"mallet" poems
I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes
He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber
Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel
The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high
Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took
Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still
Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art
At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"
I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway
With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.
So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.
No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a ****** great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his **** I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That **** mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, **** I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a **** shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid ****
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Today I had a bout of acute-you shyness
one where I try to pretend I don't notice
but have you noticed how difficult it is
when outside idles but inside there's a race
to views like you leaning side to side
on the motorcycle ride slot machine
driving my eyes to sly around your slides
taking them wide as when I was eighteen
I'd look for curves at Southend pier's end
give out stares and start to take in scenes
of free amusement at the Fun Bump arcade
around and around the circuit you rode
I was lapping up your every move
sneaking a view through the coin drop
peeping behind the pinball of Dr Who
prying open the photo booth curtain gap
faux testing the mallet with your strength
playing air hockey with my thoughts
were your short chic bangs a wig?
they sit so still I long for the straights
then swing to one side with a leg
tight vibrant jeans in hairpin bends
ironing out where the centre line is damp
polishing the dashing leather saddle
vibrating with wrist twist contempt
loveliness revving up to red line
exploding in my face with daring
this bike crash heart of mine
please forgive not stopping staring
a race course habit never outgrown
I go too fast and of course I fall
in love as bad as deeply madly
but the fact that it's with you.. well
I have to forgive myself this malady
I'm a side-road heading for a spin
on ways to tell you you're beautiful
dangerously close I risk self harm
imagining that colour of pink and pale
the flush u-turn will be a charm
If I can get you climbing off
hot and flustered
I’ll have done my pit stop job
at once a chance encounter
and a fateful winning score
to let you know you've entered
into being my prize draw
I'll walk away but don't be sore
it's up to you to take it further
but just know one thing more
that if you call me to confirm
and tell me that I’m worth it
I would turn around so fast
the world would gearshift
and wait
but not in neutral
for us
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
coke cleans the pallet
where's the man with the mallet
heart attack
is like a black
hole in my soul
I'm a troll under a bridge
or a sith
star wars
and easy ******
come together
**** my jedi sword
and get lost in that labyrinth
her ***** I swim
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Digging down deep is difficult
So many things these days only skim the surface
Or what we are capable of
No one dares to look inside
Afraid to shovel out the bones buried in the graveyard of memories
Afraid to be paralyzed with the fear that is ever apparent
Cry the tears that are ever evident
Be struck with the burning lightening of anger
Or the shallow mallet of loss
We bury them all so deep
We believe nothing can touch us
There is no way any being on this earth can touch this stone cold iron heart, no one
Then someone comes along
And without knowing, teases out little bits of that heart
Melting it slowly
Leaving us vulnerable once again
Exposed to others
What we wished to avoid in the first place
Sometimes, the person tosses the glass heart aside
Shattering it into a thousand sharp pieces
And other times, they cradle the masterpiece of human desire gently between their hands and place it on a shelf only they can reach
And toss you theirs for safe keeping
A gamble of emotion
An exchange of hearts
Love it is
Feeling all
Embracing all
Fearing not
Love it is...
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
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.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
Oi Modi you ****** yes Lalit,
Unpleasant to taste on my pallet.
Arrogant and so brash.
You make threats with your cash,
Your face should say 'Hi' to my mallet!
But Modi is right I must say.
The IPL in India should stay.
They cannot just give in
To all terrorist's whim.
Life has to go on, come what may.
Lalit K has a tongue and a brain,
Can he use both without causing such pain?
He works best under stress,
Well here is a fine mess,
Will he anger again, or refrain?
Tendulkar did something today.
Two hundred runs all in one day!
Majestic and cunning.
It simply was stunning.
No bowler could stand in his way.
How Sachin keeps on being humble,
Is enough to make braver men crumble,
If Modi learned that,
He'd be less of a pratt,
And my poetry jibes would then stumble.
These two things that happened together,
Were both better than English weather,
In the passing of time
One event will decline,
The other, remembered forever.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 11:05 PM UTC
On my garden lawn,
A croquet field of red *****
Whoops without mallet.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 8:19 PM UTC
Her eyes played me
Like soft chords on
An old violin,
And the sound produced
Would never sound as sweet,
As the song flowing from
Your piano key teeth.
There are harmonies in my heart,
And melodies in my veins.
If only you'd strum me
Three times more,
I'd blow into your trumpet lips,
And you'd buzz and you'd hum-
Dancing inside of my kiss.
I'll take this mallet,
And hammer away
At the contours of your spine
Like it were a xylophone,
Your body vibrates-
I flow to the sensual tone.
This is a symphony of few,
An orchestra of two,
And who needs instruments anyway-
When the music is made
by me and you?
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why did the people stare?
His numbers, though they moved or seemed to move
In marble or in bronze, lacked character.
But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love
Of solitary beds, knew what they were,
That passion could bring character enough,
And pressed at midnight in some public place
Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
No! Greater than Pythagoras, for the men
That with a mallet or a chisel" modelled these
Calculations that look but casual flesh, put down
All Asiatic vague immensities,
And not the banks of oars that swam upon
The many-headed foam at Salamis.
Europe put off that foam when Phidias
Gave women dreams and dreams their looking-glass.
One image crossed the many-headed, sat
Under the tropic shade, grew round and slow,
No Hamlet thin from eating flies, a fat
Dreamer of the Middle Ages. Empty eyeballs knew
That knowledge increases unreality, that
Mirror on mirror mirrored is all the show.
When gong and conch declare the hour to bless
Grimalkin crawls to Buddha's emptiness.
When Pearse summoned Cuchulain to his side.
What stalked through the post Office? What intellect,
What calculation, number, measurement, replied?
We Irish, born into that ancient sect
But thrown upon this filthy modern tide
And by its formless spawning fury wrecked,
Climb to our proper dark, that we may trace
The lineaments of a plummet-measured face.
April 9,
2.3k
Do we ever forget what we see?
Do we enact what we believe?
Do we arm the spine of our diaries?
To self-detonate to remain drama-free?
Sometimes my intent indents ignorance,
But maybe I've umpired too many bazookas,
And wore out the strength of my remembrance,
Catching rockets aimed at this loser,
Loser?
What are you talking about?
Lost the L in Laughter
Lost the O in Optimistic,
Lost the S in Simplicity,
Lost the E in Expressionistic,
Lost the R in Reality,
So now my soul's succumbed to gravity,
Tragically hatching my apathy with a Whack-a-mole mallet,
A dastardly dressed casualty,
Actually,
I'm trying to reverse the black magic curse and verse my happiness,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i was unaware, i was entrapped
to the spirit, i succumbed
my knees, now numbed
one hits the cold wall
...u n c o n t r o l l a b l e...
then falls "ka-blag" on the other
feeling so light as a feather...
..............f a l l i n g............
my eyes are Garfield-ish
hands, like a mallet, heavy-ish ...
G O D !
my mind, ~~~d r i f t i n g ~~~
i need some black, brewing...
gotta have strong bitter coffee, dark
to take my slurry mind back the track.....
after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i am now much aware, i must avoid being trapped...
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
There's an apartment filled with drugs
Somewhere in the past
Where I'd roll around on my rug
With a body of little mass
I was malnourished
And felt like a tourist
I protected embarrassing ****** desires
And felt like I couldn't speak
I thought I'd stay silent until I retired
But the pressure got too deep
I was afraid of what they think
And the Kool-Aid they drink
I made mistakes
And tried to act straight
I felt fake
Which engendered hate
My friends stopped seeing me
After I stopped being me
When everything got too cold
I reached out for somewhere to hold
And grasped a syringe
To erase my cringe
I didn't sleep on a pallet
Or get beat by a mallet
My parents loved me
Isn't that lovely?
I felt pain all the same
I felt like I had fame
And everybody was watching
And grenade launching
I tried to foolishly avoid it
Which proved to be ineffective
I thought drugs might destroy it
Which led to countless injections
I've seen interesting things
Like wives selling rings
To be drug dealer bling
And the constant scheming
Of the get-rich-quick dreaming
These events become boring
After you see girls *******
And homeless people looting up
And pregnant women shooting up
And pulverizing police pulling up
The difference becomes starker
Once things get even darker
My life had no worth
Back and forth
Between rehab and relapse
So much time had elapsed
Life became about learning how one thing leads to another
Like a caring mother who gives birth to two brothers
One is of use to society
For he has proper propriety
The other is a poet
But doesn't know it
He can carve out a peaceful existence
That can be his righteous resistance
He needs to be nurtured
By someone he collides with
Somewhere in the future
At a location to be decided
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
Take me by the hand,
see me through your placid garden.
Walk with me, St. Mary's.
March me in time to your rhythm;
let me wield the mallet that beats your drum.
Sing to me, St. Mary's.
String my sole into the primordial web
within the black walnut tree.
Lay with me, St. Mary's.
Close my eyes and tilt me back;
dip me into the murky pond.
Baptize me, St. Mary's.
Take me down to the fiery shoreline;
we'll linger beneath the countenance of the rugged cross.
Crucify me, St. Mary's.
Sit me by your mystic grave,
cast a silent earthy veil over me.
Bury me, St. Mary's.
Chip me from the rock, free me of these shackles,
rocket me into the heavens.
Liberate me, St. Mary's.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
.
Do you remember the time
that we built a boat to sail?
I taught you to use tools,
chisels, mallet, plane, knives.
Moving your wrists, touching hands,
guiding your fingers to feel.
We joked and laughed together
as we gouged out the trunk.
We were going to make a canoe
but you wanted a sail boat,
so we worked on the shape
carving the bow to a point.
You taught me how to sew
and I had lots the scars,
little white dots on my fingers,
but we stitched that cloth together.
And when we had made our sail boat
we looked around for the water.
But found we were stood in a desert.
Do you remember the time
that we built a boat to sail?
Do you remember?
Do you?
© Pagan Paul (19/09/19)
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 5:55 AM UTC
his hands are gripped tightly around the mallet
ripped koozie foam under his white fingernails
crack-hiss
crack-hiss
he is pounding flat the knots in the tree
until his tender grain sighs bitter bubbles
crack-hiss
crack-hiss
*grow straight, **** it. stand tall.*
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
You carve your trade
Above your door
The chisel bright and keen
Looking for work
Like a collie dog
Mallet wagging
Weightless in your hand
Rounding the letters
The letters speak of rowan
Fetched from a'side
A mountain burn
Fed by snow-melt
Even in summer
Hot sun through thin air
Burnishing each day
The wild, burred grain
Adorned with marquetry anemones
Each petal in fine horn
Further etched with pewter
And you will love that sign
The thought of that sign
Even if you never carve a single letter
Nor ever hang it until
You have something to trade
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
My antidepressants don't work
the way I want them to.
I tried to imagine watching each film
with anyone but you.
Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
Hidden reels
inside your soul.
There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to be
in your theatre alone.
I forgot how to sleep
under the same ceiling.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in her.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder.
There's too many people
inside your bones.
You don't have to
be in your theatre alone.
Five after dawn
and your movie's still on.
Christian, **** the popular kids,
because they don't understand
how her brain works,
how her glances steal,
how each death
can't make her feel.
Your flickering eyes,
they project the world.
I watch movies in the dark
to remember the feeling
that made me confide in you.
My eighties film.
My Winona Ryder,
let me forget you.
Maybe you're crazy
with your cleaner.
Maybe each swing of the mallet
made you meaner.
Maybe reality bites because of Heather.
Maybe it scared you that we were in love, together.
Maybe it scared you to stay together.
Maybe it scared you to stay together.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Great green melon,
I see you there.
A “smash hit”,
Center stage,
All eyes on you.
The mallet’s lifted,
Your smooth ripe skin,
The target
Of a sad little man.
Why he hates you,
No one knows.
Repulsed by your taste?
Or did you choke him once?
A genocide,
Of a whole new kind.
Your flesh gets split,
And your juices fly,
Yet laughter fills the air.
Great green melon,
You have received an honor.
To die by the hands
Of the great.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
Drop the mallet
Fool the believer
Smash the car into the junction
It's a beautiful motorcrash!!
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
* Fashionably Unexpected*
the devil had arrived but as the sun was at it's peak
the invitation was for nine, but in the evening
of next week...
he was naked save the toga, and his flaxen locks of gold
and a massive crop of wings, slightly mussed; -
adroitly posed.
i had just been in the garden, plucking apples from a limb
with my pruning shears and sherry
and no clue it might be him....
but there i stood astounded, having thought -
" I heard the bell ? "
and again
by ' Who'd ' Come knocking
on my mallet chain
from Hell.
the devil held a mirror and a silver box, ornate
with the likeness of a lotus and an acorn
on a plate...
the gilding was perfection, and the mirror was opaque
but the fallen one was flawless
as the smile upon
his face...
and how i broke the silence in my simple garden threads
was to ramble at the Serpent
as I handed him a Jacket.
Amused by my conceit that any custom i condone
were applied with an epoxy
Only carpenters from Rome, that were spotless and
And from Nazareth
with a Father
and a Ghost -
A Mother without Blemish
and Disciples in a grove...
And blessed be
the Mercy of the Lending
of the glue
by the resurrected Handy Man
and King of
all the Jews !
The Morningstar obliged!
But held the blazer
in rebuke
He grimaced His Displeasure
And instantly
for proof
He dismembered my regalia
and assembled it anew
Into such a splendid Toga
There was nothing
I could do -
but simply step aside
as all the sting
had let the ruse.
I received the Prince of Darkness
Wearing gloves and dirt and boots
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
How dare someone accuse?
How dare the tainted pay their dues???
The innocent are worse then the guilty.
With their petty fights and stained hands, ever so filthy.
They sit upon their wooden throne,
with the mallet made to strike home.
A lost cause, a burden they won’t bare.
How is that fair?
A soldier strikes and kills on the battlefield,
innocent child, a gun he wields.
Returns home a warrior, a hero.
Then cast aside, nothing more then a zero.
So why, oh why?
When I make people die,
why do there loved ones cry?
Why am I punished?
Why must the verdict be published?
I am only doing what I was meant to.
Yet here I sit in this electric chair.
How is that fair??
One day I will have revenge on them all.
I will watch them crawl, then watch them fall.
They will cry and whine, they will beg at my feet,
But I will just press one button and;
HUMANITY DELETE
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
The Devious Cupid arrow
Upon impact, steals the victim’s soul
Then controls the lifeless body like a puppet
Is this culprit a magical fairy or a tyrannical imp?
The mallet of righteousness
When the love connection breaks
The hammer bludgeons the heart into lowly rubble
Is this action just?
A simple date transforms to an enlistment into war
Wear sturdy armor
To survive the war of love
Once the fine string of romance splits in two
The battle of “break up” only ends in an emotional bloodbath
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:36 PM UTC