"handyman" poems
You are the practicality that keeps me grounded;
I am the spontaneity that drags you along.
You are the reason to my irrationality;
I am the tumult to your calm.
You are the answer to my questions;
I am the words to your quiet deeds.
You are the engineer I cherish;
I am the bookworm you esteem.
You are the chef I rate as top;
I am the baker you adore.
You are the handyman I can count on;
I am the seamstress you prefer.
They say opposites attract, and it seems that might be true.
Like two pieces from the puzzles we both love,
We fit together seamlessly.
To be cliche, you complete me,
But in ways I never knew weren't whole.
Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
First Kiss (Manchester to Miami)
Rachel was a 19 year old student who attended the
Royal Northern College of Music, located in Manchester UK.
Manchester was considered the arts, media, higher education
and commerce mecca of north central England. Bordered by the
Cheshire plain to the south, and the Pennines mountain range
to the north and east. The famous River Mersey ran along the
southern side of Manchester. Rachel was packing for winter
holiday with some of her classmates, to the warm beaches of
Miami Florida, for a week long stay in the sun, far from the
often dreary weather that settled over the UK this time of year.
Not only was Rachel looking forward to the warm weather and
sunny skies but she was looking forward to meeting up with Daniel.
Daniel was a 40 something musician, beach bartender, handyman,
who lived just outside of Miami. They had met on a poetry website
seven months prior, and had established a warm friendship.
They communicated almost daily threw emails, chat sites
and through poetry exchanges. Their friendship had become
more romantic in the last month or so, talking that silly love talk
that new lovers used, and Rachel finished off every meeting with the
initials AKTY at the end. AKTY stood for angel kisses to you,
as Daniel liked to refer to her as his angel. they both were very
excited about the chance to see each other, face to face.
Rachel knew that the majority of Daniels poetry was slanted
toward the romance side, and she knew from their conversations
that he seemed to be educated, gentle and romantic. She was,
they were, both looking forward to spending an evening together,
holding hands,caressing each other, looking into each others eyes,
and..... that first kiss. Kiss kiss kiss kiss
hard rock guitars, lights and smoke
Kiss, that first kiss, this is what, loves all about
kiss, your sweet kiss, makes me go crazy, scream and shout
your kiss, that angel kiss, can't live with out it, you drive me mad
one kiss, just one kiss, from your sweet lips, blows my mind real bad
don't know how I got by before you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you you know i've been
crazy, I've gone crazy, just can't get enuff, of you sweet baby
dreaming, got me dreaming, every night baby, I don't mean maybe
every kiss, like your first kiss, sets me ablaze, you know it takes me higher
another kiss, I want another kiss, turn the flames up like a funeral pyre
don't wanna try to get along without you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you been waiting for that first kiss
Gomer LePoet
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
Where the grapes you eat are red and green
But the ones you draw are purple
Where you love your parents with all of your heart
But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends
Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds
Can be destroyed by the light of day
Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise
Can be healed by a kiss
Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess
By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu
Where a boy becomes a conquering hero
By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper
Where a slightly unkempt yard
Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents
Where an in ground pool
Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored
Where winter
Is a season for snowmen and presents
Where summer
Is a season for ice cream and beaches
Where Mommy
Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller
Where Daddy
Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman
Where science has no bearing
Because rainbows and lightning come from magic
Where logic doesn’t make sense
Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical
And there is no place for suffering
Because pain is overshadowed by innocence
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
You can hire me for whatever
I'll fix your broken heart
Repair the plumbing within its walls
Repair the wholes in it
I'll do it all for free
You can hire me to kiss you
To hold you
And I'll never charge you anything
As long as you tell me you love me
And I'm able to love you
With a love even a god himself
Cannot buy with anything
I'm your free handyman
I'll do whatever you want
Give you what you need
Even if I don't have the power to do that
I will try anyways
Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
I just started my new job
As the handyman in the land of OZ
Seems things haven't been going the same
Since the Wizard up and left that day
First off is that house from Kansas
The one that fell on the Witch of the East
There's no way the Munchkins can move it
So we're going to renovate it right there on the side of the street
And turn it into a Bed & Breakfast
Where all the Good Witches can relax and stay
Then they all won't be so apt to
Commandeer a sphere and float away
After that I'll need to buy some silver paint
As the Tin Man is looking rather dull these days
And while I'm at it might as well, some yellow and green
To give the road and OZ a brand new sheen
And since the Witch of the West has been put to rest
I have all the Flying Monkey helpers I can use
As my professional skills will be put to the test
Giving her dingy castle a good ole OZ spruce
I wonder why they've never had someone before
Oh yea, I've also gotta fix that Knocker on the front door
There are so many things that need to be done
Me being the new Handy Man in the land of OZ
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
As I have grown to understand
Most everything can be fixed with
a little duct tape and minimal effort while
S
c
a
r
s
never fade to those
scarred by time; unforgiving
are the years that forbid such
(memory lapses)
to look upon
unblemished skin and see
****** wreckage
since faded to
white ribbons like smoke
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 7:00 PM UTC
Open up to me, he says
But inside there is nothing but void
Feel a little, he says
Little does he know
Every word that spills from his mouth
Injects itself into my blood
The anesthetic that numbs my soul
Listen to me, he yells
But all I hear is noise.
They want to fix me
Want to hammer out the perfect girl
To fit into their crumbling little world
-- a doll to beautify their cemetery
their collection of hollowed out bodies.
I may be empty but I’ve already been a token
Too many times.
Let me fix you, they say.
But all they do is break me.
Take more from me.
Let me fix you, they say.
Never once did they ask to heal me.
Try to glue me back together.
I’m already open.
But I was broken into.
Robbed.
Shattered
Hammered.
Invaded.
I’m already open
But you don’t like what you see
I guess it’s not pretty to watch me bleed.
I’m already open.
But you don’t like what you’ve found.
******* away the pain won’t do no good,
So put me back down.
Inject me with your silent poison and
Put
Me
Down.
-lf-
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
Flipped through my comic
And there I eyed
Free ride on the batman slide
Got so pumped I nearly cried
Got so pumped I nearly cried
Took my ticket
Drove to the fair
Let the wind breeze through my hair
Kind of cold but I don't care
Kind of cold but I don't care
There it was
Past flume log
Was it worth this sudden slog?
Chomping on my chili dog
Chomping on my chili dog
Gave the ticket
Crawled on in
Beaming with a goofy grin
Taking this ride for a spin
Taking this ride for a spin
I slid down
Then I barfed!
Losing all my debonair
Chili splattered everywhere
Chili splattered everywhere
Off to ride
Carousel
Handyman would come with broom
Walking past the scary flume
Walking past the scary flume
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Here is your handyman, to fix your heart
And each and every feeling ,which is broken apart
Caused by desolation ,and intense amount of pain
Now I'll help you stop,thy tears of rain
You don't need to tell, how broken you are
I can feel your pain,without seeing thy scar
Just free away your soul, and let it have a say
The pain it dwelled inside,for someone to hay
Now I am here for you,to free you from the ails
To give you all my love,and extract your gloomy wails
So come cuddle with me,inside the blanket of safeness
So that I can kiss your forehead ,and take away thy stress...
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I feel like a tool,
A pen, knife or wrench,
Applied for her will,
Twisted to her gain,
But I tell you now,
wing turned black,
**I will not let you use me,
never again will you torque me,
never again will I bend to your will.**
So you know,
for a handyman,
you don’t know a hammer from a nail.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Lacrimal ducts clogged.
I am Broken
in the most fundamental way.
Catharsis ineffective, Insufficient.
Insufficient.
Perfect word
to describe everything.
If only there were a handyman
to unclog
my lacrimal ducts
my soul
my cranium
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Whining about slushie stains, broken shoe strings, a cloudy tan date, a blender of crushed molding fruit and a couple of misplaced coupons dusty under the bookcase
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so awful, so unfair
Tuesday the tongue red Toms squished into the slip n' slide of a slow-paced coat on the run, splashing in the surprise and disgust but mostly drowning in the wrong point
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so foul, so raw
The pipes ooze liquid, weeping for a fix but the handyman's calloused fingertips were fired for not fitting the bill, mending the rip or driving the speed limit
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so frustrating, so disappointing
Saturday's overlap into Sunday was cramming lyrics and auto corrected notes into the bloated edge of a clicking lens snapping away, capturing a frenzy of wild memories and ibuprofen pills
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so entertaining, so amusing
Begging for top shelf truth, knee stretching for flexibility, pen scratching for a road deeper inland, holding, yearning for a meaningful entry to meaningfully look back on
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so vanished, so fragmented
Each night, the muffled light bulb all tucked into bed shamelessly stares crooked at the nightmares of an exhausted headboard wishing only to shed comfort instead of light
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so sorry, so sorry, so sorry I can't be more for you
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
A decent man in this world alone
DrIfting, dreaming about going home
Disappeared years ago, down the road
Mental illness, carried heavy load
Wandering daily from town to state
A handyman for hunger to slate
This man in it's grip, the devils brew
Loveless traveler no goals, no clue
Well trodden shoes worn to a shred
Shabby garments hanging like lead
No coat, no bag, had nothing left
His numbed out mind wholly bereft
An upstanding man once clean shaven
Matted hair and beard, no offered haven
To hunger and thirst in this sad way
Calculated risk leaving that day
To acknowledge failure, too **** proud
Never to return he boldly vowed
His people and love, no mail, no call
Family wondering if he lives at all
Lifes loneliest soul, filled with self hate
Reshaping existence, now too late
Loved ones lost an incredible man
Need to pray and move on, if they can
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
is very handy, so now
i have another egg cutter,
coffee grinder, he brings
old things for me, mends
old things for me, generally
repairs and sweeps, the
lower terrace.
ask him anything, he will
discuss, pleasantly. resourceful
is a word i can spell, i tell
you there are a few things i cannot,
do. so i have the handyman come.
also have a windowcleaner. he
did not come, yesterday
sbm.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
I feel like a tool,
A pen, knife or wrench,
Applied for her will,
Twisted to her gain,
But I tell you now,
wing turned black,
**I will not let you use me,
never again will you torque me,
never again will I bend to your will.**
So you know,
for a handyman,
you don’t know a hammer from a nail.
-June 15th 2013
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
Covered in plaster dust, I stumble out
coughing, and laughing
you wipe the white and dirt from around my eyes and
fail to be stern
i’m supposed to leave these things to the professionals
not a google search and my bare hands
once, i plastered and painted a bedroom wall
for a ********* i was living with
and now i think i am a handyman genius
then i whine for hours at the cuts on my fingers
the soreness between my shoulders
you roll your eyes and run a bath
and tease me when i still pick up the cat
eventually we have to hire someone
to repair what years and lack of life
(and my mistakes)
have done to this old house
we sit on the porch with beer
no longer afraid of it caving underneath us
we wake, curled around each other and
the blanket we dragged outside
the hungry cat pawing at our hair
you are bathed in the glow of the early sun
i clutch your sleeves and i am grateful
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Realisations of common knowledge lurk around us like shadows in the darkness.
Don’t close your eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn a corner too quickly. It’s just the wind. It’s not the same car. It’s too big of a city to find you.
Dear authorities, what are you doing to help?
People from generations before mine have raised their children to be hateful. They have taught them that if they don’t feel like respecting people, they shouldn’t and won’t. I’m sure you’ve guessed this next one, but they’ve let their children get away with a smack here and a smack there to those who don’t obey their every demand – and even to those who do. But I am not the only one. I am not the only unlucky punching bag to experience the hatred of someone much older, more mature, wiser and certainly, not just a kid. Is that it? Is that why you let him go? I was four when it started and fifteen when it ended. To you, that’s a child. Children don’t know much, do they.
Dear authorities, that’s where you’re wrong.
I was four when it started and if you think it stopped at fifteen when my abuser walked out, think again. It never fully stops, not yet. I am nearly twenty years old and I still flinch if someone holds out their hand for a handshake or raises their voice just a notch because they’re a little out of earshot and I needed them to repeat.
Dear authorities, I can’t live because you won’t let me.
Oh, you like Budwiser? Corner Gas, the T.V. show? Do I smell steak? Potatoes baked on the BBQ? You need a plumber? Handyman? Oh look, you’re wearing red. Do you think I appreciate being reminded by the stupidest things, that my abuser is out there? Why is that? Could it possibly be because nobody has bothered giving the man any possible discipline?
Dear authorities, I’m tired of being told, “it’ll be okay, it’s not that bad.”
People after people have continuously told me to go talk to someone. I’ve seen multiple counsellors, doctors, talked to teachers, specialists, friends and family. But what are you doing to help? I moved away from my mother and siblings, in fear. Fear, because every time we moved anywhere the lawyer told us we had to give our address to the abuser. We could not deny him access to us, we could not cut off communication with him. I had to leave, as an attempt to protect myself and hide in a big city with lots of people and hopefully I could blend in.
Dear authorities, you have failed me.
Stop telling me things will be okay, when he is out there and things only seem to matter when a death occurs.
Dear authorities,
Dear authorities…
Dear me, you’re not dead so authorities don’t care.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
*The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us.*
The farmer let us into his old
Storehouse. Where food and
Goods had been stacked and hanging
Centuries ago, there were piles of
Rubble and memorabilia.
Half drunk and inspired, we filled
A bag with old objects. Brass scales,
Leather blacksmith protective glasses,
Razor blades and what not.
"Guess were going steampunk," you
Concluded, and I agreed.
We spoke briefly of bats, and
Retreated. Back home, the fire was still
Going. You sat down with your
Drink on the floor, arranging objects
Onto the canvas. Bronze spray paint and
A sharper eye for detail than I ever
Had. You nearly forgot to drink your
Wine, and apart from my applying some
Sealing foam and other handyman
Touches, it was all your creation.
I helped you to your feet -glass in hand-
And you stood there with a paint stained
Finger on your chin. Pensive; still working.
A part of me stumbled slightly deeper in
Love with you there, another took your
Picture in my mind, my eyes blinking
Like the lense of a camera, before you
Tilted your head against my shoulder,
Eyes not leaving the work in progress.
*"Don't you just love it? The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us."*
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
I've put a lot of it together over the years
Tables, cupboards, display cabinets
Not been a problem
IKEA specials
Get them home and a few hours later
A work of art
Until this last week
I work part time as the handyman in a large office complex
Got a call "can you come in for a few hours"
Not a problem!!!!
Can you assemble those desks
Those cupboards
Those six foot storage units
Easy, done this so many times before
Opened the boxes
All the instructions were in French
Trying to follow line drawings
Cam locks, cam spindles, nuts, bolts, screws
Honor was on the line
Failure not an option
11 million pieces later and all was complete
And 755 pounds going into my bank account
It wasn't 11 million pieces but it sure felt like it
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
I guess you wouldn't see this everyday
A 43 year old man writing in a diary
But hell what other choice do I have
See a shrink
Talk my problems out
So I'll give you the details
My names Karl 43 yrs old
Divorced 5 times
7 children I barely get to see
Kids mothers think I have manic depression
Judges took my supervised visitation rights away
Because I had a mental breakdown
Ended up in the psych-ward for a month
I'm working three jobs
Little Ceasers, Raising Canes, and a handyman
I'm living in my moms basement
Paying rent out the ***
Even though I'm barely here
You tell me if I've had it rough
My dad drank himself to death
Beating my mother and me
My older brother died during service
My younger sister is a crack fiend
And I've spent more money on her
To stay in rehab than I have on clothes
For both me and my kids
I've been recently cutting
I saw my oldest do it
When I confronted him
He said it relieved the pain
He was right
Still feels wrong
I just wonder when enough is enough
When you finally give up
I've been a devoted Christian
Yet I've never seen the end of it
The constant pain
The endless torture of reality
Hell would be my heaven right now
I have no friends
I don't have a single clue
Where my life went to
But I'm sure it's heading nowhere fast
Thought about ending it
But the picture of me and my kids
Always seems to stop me cold
I just wish I could say I'm sorry
That I wish I could be a better father
A more devoted husband
But how can I do any of that
When the woman I've been with
Only wanted my wallet more than my heart
I don't even remember the smell of cologne
I guess I'm just rambling
But how old do you need to be
To die from a broken heart
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
A thought sets off tears
A smile creates sobs
An "are you okay" breaks you
And nothing cures the sorrow you feel
No person
No object
Nothing, leaving you with sadness
Sadness that shrinks you into a fetal position
It feeds, infinitely hungry
A stomach never fully satisfied
And you wallow in this pity that can't be ridden of
The damage is left behind
Not an angel's handyman could patch the hole left behind
Guilt
Anger
Pain and
Fear
This is when everything fails
This is where everything fails
Falling into hell and farther down than known to man
Because of a trip that could have been prevented
But was provoked by someone other than you
That, is where everything fails
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
I am not your rock,
your place of solace,
and I cannot give you
structure in these
empty words
My own life is
cracking at it’s
foundation
and I’ve lost
the architects
phone number
You have to
find foundation
in yourself
because odds are
your handyman,
isn’t on-call for only you
and when the
wind comes,
and the rain pours
you’ll be stuck
with leaky ceiling tiles
and a draft that will
chill you to the bone
- S.G.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC