"jackhammer" poems
pick up your snapback on your
way out, and use your cheap ***
compliments on the next girl. you played
your game but i played it
better. you asked me to make you
a sandwich, so i gave you
the finger. all you said was
when and where, so i’ll show you
the door. since you're not worth
the bedroom, especially when
i already have a jackhammer.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
It plays again filling me with dread
it's melody plays like a jackhammer in my head
I just want to run and get away from
that annoying song
Worse yet it seems to play everywhere I go
that annoying song
The lyrics make me feel sick
I want to throw a brick at
that annoying song
After hearing it all day, it plays through my mind
like an uninvited pest
it is disturbing my rest
that annoying song
It plays through my mind as I lay in my bed
I can not seem to get it out of my head
I can not seem to control my feet that tap to the beat of
that annoying song
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Having ripped my way through
Concrete older than my father
With jackhammer and
Shovel
I rest. As thirsty as sweaty and *****
As dirt.
Across the street
The ladies at the hair salon
Whistle and wave giggling girishly.
Clouds of menthol.
**** sexists.
I put my shirt back on.
It's not even lunch and I'm
Less than a Diet Coke ad
Without the coke.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.
Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the
Construction site.
*I wanna work like this when
I grow up,* he says in
Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach
And kneel down in front of
Him. *So you want a job,
Buddy?* I ask him with a
Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the
Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a
Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. *Well, I'll see you in a
Few years,* I say with another
Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,
*But you can start with this
And get some practice.* I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max
Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,
Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a
Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading
Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.
Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
I remember the first time
I felt panic, I
Had been raised in a beautifully-constructed world of my mother’s making where I could
Take my time and step from subject to subject like hopscotch or skipping rope because I wanted to know it all
Drinking it all in, soaking in knowledge like a bath
Learning everything there was to learn
Leaving no stone unturned
No one told me I couldn’t
Swirl my fingertips in acrylics, read books on horses having *** at age seven because I wanted to be a veterinarian, hit the soprano notes though I was an alto, crush dandelions into healing potions, create a world on a stage with crying child actors, nick cardboard boxes and clocks because I knew I could move time backwards
Then I grew up and
The grown-up world was not so forgiving
Examinations, papers, time clocks, meetings, expectations I could not meet with the excellence my soul craved
I can’t breathe
Fear had a choke-hold on my throat
My mouth would dry, then wet as my stomach swirled and groaned with nausea
My hands turned into ice picks
My heart screamed like a jackhammer in concrete
Every possible worst-case, best-case, win-win, lose-lose, lose-win scenario would rush and overthrow my amygdala like a union mob besieging an abusive factory that never closes, never lets them rest
I didn’t realize it was because the only way to do it all and be it all and hit every deadline and finish every task was to sacrifice perfection, to become average, mediocre
Assimilate
And I learned the truth
That that was all the world expected of me anyway
You see there is no patience for anything else in the real world
I can’t breathe
I have no emotion, only thought processes
Paralyzing, debilitating clash between suppressed desires to take my time, create, innovate, learn and the overwhelming need to
Focus, decide, move faster, work harder, be on time, be better, please everyone, be everything
Be nothing
To where the only choice is let go of that part of yourself or go insane
So I shed my skin like it was a sin I was leaving behind
Just to survive
Without the headaches, the heartbreak, ripping my hair out over stupid little mistakes
It’s taken this long to find it in my closet again
To not be afraid
Of the soul it takes to
Perfect
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Let's boogie
in the electric synaptic light show club
called "Us."
Jackhammer legs quake the place
as everyone hums to the rhythms of their synchronized eyelids
and lungs pumping out golden dolphin breath.
Together copacetic drinks are raised and clinked
echoing like a hummingbird's wings shimmering in the afternoon sun,
Great Spirit, the bartender serves up a round on the house
of midnight snow owl whisky
for those ruminating Rumi and Hafiz's poetry,
the ones already beaming crystal quartz incandescence
from their heart and minds being present in the swaying
space that is the sacred spiral grouse dance.
Some peeps puff tree in the maui wowie mahogany lounge,
the prairie dog smoke carves the air
as these folks reflect and stare at their streams of consciousness
like a blue heron waiting for that third eye fish
for dinner.
The mirrors reveal our inner higher self children
of the moonrise kingdom building the iridescent
bridge to the rainbow road.
When when it's last call
we shall tiptoe home like drunken mice
stumbling up the melting sphere clock
to rest upside down opossum comfortably
giggling giggling thunderous heyoka whispers
into each other's shoulders
until the aquarian dawn.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
one eye open,
jackhammer in brain
....appears to be blucat
purring.
i see,
my hangover
has not....
diminished his,
need for food.
one eye closes,
drifting off again,
my head, so heavy...
one eye open, again.
whaaa...!!!!
staring up at,
a wrinkly bald blucat belly...
his front paws, on my forehead
backpaws, top of my chest.
still purring...
so not,
letting me rest....
determination...
thy name is....
hungry kitty.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
On the days I hate music,
I entertain silence,
in a sense.
I stifle one music and greet another:
Silence accompanied by the soundscape.
In my car, windows rolled up.
The world outside my vessel becomes dulled.
The silence I sing ain't so quiet;
tempo'd to the turn signal's metronome,
the droning hum of the engine,
the screaming world seeping through cracks and crevices
within the assemblymen's exquisite craftsmanship.
I hear these songs.
I roll down the window;
I hear the staccato shrieks of impatient cars.
I hear the bombinations of the road worker and his jackhammer.
I hear the droll of the cement truck drudging down the highway.
I hear the light treading of the jogger
making her way down the eternal sidewalk.
I hear coffee poured and pondered over in the coffee shops.
I hear grocer boys bag absentmindedly in the supermarket
(where Allen and Walt linger).
I hear silverware jingle in the busboy's bustling trays.
I hear dog's elation leaning out their master's passenger window.
I hear tires groaning over the hot sticky pavement.
I hear the wind carry the sunny tune like the steady conductor
guiding their orchestra across the threshold to the enthralled audience.
The wind carries the tune to me,
and I hum along.
The days I hate music
are the days I remember
why we make it in the first place.
I escape to and from the soundscape.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.
I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself
These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.
But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.
I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
i read like a thermostat
i feel cold shrill of eyes
hot blisters of souls
i’ve seen aplenty
fully literate to the hunger
inside denim of men
with twenty tongues
pulling their weight
like untrained dogs
they lick my face to a swell
heating and cooling
my metals expand
silvers contracting
but I can very much tell
who is ready
who is not
some do
some talk
if you'd like
to open me wide like a mouth,
be mean with your smile
to get my thaws down to feet,
**** fire to the wind
with the door
wide open
let
it
all
hang
i’m very keen on intense
i salute a heavy gut
and the confidence of a mutt
an appetite
and if I’m truly your win,
jackhammer
the thermostat
out of the wall
get the wires all bent
and with violence
cement
the
type
of
love
that
knocks
me
dead
completely illiterate
i don’t want to think
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
brokenhearted
but still you took
this rusty nail you call a heart
and slammed into my head
you said you would be a friend to my darkness
you said you would break bread with my rage
so heart beating faster
sweat breaking on brow
still your silent
still your liars book remains unburnt
still your liars house has life
while the twin razors of your eyes stare at me out
of my history
and out of my pain sweet pain
now when you finally did speak
you poured gasoline on my heads fire
and then you ran laughin
it wont be enough to watch a pack
of wild dogs pick your bones clean
their fur matted with your stain
it wont be enough to burn your house to the ground
i'm gonna break its bones in my teeth
i'm gonna eat your world whole
can you feel my teeth on your mind
i'm eating you alive from the inside of your skull
brokenhearted this rusty nail you call
a heart is covered in my innocent blood
your filthy lies dance laughing in my eye
my ***** burn to see your house destroyed
to see your filthy book burn
this rusty nail you call a heart
i'm gonna drive it like a jackhammer into your love
like gods eyes on the hand on the wicked
i'm gonna eat your world whole
break its bones with my teeth
with my darkness
with my rage
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
big Hand laying on top of the small hand straight up midnight.
water drip dropping in the kitchen sink like a dusty jackhammer
solving Chinese algebra in the Blazing noonday Sun
good bye baby so long girl.
you knew the drill off the top of
your head you knew how to make me hurt....so good
I dreamt that dream again last night standing in the middle of the floor.the music was low the tempo real slow
just how we did a thousand times before but this time, this time baby
they were just four walls ,the music playing and the closing of the door.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
flower girl and jackhammer,
street worker, cigarette lighter,
desolation in death,
exhaustion in life, you can buy your desire for just a
noisy day
nowadays
he shoves and sells
and hustles about
and buries his grimy hand in his
hot pockets
hot hot dusty hell
There's a faceless woman eating helplessness
turn around to see fight
no fight in anyone's eyes
restless and old
and worn, like a worm
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
elephants stomping on my head
laugh as they draw blood
fragmented ideals scatter in the wind
as trampled dreams mix with dust
cemented in 'supposed to'
hiding behind other people's 'shoulds'
jackhammer disappointment
crushes bones with broken boundaries
play me a song
to make it look pretty
and I'll pretend to dance
with you in foggy yesterday's
karaoke soundtracks
to a stranger's tears
that leave the heart blind
tripping acid just to see in forgotten colors
breathing bacteria
from the soles of shoes
wiped on my forehead
as they said, 'hello'
a mosaic of skull puzzles
grouted in the remnants of the ****
left behind as everyone
just walks away
shadows smell clean in dark corners
where colors are left to die
in clouds of expectation
leaving truth buried in the ruble
...of who they thought I was
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
Cold streets. cold people.
cold city of Oslo.
snowless, as pre-Christmas
winters have become.
I wave back at kindergarten
toddlers smiling at the filthy
man with the green hard hat
emerging from the hole in
the brick wall, jackhammer
shouldered, dust like fog following.
sometimes my job is to ruin. there's
nothing "-ish" about "demolish".
friday fatigue.
arms rubber, hands cold; numb.
her voice is my coffee.
her words, diesel.
I wait for her call, hand on phone-
pocket, expecting movement any
time. I hope she'll call me soon.
I hope to God she'll call me soon.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
jackhammer rings
thoughts scream not sing
fighting for a spot
at the show
with each blow
of the metal drill
is sent a shrill
you can shake a chill
but never a cold
mind fits a mold
do what you're told
tried to make a break
but the earth beneath me quakes
with each riff of the hammer
who defined these parameters?
bordered by hate and mistrust
feeling so abused
compromised and misused
I will not shy behind the fence that you've enclosed
trade what I think for what I know
because I know what lays beneath the ground
your out of touch and out of sound
the jack hammers fill my ears with white noise
that dilutes your scheming and ploys
and I could be gone for a thousand years
in only 2 minutes
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
An insistent past solidifies a present crumbling at my feet --
To rubble so fine it rains through desperately cupped hands.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
The clouds roll and tear the sky.
Flashes of light
August on the highway
hot weather heat
Thump and thunder.
Under a construction hat, pour of sweat.
The jackhammer in concrete
cement spits
humidity so thick it mists.
The crew starts after sunset
no flag person on site
steamroller melting road up ahead.
A passenger says careful now
it’s coming up
dogleg
bump in the road
makes them sway.
A cloudburst, deluge
instant blindness
through orange cones
crash landing.
Thump and hit ground.
Back turned, hit from behind.
Pounding on pavement
shower of glass
August on the highway
running in rain
knees and elbows bruised
hard hat and head
cracked.
Grabble and thump and hit ground.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Life made me mean and I took it out on everyone in sight
I never loved a man on earth and I wouldn't treat 'em right
They told me I looked mighty good; that never made me change
Till I met this wiry cowboy who rode in from the range
This ugly tempered cowboy neglected union dues
He'd sleep with mountain lions when he had the choice to choose
If he wanted sump'm bad--best to say you're the master
He's got more hair upon his chest than a grizzly in Alaska
HE DROVE HIS JACKHAMMER LOVE THROUGH THIS CONCRETE HEART OF MINE
THIS MAN ATE NAILS FOR BREAKFAST; HE COULD SNAP A GEORGIA PINE
BUT HE MADE MY HEART GO PITTY PAT AND THAT'S THE BOTTOM LINE
HE DROVE HIS JACKHAMMER LOVE THROUGH THIS CONCRETE HEART OF MINE
He wouldn't take no sass from me; wouldn't treat me like a lady
He knew that I meant yes when I told that cowpoke maybe
I told him I could love no man so cowboy move along
He told me Honey shut your mouth, and for once I got it wrong
REPEAT
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Here is what I am:
a survivor whose sun-soaked back tans
darker than her porcelain face;
trauma traps like wet concrete ‘round ankles,
dried shackles facing only shadows.
