"peckers" poems
They brought them
from the hollar
to the barge
to the field ~
into the wallows
in prayer
skinny little pinkers
cropped by ivory gates
buzzed with hot wire
hooked on bug worm
whistling dixie
around scrummers
and **** pen
peckers squawk
down eden lane
(nipping at jean lint
and fraystring)
deep in the hollows
a mad crow
(with steady tap)
the snouts high
on grunters
and squealers
stomping past
the feather pack
folded fingers
on the gatekeeper
(an engineer by
trade they'd say)
pigtails and
slack line
down the dusty lane
a snap of the jawbone
and lawn chairs settle
(facing north)
the bold script
and chimes
uneasy
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
buffalo head cloud
rawhide drums
saline rollers at tantalus cross
ominous light
forms a short mile away
head lice
and peckers
tap the metal track
shovel train pings
the night quiet
moonlight
shines in
geometric form
arches and skiddles
and skirting reflections
(a vast connection of
grand design)
7 horns
at the passing
(oh that cold metal joy!)
stirring the blades
and ground cover
you better not turn old friend
just nod,
and cut what you need
it’s a bitter run
on the winter line
(with the finest
of wheels
and runners)
hold tight
on the pulley
the canyon wires
are clipping
there’s a gateway
to the copper town
*with a key held
by coveted few*
you can spot the
riders in their
box cars
watching closely
at the chunnel’s
dark turn
we’d walk
the lines often
(and put an ear to the ground)
the mine town still
and barren
hidden treasures
and pocket *******
settled deep
in a tranquil, stolid place
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
The wind blows harder up here,
As though it is trying to push
these skyscrapers toppling over.
The air is purer,
easier on the nose.
The normal gas fumes from the city buses
and the polluted, busy streets don't threaten to strangle you
when you're too high for them to reach.
The people are tiny.
Like ants in chaos,
scrambling
because you accidentally set a foot
on their grainy mound.
The sounds are distant.
Taxi horns' blow sounds like squeaks of mice
while construction workers' jack hammers mimic wood peckers.
Clouds suffocate the sky,
smothering the sunlight,
refusing to let it shine as it should.
Temptation sneaks up on me,
beckoning me
over the edge of the building.
Would it be such a bad idea?
Just one move, that's all it would take.
No effort required at all.
I picture myself jumping,
as I have multiple times before.
The wind in my hair,
gravity pulling me in,
the free falling feeling in my stomach.
And at this point,
Temptation almost makes me do it,
End it all.
But I decide against it.
And even though I have won
once again,
I still feel
defeated.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC
How
I retry
Backside Pen Slide
Lyrics spirits quips glide
Elbows Shins Blood Blot Dried
When Wind Blows Wicked Words Rise
Idioms Soul Grind Infinite rails Applied
Thoughts Ollie Pop Manual quill Pipe bomb
Ultra Stick Ink Drips 360 Plot Shov-it Twist
Push Kick I Pedal Prose Skate Tricks, Morphemes Stick.
Perpetual Pendulums Prop People to Place Peckers in Potato Grits
Times Up!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
The wood pecker
pecked and pecked
found the finest of wood
in that forest at last,
pecked with it's beak
the words of the poem
sprung in his mind
at that moment
read it in silence
felt elated
and
flew away
to tell
other peckers
pecking
for nothing
but worms.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
Dapple gray harbour
…humpback in breach!
a brown ruffed grouse
with apricot cheeks!
Pileated peckers
in caramel trees
the swirling fall mist
and gusty cold breeze
Bonfires and embers
in a harvest-moon sky
the cider house rules
and baled-hay ride
Warm roasted chestnuts
cozy fall stews
scarecrows and pumpkins
those dark autumn blues!
Parkas and sweaters
with cinnamon shades
a hot mulled wine
in the cornfield maze
Pine cones and acorns
on a brisk fall morn
frosty cold breath
and flannels well worn
Ghosts and goblins
…ole hallows eve!
the landscape covered
in dry golden leaves
A grateful Thanksgiving
with family and song
daylight (un) savings
where shadows grow long!
A north wind whispers
the harvest complete
stack up the woodpile
winter’s in reach!
Storm clouds brewing
the foliage flies
let’s spark up the franklin
and scurry inside!
Pull up a blanket
and call in the cat
...it's a perfect time
for a fireside chat!
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 2:20 PM UTC
No vacuum jet engined cleaning appliance can sound like mountain wind drivin through leaf bare trees. Like a a wood peckers nonchalant brain damage or a boiling something in this woods.
The boiling is jabbing my brain like impatient school nun with rulers.
I'm almost there. I almost got it.
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
Coyote saw the ducks.
He was trickster but toaday
He was creator.
We all agree here
That something is wrong.
He said to the ducks we dont feel
Rite about this.
Brother duck wise knew
He needed to dive and see what
Rested under the deep water.
The second he had roots is bill.
Coyote knew what he wanted.
I will make companionship
Between every creature.
And give man the tools
To live with us.
Coyote made arrows and spears.
Man will hunt us but he will honor
What I gave him.
With music of flutes
And a boy will chase for medicne elk.
With my arrows he will miss and find
Wind blowing through the wood peckers
Hollow branch with holes.
We will dance and celebrate his marriage
When ever the suns resting heart shapes the
Clouds into the ducks sioulette.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
we started school during
the Korean "police action"
like extra syllables made
murderous mayhem more
palatable than calling it
another dreadful WAR,
half a decade after we won
the last one
those of us who survived yet another
crazy Asian WAR are now fading fast
I take in news of our passing
with my morning coffee, reading
the obits like they were the sports
scores
and every one I see whose numbers
are smaller than mine remind me I
am playing Russian roulette with the clock,
every hour
were it within my power,
I'd spin those hands backwards
to a day before cybertime
when Donny, Johnny and I went
to the park to toss a hardball into
well pocketed gloves, and discovered
the delights of peanut butter and
marshmallow cream sandwiches
back, back to a day Ike was pres,
and I would watch The Twilight Zone
with religious fidelity--back, to a time
so ancient Maris had not yet slammed in
number 61, chipping away
at the Babe's immortality
some told us the end was near,
and death by fierce fire was a reasonable fear
long before the missiles of October
and JFK's intrepid blockade
but the mushroom clouds never did appear,
and here I am with Medicare card in hand,
living in the same land where men with funny
hair make ominous "tweets"
and Manchild dictators with tiny peckers
lob missiles into the sea
wishing Clark Kent were still around
ready to don his cape and take a leap
and a bound, and save us
from ourselves
but first he would have to find a phone booth
in which to change...
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
I woke from a dream this morning
with three penises
and three sets of testicles
sprouting from my groin
I was astonished
wondering about the implications
could they all perform?
could I have *** with three women?
or three men?
which gender did these penises prefer?
and how would that work?
or would I be too embarrassed by this mutation to ever have *** again?
I imagined a hand touching down there and felt
extreme embarrassment
no, this was definitely the end of my *** life
I would never have *** again
then something shifted
in my mind
and I woke
from THAT dream
original factory settings restored (I checked)
relieved (so relieved)
this was one problem the universe had not thrown in my lap (haha)
I can still see those tiny peckers though
like a bouquet of newborn masculinity
what high jinks
are going on
at the bottom of the ocean in my brain?
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 9:46 AM UTC
Boredom exceeding the limit, I reached out
To the shelf full of cassettes and
Sliding my fingers down the names
Stumbled upon one, dustier than the rest
That one, obviously older, bore the name
'Du Dlux Dlan' (Which you may say rhymes with Ku Klux ****
Something he'd bought feeling a liking for its name
Its quirkiness, as was his wont
I played the cassette, anticipating a flurry of blows and kicks
A curio. to unravel the mystery of its name
The movie , as it turned out, was not a movie
But what I think they call a footage,
On the screen three crosses erected in a desert land, with a man hanging on each.
The three men were bearded, the one in the middle
Looked calm and serene ( as if he'd been tranquilized)in spite of his ****** body, all battered and beyond recovery
The other two, I found , were kicking and whining (in their constrained state, of course.
Kicking with their nails, that is)
Hanging men get their peckers stiff and up, I knew it
There were soldiers around them, occassionally raising their spears and with its tip, tickling the men on the crosses out of their wits.
And then...there was a gunshot
And the clatter of horseshoes
Holding their guns aloft, rode in a pack of three cowboys
Then pointing their guns at the hanging men, they exclaimed:
'What the....., they are nailed to the crosses!"
Wasting no time, they swerved their horses around and rode away, leaving the men on the crosses for dead and me, gazing at the blank screen of the TV and asking:
'Who could the Du Dlux Dlan be?
The three men on the crosses or the three wranglers?'
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
One may find it boring or lonely
Living the life of a tree
Yet with all of its daytime happenings and biotic surrounding,
It just couldn't be
The tree is covered my the dome-like sky
And sat on by countless birds
It is home to many insects
And food for vegetarian herds
It is known as a shady place for us to lay
And by gusts of wind is blown around
Is pecked and pecked by pecking peckers
And occasionally peed on by a hound
It's day can be eventful
And seems pretty interesting to me
So I won't find a trees life lonely of boring
For it cannot be
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
as the tendrils of the night fog
slither around thick oak
bull frogs sing and croak
when grey dove coo
the morning sun stretches
and fawn bed close to mother
all peckers begin their work early
with red robins following suit
today red fox trots to the river
as honey bees rouse beneath quick feet
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC
down the stairs, a dark spiral
one of them, a mischievous one
made me take a wide tumble to the door
from second last step; desirous of that other one
she ga' me the old sammies and sugar
to take to the sweet peckers
who push such golden orbs
and there's red lines to fill the blue ones, too
quite deliberately yours
if love claws its way to you, why not acquiesce?
do be a divine little squirrel, give in sanely
eat your **** nuts
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC