"machete" poems
What would You do when you can't have someone you want?
Would you
lift a finger and whisk it like a wand
wishing everything would fall in place
the way you'd want it to
in a tick of the clock ,
or,
would you struggle with your brain
between finding a solution
and living inside your head, dreaming of
perfection?
ME
I would get up,
trek to a forest with my trusty machete
and hack away at the thickest bushes I could find.
I'd hack away, hack away,
and ignore the sag from my arms, the stress on my back,
the sweat pouring down my face like water off a cliff,
the unsteady footing caused by wet mud and unsteady, unsure legs.
I would keep hacking until I reach the end of my arduous quest,
where I would come upon a clearing--
A clearing with an aisle made of rose petals
that lead into the center,
surrounded by white chairs and sunflowers.
And Someone would be there,
in a white dress and veil, waiting for me.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
come sit on my words
dear reader
like outdoor furniture
for thin hips
while spooky poets peer up under gaudy umbrellas
nervous about making a good impression
all of your hosts
snuffed candles burning-out
for metaphors and alliterations
begging
one poem at a time
for a light
that we will never see
go ahead
antagonize me
you, who live in an idealized passed
fear the future
and ignore the present
while i hide like a little girl
behind the bare legs of poetry
that will show you!
my head a hanging web
that feels words like cosmic storms
tumbling stone heads
onto boulders of terracotta shards
my ink smells like stinky saliva
a dragging wet tongue of ambiguity
a kabuki fight to the death
unwinding paper machete viscera
and plucking out make-believe hearts
while gobbling fortune cookies containing
jokes, platitudes, and fortunes
that never come true
in a dreamland of masturbation's
i'm trying to break something in you!
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
The first new star flashed waves of blue tonight ,
securing my belief in the afterlife
A grove of ferns lit my imagination
For I became a shipwrecked captain -
that stumbled upon an island nation
Exploring the deep jungle without machete ,
potable water nor compass
Knee deep in mangrove forest
Tropical winds whispered and moaned
A lean-to of fronds became my maritime home
In the presence of a million stars
An army of sand ***** paraded before -
their newfound master from near and afar
Crashing waves lulled a poor sailor to rest
The whispers of Poseidon
A dream about a lookout in the crows nest
Counting orbs in the tail of the Milky Way-
with visions of mermaids , ghost ships and rogue waves
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
April 5th 1994- Kurt Cobain dies
April 6th 1994- The President of Rwanda Dies
April 7th 1994- Kurt Cobain's body is found
April 7th 1994- A genocide begins.
Neighbors take arms against neighbors
People he once shared a sandbox with now hold a machete to his neck
Heads roll- literally
Babies cry out to their mothers who lie there choking on their own blood
Girls who 2 days ago were playing house with their dolls, now take care of their whole family
Screams of pain from girls who's innocence is taken from the man who used
to bounce them on his knee.
Gathered in the place where God is supposed to be
Hundreds are murdered ruthlessly.
Guns not pointed at their heads
But clubs that smash them in.
Achilles' heels slashed
These men drink and feast and sleep
Over the screams of their victims
Babies born 9 months after these men took something that was not theirs to
take
A physical representation of all that is evil and hatred and pain
She tries to love them anyway
But she sees him in them
He has daddy's eye
She has her fathers nose
She sees them in the way he looks at her when he's hungry
As if she is just there to quench that thirst with her body.
The whole word is split in 2
Nobody is Rwandan anymore
You are Hutu or Tutsi
Short or tall
Human or vermin.
The dead among the living
Sometimes I can't tell which is which
Until I see it
That sparkle of hope in that one man's eye
Because the human spirit will never die.
The father of his best friend tortured and murdered his mother on their
front lawn.
Orphaned and afraid,
He cannot stop
He cannot slow down
He cannot give up
Because ***** Kurt Cobain
he has to tell the story of what really happened that day
Rwanda April 7th 1994
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Where did it start but by one little cry,
one mother's love, one day she will die
Trees grace the land, the water at peace
Visually astounding, pleasant at ease
The lake was open for summer time fun
Camp Crystal Lake where it begun
A boy and his mother greeted each soul,
welcome my friends enjoy it all.
The torment started, it lasted all season,
they beheaded his mother for all the wrong reasons
Emboldened with fury, deep in the lake
drowned by cowards, feeling no shame
Each year they returned, hearing stories of the camp
the man in the mask, machete in hand
Not believing the myth, what shadows do lurk
no hearts will be pounding, only their blood will spurt
Pre-marital *** upstairs in the cabin
rolling blunts on couch, look out, he's coming
Naked in the shower, Alice did fall,
ice pick in hand, no scream or no crawl
Squeezing your eyes out or smashing your face
Ask all of the counselors at Camp Crystal Lake
One hundred and fifty more victims will fall
This is my place, you are not welcome at all
Mother, I love you, through all of the pain
Hide behind my mask, my machete does reign.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
took my caddie up the track
gun held to the black
hoods on for the clan attack
planned it in my ****** shack
****** I want my 20 dollars back
bullets stab you through your back
huge
machete to the sack
and something else through your back
****** I want my money back
back
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
I'm lost in the jungle. It's so dense and vast.
Makes me wonder if I'll ever get out.
I keep moving forward, trying to escape.
It's no use though. The darkenss misleads me.
Continuously in circles I wander.
It's so hard to move. The vines engulf me.
Tangled in them I struggle.
If only I had a blade, a machete of some sort.
Something to free me, detach me,
let me flow through this jungle as the river does.
Constricted, alone with my discomfort,
I deal with the vines myself. Embrace them, natural and bare.
It's hard. Feels almost impossible.
But on my own, by myself, of my own will, I sever them.
A subtle gratitude is felt. A sense of accomplishment expereinced.
Glimmers of light sparkle through the canopy. A path emerges.
It was obscured in the shadows of the vines.
On this path the jungle feels so different.
Observing the trees and creatures,
There's a calmness, a peaceful harmony.
The path leads to a peak. At that summit I gaze the treetops.
Shining radience touches everything. Many paths lead to this peak.
Seeing the jungle as it really is, I ponder. A realization is had.
No matter where in the jungle I am, the sun is always shining.
Whether I can see it or not, a pathway out is always there.
Within the jungle I was lost.
Above the jungle I am found.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
So this is as it was, the old wound still itches
Glimpses of your face and my heart still twitches
If time heals all wounds then what am I to do
When my life has been frozen
Since last I saw
You soften your eyes as they flickered to mine
Skirted the contact then burned deep inside
Gritting my teeth in the pleasurable pain
A razor machete in welcome invasion
Expertly wielded through my jungle of thoughts
Clearing a path and discovering
My soul lost in
Your damp forest of evergreen trees
Rooting my soil and growing up through me
Bringing fresh life to my stagnant dirt
Oxygenating the air of my earth
Reversing pollution, reviving, refreshing,
Regressing the growth of the thorns in my flesh and
Cutting the cancer that
I might live,
Leaving your legacy scars.
So this is as it was, the wound still itches
Glimpses of your hand and my heart still twitches
If time heals all then what can I do
Since my death was frozen
When last I felt you.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
Naked and fierce,
Burning with anger,
Stands the Goddess,
Great is her hunger.
Machete in her hands,
Slashing at her will,
She knows no bounds,
And runs around to ****
She can't recognise,
Sinner or saint,
In her mission to **** the evils,
She has lost her restraint.
And then she steps on something,
What is it? She looks below,
To her horror she finds her Lord,
Supine, lying beneath her toe.
Great is her shame at what she sees,
In her great fury she had spared none,
It needed Lord Shiva to stop her rage,
She bites her tongue at what she has done.
And thus we know the great Maa Kali,
Ashamed, repentant for being blindly furious
She stands for the two sides in ourselves,
With the good trying to rule the evil in us.
So every year we worship her,
Each year we pay her our homages,
And this is how "Kali Puja",
Goes on and on for ages.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
I want to be a safari woman
I will stand in a regal position with my elephant gun cocked,
Finger resting firmly on the trigger.
Will I dress as an Indian war leader?
Will I choose to look like a gentleman?
Or will my attire consist of camouflage paint and steel toed boots that walk with a purpose?
It may change daily, but I still possess the same desire inside-
To be one with this habitat so intriguing, so mysterious and concealed.
The rivers call my name.
As I paddle my silver bullet canoe into the abyssal waters ebbing and bending around my streamline vessel,
The water calms at my own will in a passive manner much like the coo of a dove
The trees know my presence
-Such a command I boast-
They know to bow at my arrival and whistle their harmonious flutters.
The babies cower at the sight of my polished machete.
The mothers stiffen when I equip it with a cool hand.
I am Simba.
I am ruler.
Africa,
Asia,
India,
I own this land as my own,
And I understand it is needy.
I care for it in sickness,
I check its fever regularly,
I mother every animal, every bush,
And in return they signal their respect.
As the day ends, the sun sings "good night" and the moon chimes in with a "good morning".