And a jackhammer would break the mold,
but not before shaking me up hard--
all crises stirred together, and my ribs
shrinking beneath sandbag weight,
breath heavy as blood’s penny-coin
odor; and I am suspended, head back
to face the rising light burning slurred
memories, blackened silhouettes, gone--
my face washed warm and
golden in the inevitable morning.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
On a Friday Morning
The sky comes through my window
And my alarm sounds,
But I ignore it.
My dampened hair
Sticks to my forehead
And the birds chirp outside
Over the noisy whistling of the jackhammer
"I don't think I'll go to work today,"
Is what keeps running through my
Morning-busy, Not-so-busy mind
And I go back to sleep
An hour later,
I get a call
And I am awake now for sure
So I get busy.
I have a drink,
I don't have breakfast,
My roommates stare at me
And I bustle to get ready for my plans that just materialized.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC
The sun spies on the city and burns under its gaze.
Blushing
Workers bake in the heat of the day while constructing a new site for the sick. Their shrill drills bust up loose chunks of gravel and dirt, releasing an abundance of debris that surf the breeze. A lucid hummingbird soars beyond the commotion.
So sudden.
It towers over skyscrapers with a youthful heart, emulating the shivering helicopter that slashes the sky above.
How rewarding that bird’s life must be to have sustained through its years with a heart like a jackhammer, steadily bashing against its ruby ***** The overwhelming core within its fragile, willow form strives to move, to breathe, to swiftly drain nectar from budding botanicals.
What a satisfying life, so rich, so fulfilling. And yet-
Exhausting
Like pressed petals amid pages, its wings begin to tear.
Struggling
And for once, its jackhammer begins to falter. Has it been granted a break? Perhaps it could be a reward for its burden? Alas, it stops, mid-flight.
Falling
Falling
To
Float.
To
Transition
To
Be
Still
Meanwhile, workers below the smog consider their watches for break. The resonating sound of that aching jackhammer goes unnoticed.
Even concrete breaks under pressure
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
like a vision of apocalypse
she drags a tree branch along the muddy
lane to the carnivals edge
where those of like mind gather
she believes her offered symbols
of peace will curry favor among the
indigenous or the occasional forlorn tourist
and she will have her safe harbour for the night
everyone deserves a place to at least rest
their head at the end of a futile day
and all here in the laughing happy places of the misbegotten
will attest to that truth of the road
so is it so strange to see her
with that nugget of hope lodged in her eye like a steel jackhammer
she is a complex phrase on the piano keyboard
that without having to speak entices the mind into the notions
of her tale spun in the scents of her patchouli and
the delicate pattern of her lace dress
her clean ****** limbs are filled with extreme tattoos and scented with fresh ***
she massages herself there
and closes her eyes at the point of contact
she looks at you with a question in her eyes
but she never asks
she is not one to want for what she isnt freely given
so you give her everything you have
along with your hearts strings
hoping to see that smile
that enchanted with its sweet touch
she is a simple turn of words in the worlds master plan
but she is a complexity in your life that
was unseen and unwanted
now she raises her flute
and raises a tune from ages gone past
that stings the hearts soul
with its refrains of pale and drawn lost loves
dying in the cold lands
and the tales of the forlorn waif who waits her days
for the man who went to sea never to return
shes a repeating moment
from the past followed us down from denvers cold
to join us on this beach
only to find me alone
but that means little
because her eyes are like steel jackhammers
ripping into the truths she thinks should be
ignore the reality's of the empty beach
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC