hammer's good, it's headed south
it keeps your secret, without a mouth

the ground is hard, the ground is cold
tells many stories, as I am told

where you've walked, how much you weigh
you'll cover your tracks, but still, one day

the smallest fragment, the tiniest hair
well get you life, to this I'll swear

you make your bed, you dig your grave
and to your guilt,you'll be a slave

Think this out while you sit in the slammer
He carried the cross, but you bore the hammer.

He took the nails you pounded in
"Forgive them Father, they know not their sin"

Three days later the ground will attest
The man was seen walking along with the rest.

A carpenter by trade, he knew about hammers
He knows about you. his lost little lamber.

He stands at the door, speaks truth and won't stammer
Be the best friend to the man with the hammer.
Nick Strong May 2015
Black crows circling wildly
Above trees silhouetted
Beneath darken skies
Swirling clouds, towering
Static charged excitement
Ripples cross the air
A wave of heat blown
Across the ground,
By a dry breath, of
Unseasonable wind
Bending saplings to
Kiss dusty, dry earth
Time stands still poised
Restless, wild world
Waiting  
For Odin’s hammer
Ray Suarez Jul 2016
Like some rusted nail
Pounded
Into rotted wood
In sleep you dream of
Holographic pastels
Of wings riding breeze
Of love flowing
Soothing lava
Then suddenly you are ripped
From lightning lit castles
Awoken by the hammer
And it is brutal and heavy
Pounding pounding pounding
You are pushed deeper into
Rotten foundation
Stuck
Assaulted
Forced
In sleep you dream
Of sour pasts
Reconciled
Blue green seas
The floors of oceans
The solitude of whales
And the hammer comes down again
Pounding pounding pounding
Until you are secured like christ
And some ordinary
Housewife
Hangs some ugly painting
Upon you
She adjusts it a few centimeters left
Then a few to the right
Takes 3 steps back
"Perfect"
And you are buried
Done
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
transcript from a cult movie

bolec: O! zobacz bracie! spójrz jak oni sie ruszają; nie sądisz że polskim chłopakom też by sie przydało troche luzu? przykómaj te kocie ruchy! mogliśbymy sie od czarnych wiele nauczyć... koko-dzambo i doprzodu! to moje hasło, dobre nie? czasami żauje że nie urodziłem sie czarny. hej! chłopaki! a może macie ochote objerzeć film? ja ogłądam po kilka filmów dziennie: pościgi, strzelaniny, wojny gangów, to mój chleb codzienny... mam nowy zajebisty film... "smierc w Wennecji", nieźle brzmi, co?                spokojnie, zaraz sie rozkręci...

fred: ty jak ty sie nazywasz bo zapomniałem? kolec? stolec?

bolec: bolec.

fred: no, więc posłuchaj mnie teraz uważnie, bolek... byłeś w stanach?

bolec:  nie...

fred: no właśnie... a ja znam kogoś kto był... i opowiedział mi to i owo... w iesz skąd przyjechali czarni do ameryki?!?

bolec:  z afryki...

fred: no właśnie... handlarze niewolników przywieźli ich z Afryki... A myślisz, że to taka prosta sprawa wysiąść na plaży w Afryce, złapać w siatkę zwinnego, silnego murzyna i wywieźć go za ocean?!?

bolec:  chyba nie...

fred: no jasne, że nie... udało im się to zrobić ponieważ wywozili tylko takich co albo nie potrafili spierdolić przed siatką, albo byli największymi głąbami z plemienia i wódz sprzedawał ich za paczkę fajek, bo i tak nie miałby z nich pożytku. i ci wszyscy nieudacznicy pojechali do ameryki. pożenili się, porobili dzieci... świat poszedł do przodu... pojawiły się komputery, amfetamina, samoloty, ale co z tego, jeżeli ich serca pompują tę samą krew, są potomkami człowieka, który na własnym podwórku dał się złapać w siatkę, więc nie uważam, że naszym chłopakom brakuje luzu... kapujesz?!?


and it takes just another big **** to have a one night stand,
and a big enough heart to have a relationship
so the soul enmeshes the juices - that famous
W.D. 40 moment - and a cheap U.B. 40 moment too -
it's a drag like that, he can run a 100 metres in under
10 seconds, but when he swims you just hear
dolphin cackling in the background - not **** aqua
for sure, that's me, with the myth of Atlantis -
orderly, please! line up! take your badges and disperse,
we'll be back here again at the fire-evacuation point
in the the near future - in the meantime do whatever
it is you do, and do it. shame really - you ever see
the fire equipment of 1666? a large water bucket...
people either had a lot of common sense back then
or had magnanimous airs about them
(see how many lawsuits were made in the past decade),
primitive technology - i guess people thought a lot
back then... no talk of dementia - they were hardly literate
but they thought a lot, becoming literate meant
becoming aristocratic degenerates - excess wine, *******
***, scab and crawling ***** on the cranium
intended as barbers - then too many synonyms came,
you said barber and he knew the beard and moustache
was an extension of the head - sure, softer keratin, the harder
version being - i've ***** on my face! i've ***** on my face!
short and briskly - freshly mowed lawn... mm, nice -
fiddle the other part, i'll take a Sikh's beard and make a
violin's bow on the sly - see how Mozart sounds after
that. the Mongol stank and conquered the Alexandrian
Dream - before the arrows pierced, the stench overpowered.
it's just a dreaded affair - in order to give pleasure
i have to give my inner life up - the Greeks called it
barbarism the over way round - words from a *******
as if implying i get really jealous and bring out a knife -
the wonderful phenomenon of the schizoid condition,
or as prior worded, premature dementia, yet such people
continue to be fully functioning in a sense -
language debris - a meteor's tail - politicised psychiatry -
the easy route - say the noun hammer and you know
exactly what to do, unless it's Heidegger's hammer
and you realise he's implying two labourers talking
philosophy while working manually - in that
the ego (nail) should be hammered into a plank
of wood (thought) as easily as the reverse - the reverse
being the hammer (extended into the profession that
uses it frequently - i, carpenter) utilised (being, a) -
i.e. i, being a carpenter, nails, hammering in.
i didn't think this through - what's bugging my certainty
in how to explain it without conversation between
two carpenters discussing philosophy, which never happens,
is not what i'm bothered with, the real issue is i have
with the inherent negativism of subjectivity in English
interpretation of philosophy, crudely:
subjectivity is bad, wrong, self-indulgent, pseudo -
this stress in English thinking with its glorification of
objectivity is, to be honest, strange...
it comes from a book review of Wagner's Ring of
the Nibelung - equatable words: banal and subjective -
banal - trite - well given the "success of the human species"
i'm surprised it's not a universal truth that
we've come a bit trite given the numbers - i've seen
cucumbers fresher than people, we're bound by
an approximate of 70 springs, cucumbers are bound
by 1 spring, you get fresh in a supermarket,
you don't get fresh in books, what with the third butterfly
species σκoνιςμυγα (skonismyga - so not -muga?
up Saigon? i thought you cut off the bits you didn't
want and put the other letters with the cut offs together?
no wonder - upsilon [u] isn't said - just like in Latin
in English we have why - iota not y - dust-fly, i guess
Babylon did survive, in the variations disguising "dyslexia")...
but why is subjectivity so horrid? i thought
we all had our take on things and none of us wanted
to speak for the whole of humanity? Nietzsche warned
and defended individualism like that - who
would want to speak for the entirety of humanity?
in the political realm in the west subjectivity is defended
rigorously - because if you begin championing objectivity
in politics the Iraq Invasion was a bit stupid -
despotism, d'uh - yet in England the tradition is to
have a culture of literature that shuns subjectivity
and champions objectivity - why is subjectivity so
negatively perceived? oh, you're afraid someone is
so ardent on their choice of interest they they might
by accident speak-spit into your face?
subjectivity can't be so ****** negative, it's an expression
of an escape from what objectivity already
defined in the pinnacle by Descartes: res cogitans,
(a) thinking thing - we only write subjectively because
we've been caged in that little no. 2 of a waiter's james
bond tux - we staged an escape, a self-worth fanaticism
on the subjects we love rather than "have to" investigate
without passions, just hubris - which is what
critics use - hubris, disdain - the study of language could
have a similitude to the math of
1 (hubris) and x 1 = hubris, 1 and x 2 = audacity, etc.
in the synonymous table - the lubricant factor.
so, anger over, back to Heidegger's hammer -
nail (ego)            plank of wood (thought)
hammer (therefore)                   a table (existence) -
so why need proofs? why do i need to prove i necessarily
exist (when i don't) or that god unnecessarily exists
(when he does) - why prove something?
so another million schmucks can come along and
prove it either way? it's the nonsense attributed to
Descartes - he stressed an impossible objective-subjectivity
(grammatically more understandable, rigid:
noun-noun doesn't work, ah, objective-subjectiveness -
noun-adjective, pencil-sharpener, pencil-needs-sharpening)
in terms of others - hence the existential other -
well impossible for anyone else to have thought it up,
the impasse of wanting to plagiarising it - a real cul de sac -
well, that's me done on the topic - sonic -
as far as i'm concerned most people keep rigidity
a tight collar of using language not coming across a speedy
suggestion to not think about:
the speed-game of preposition juggling and contras etc.,
the acquisitive use of a language v. the inherited use of a language,
two different ballparks - what i acquired i thus express,
what the organically-historic entity inherited he
will primarily convene to call Poles vermin - a little
perplexed by a more labyrinth style of language used -
it gets personal day by day - but of course the ******* are
a protected species due to their colonial roots - at least
with skin-shallow discrimination you have the obvious bang,
and the immediate retort... this **** is swelling, slowly...
slowly... slowly... those were 8 million or so
Polish-Jews... also vermin... this **** already imploded...
it hasn't exploded... it's a dummy bomb... it imploded...
it's swelling... slowly... slowly... slowly... and when you
won't know it... BANG!

— The End —