I watch as the fish jump from the waters to catch their dinner airborne,
And the bats chirp above me while my campfire crackles in response.
I watch the stars mirror themselves onto the water, yearning to be remembered as something great.
A day of accomplishment achieved.
I am a real woman,
I am a safari woman.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
"Ang pagmamahal ko sa iyo ay kasing init ng bawat pagsikat ng araw. Ngunit kapag ako ay iyong sinaktan, asahan **** hindi mo na masisilayan ang paglubog ng araw."
Sa isang sikat na resort sa Laiya, Batangas napagkasunduan ng magkakaibigang sina Adlaw, Bulan, Amihan, Machete, at Tawa-Tawa upang alalahanin at damhin ang buhay probinsiya. Halos limang taon na rin ang nakalipas nang huli silang nakauwi sa kani-kanilang probinsiya.
At dahil sa iisang kompanya lamang sila nagtatrabaho sa Makati ay sa isang lugar na lang din nila napagdesisyunang magliwaliw. Iyon nga lang ay isang araw lang ang common day off na mayroon sila, kaya lulubusin din nila ang isang araw upang magtampisaw sa karagatan.
Nasa iisang kompanya lang sila nagtatrabaho na kung tawagin ay Cliffhanger Outsourcing Center, pero magkakaiba ang araw ng kanilang day off. Sina Adlaw at Bulan ay mag-ka-teammate na kung saan ay miyerkules at huwebes ang araw na wala silang pasok habang ang tatlo na sina Amihan, Machete at Tawa-Tawa ay Huwebes at Biyernes naman ang araw na walang pasok.
Sakay ng isang van na ang may-ari ay si Machete, dere-deretso na silang bumiyahe. Madaling araw pa lang ay agad na silang umalis. Kapag maluwag ang daloy ng trapiko ay aabot lamang ng isang oras at kalahati ang biyahe patungong Laiya, Batangas.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
I sip my beer, the relief of foam
the last remnant of civilisation
like a porcupine shawl
alcohol is the spine slice
beneath the skin
welcoming me in.
Electric lights shining bright
eels wriggling in a pool of light
like Frankenstein reborn
the monster within
the feathers of a passing dove give flight.
Sometimes I feel like grilled asparagus
the breathlessness of sentiments
wrapped in tin foil
the coil of perfection at gas mark 7.
Sitting in my bathtub and a 3 piece suit
electric toaster bubble and squeak
and fidgety machete at the ready
the voice in my head says, 'hey man, steady!'
the institute transmutes its underplay
I opt to not execute on this occasion
instead soak up the libation of liberation.
Safe in the knowledge;
tomorrow is another day.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
one thousand shards, my crown was built.
not of thorns.
but bubblegum legos, saturday morning stuck
to the carpet
& days gone by.
crept out of fold and gut/ kid living
& watched by trees.
autumn watches us fall like leaves,
born of the belly and the mother.
mom quiet/
dad loud/
men hid behind blisters and god.
men hid behind tall towers and the bomb.
men bled for immortality,
warred and ****** resource for more, the door
to an endless life.
dad taught me how the heart and brain behold blood,
& how the body manifests it/
moves it/
follows the sun.
son follows father follows god follows ghoul.
dad taught me about the machete.
about how “our fates will dominate us blind.
so man dominates the jungle.”
he told me a story of love and more glory.
of poor men and dead men.
machete theories.
he carved wooden chairs.
built a lodge.
fished the river,
& reeled to forget the war.
harpoon the river gods.
the heart and brain behold blood,
& the body manifests it.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
The dark and devilish nature of her words
Strike my soul with bone crushing impact
Delivering me to unfathomable heights
Soaring beyond valleys of unspoken truths
I swear I could feel the searing pain secreting
From the puddles of ink unmercifully ***********
From within her little black pen of revenge
A cold, hard case of poetic justice iced my veins
Slashing fiercely through the tender tissues of my heart
Leaving a dreadful scar of excruciating scorn
Forever embedded in what was once a sacred home
It was as if a voodoo ritual was taking place
Possessing every inch of my flesh successfully
Soaking my skin with tsunamis of fear
Compelling my body to dance with the spirit
As I danced to the rhythm of the drums
A cloud of smoke was blown to distort my vision
In the wake of the smoke I began to hallucinate
The image of a **** harlot equipped with a machete
Appeared before my eyes taking me by surprise
Ready to slaughter and **** all who oppose her
And rob them of their oh so precious manhood
She pressed her lips against the blade then blew a kiss
The kiss caressed my lips with the taste of honey
By the swift blow of a gentle breeze she was gone
When I returned from this coma of entertainment
A severe addiction was unmistakably evident
My taste buds craved for more of this woman's literature
I had fallen victim to her powerful hex of poetic justice
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary
(All rights reserved)
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:28 AM UTC
Often the news gives me the blues
I really ought to choose
to simply refuse
I mean really, what will I lose
Schadenfreude?
no that isn't it
truth is stranger than fiction
more like a fascination with the surreal
or a blinded self-affliction with the scroungy real deal
Talking heads that speak for work
punctuate sentences with erratic head jerks
nobody normal talks that way, they ask rhetorical questions
when the answer's are known, they’re killing time
“rephrase the question, run the clock out
a commercial will spare us the embarrassment of doubt.”
Take’s a special person to face each new day
with zillions of prying eyes hanging on every word you say
the mendicant voyeurs of utter destruction’s charming new day
the slashing machete melt down of the abject speakers foray
"Oh say, can you see by the dawns early light"
What's become of your people and their obsession with fright
desensitization is paramount to achieve an abeyance of light
Frankenfoods, and "side affects" hideous monsters in the making
high resolution mayhem require victims for the taking
awaking half-dead like Dracula’s each dusk
they'll find a cure, there's another vaccine, there’s always dumb luck
maybe you won't be the sucker that makes that dreadful scene
bludgeon your mind with a another faker, a different fresh news team
fobbing your leery eyes you ponder “they can’t possibly all be the same!”
different day, different month, different year, same game
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
The 3 am twilight blues his sandpaper skin
A beast-like hue
she feels down
So he lifts her spirits
By the neck
Like a Heineken
“DO NOT call the cops”
His words sharp objects
He speaks machete fluently
I freeze
He ice skates on my childhood
Blades figure eights on my frosty irises
His face switches from blue to red
Like 3D glasses
I think of alps in the summertime
Defrosted mountains unveiled
Scooby-Doo villains
The much-awaited unmasking
One time he shoves her
And murders a generation
Her run-ons have become clauses
Short.
Incomplete.
Terminated.
I smell miscarriage on her breath
Now her voice carries
What her stomach cannot
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
British soldiers,
Trained her for war,
Slunk through these vines,
Machete-hacked jungle trails,
Stumbled through tangled heat,
Discovered torturous needles
Of the dusty ******* Tree,
Cursed the stinging pain,
Attempted cures for naught.
Belizean allies revealed
The bastard's secret:
Within the sap
Beneath the needled coat:
Analgesic antidote.
So it is the "Give and Take" poisons
Then takes the curse away...
Solutions sometimes lie
Just beyond our pain.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
'Evil'?
Do you even know what TRUE 'Evil' even is?!
Let me explain it to you, while your still alive..
Stay with me for a moment,
I realize it is difficult to focus with a 2 and a half foot machete dug through and through, but please, let me elaborate this for you.
I have not hit any vital organs, therefor you will live.
(Only for as long as I allow it)
But that does not mean you will enjoy what is to come next.
On the other side of this wall are several people you love.
And I do mean,
truly.. 'Love'.
the first 3 are members of your family,
the one next to them is your lady/boyfriend.
Next to him/her is a pet you have held close dearly for a significant amount of time in your life.
And finally, your best friend.
You are going to watch me, as I rip the very meaning to your entire existence into oblivion.
Think I am kidding?
Watch closely...
You won't want to miss this.
hahaha...
Hahaha..
Ahhhahaha!
AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!!!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
This ******* heart beats thrice per second
Pumping in and pumping out the black tar from my lungs.
If the body is a temple,
Then I have abandoned mine
No one now kneels in this void.
Baptized in whiskey,
Circumcised with a machete.
It’s no coincidence that,
I was born on the full moon
In the midst of a hurricane.
Learning how to eat with no spoon
But this is who I am.
We each have a cross to bare
Mine’s just covered in scalpels
Sharpened bread knives,
That draw wrinkles on my face.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Someday last April
I lost my sincerity
Life became too fleeting to blink at absurdities
and after all, it's all you hypocrite logicians
that ****** **** up for me
but not just me
I'm just drones in society
I'm using a machete as a tea-cup coaster
to protect a table that's hacked to bits
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 10:11 PM UTC
I've been caught for
Foul ******
For a felony of shame.
A tortured soul was buried within,
The lake down the street.
Maybe thirty blocks away.
I've been caught for
Foul ******
I've commited arsen,
vandilism...
And just about every crime ever even thought of.
I sit in this cell,
With this officer's gun.
Thinking and thinking of murdering this guy..
Snoring as loud as Hades..
I have been caught for witchcraft,
for making potions and poisons.
I am a witch,
a wretch.
You can call me anything.
But I walk these mean streets,
these nameless streets.
Call me anything you want.
But don't be surprised if there isn't a tear shed,
Just a bullet in your head.
Or maybe,
depending on how much I hate you..
Ripping out your spine and whipping you with it until it falls from the cartilage.
Or draining your blood and ripping apart your bones and muscles,
Then freezing your organs in a meat freezer,
And hanging your vacant body from ceiling of your attic!
Oh!
The excitement this gives me.
Just talking about it!
The blood shall be spread...
From this emotionless body of mine.
For I,
I've been caught,
I've been caught for foul ******
FOUL ******
And now I sit in this cell,
with this machete and pistol..
Ready to ****** this man in the most violent of ways...
I will drown him first.
Shoot him five times..
Rip his spine..
Whip him until there's no skin left to be whipped.
And tie his converse shoe string to his head and to his ankles and hang him up on the ceiling and stretch his motionless body..
Oh yes!
I guess I've got my dream!
For I,
I've been caught for foul ******
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
Some people are just born with a better brain. Higher quality, if you will. They see clearly, what is in front of them, as if they've been on this planet for years, studying the art of things. Think of it like this:
You're in a field of wild flowers, trying to find a path to the daisies at the other side. You pick up a machete and hack your way through to the daisy flowers. It takes hours.
Well, someone with a different brain... They may be looking for those same daisies, but there are only a couple wild flowers blocking their path. They have no use for a machete and frolic to the other side with glee. They arrive with no worries and no troubles. They accomplish something in seconds, that took you hours to figure out.
Maybe you don't even pick up the machete until it's too late. Maybe you never pick it up. Maybe you never see the daisies. Everyone is different. It's all in the mechanics of things...
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
The tortoise has began
To sniff aloud impatiently,
Causing the *** full of
Palm-wine to burst into flames,
But the bat can only
Think of himself as a bird,
Let the yam tendril
Grow rapidly in this season,
For this matey idea
Engenders glowing nightmares,
Now know this,
The sacrifices of palm-wine
Cannot be substituted with water,
For your departure has caused
Me to sleep with the magic owl,
Oh yes, hear the sparrow
Singing your conventional song,
Listen dear, listen!
Listen and quicken the precious
Beads on your convex hips,
So that my heavy heart
Can behold her boisterousness,
Even though good beads
Do not speak in public,
Indeed, the machete has
Fallen on the wrong victim,
For I left the chicken undisguised,
And the ravenous hawk
Took an instinctive care of it,
***** dear, *****
***** all your pain
Into the thirsty calabash,
For I have evinced
A strong desire to be
Reconciled with your love,
So, let our imperturbable love
Unfold as the implacable day unfolds,
Obaahemaa Nyarkowaa,
The mother of my heart,
Please forgive my dumb insolence,
For I acted out of love.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
There is a condemned shack
on the bleeding edge
of this cracked mud cake prison
Rusted copper pipes snake out
into a murky puddle
holding the last cold drink
before setting out
I feel the ragged heat beating down
on the raw skin
of my hastily shaved scalp
The proud swing of flowing locks
cut off in shame
and thrown into angered fires -
Forever sentenced to wander
in tattered coated
highway robbery squalor -
Machete duel personalities
with blood crazed bandit gangs -
Hunker down on the edge of
gravel voiced pits
mutilating the rock face
in search of bitter roots
to replace the ones severed in
excommunication breakdown
I know
With you
It would be exile
Poor
Dusty
Hot
Banished
Marked for death
But nonetheless
we would sustain each other
I choose exile
with you
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
You stare as if you know
how my blood runs through my veins.
What wood are you?
Did you not come from a clan
of massacred trees
chiseled by an inglorious machete?
Were you the door that barred
the perils to our house?
Did you block the brutal sun from getting in?
Who carved you?
Was it not the ******
Was it not the thief?
Was it not the murderer behind the bars?
And you accuse me to have sinned
when all you do is mimic the fingers of your god.
Have you even opened those tinted lips
to mutter a prayer?
Why did you not dare to move
or tap my back when I opened my zipper?
Instead you feasted on my obscenity.
Why can you not tell your god
I attempted to fast?
Come!
Bleed and let these thirsty eyes witness your miracle!
Idiot.
©04-10-13
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC