"screwdriver" poems
velcro wallet
was navy, i think
gray plastic zipper
grandma gave you
i had a locket
it had your picture inside
but you threw it away
because you looked like a rabbit
apparently
hair fluffed, eyes puffy
two teeth and two hours
of squirming on a photo booth
plastic coin pouch
small crayola blue
walmart sticker on a side
but it never made me smile
not like that piggy bank did
yard sale treasure
dinosaur-shaped
no smashing to withdrawl
our tooth fairy dollars and dust
still, you crammed stink bugs
down the long neck's back
now, a denim bag on my bed
rhinestoned one in the closet
and your wallet is
real leather, i think
has superheroes on it
rough and grungy
as the comic books in the attic
or, did you toss those too?
who needs a screwdriver
without a *****
that's all money was
just hardware we didn't have
much use for
but there is more than one way
to use a tool
so here, i'll paint it straighter
who needs a coffin without a corpse?
especially when we were
so full of life back then
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
#STICK’EM UP with LIQUID NAILS
DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE
See Other Caution on Back Panel:
I’m hot for you Cowgirl – you’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby – I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces – pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight. Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you… stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl – and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier – there’s only one side of you… your GOOD side. Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose.
YEE – HAW ! Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet – be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Battle scars, of where I've been.
How do you fix a childhood, this frightening?
A first lust that gave you breath, a reason to sing,
So you found another, a first true lover, and you picked up the pen.
An emotionally abusive mother, who has terrified all of your friends.
One that's massacred all your brothers heads.
And many screws are loose in my head.
How can I tighten them?
Batten down the hatches?
Open up to the wind and the masses?
Hoping someone could understand,
Maybe they'll have a proper screwdriver on hand.
But such is rare.
With not many hands on hand
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
I promised I wouldn't anymore
I lied
I said I was happy again
I lied
I said I was content
I lied
I swore I wouldn't pick up another screwdriver again
So I did
And I swore I wouldn't dampen my pillow anymore
So I did
I also swore I loved myself
So I did
I thought we were friends
I'm not sure
She hates me now...doesn't she?
I'm not sure
Because he likes me, not her
I'm not sure
I said I was happy, yet I lied
I swore I wouldn't cry....so I did
And I thought she would always be there for me...but now I'm not sure
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Hey Harvey Wallbanger
I’d like you to tie me to the bedpost, baby
And press your fuzzy navel to my *slippery ******
Give me your white angel kiss and I’ll lie down like a brown cow
While between the sheets you play the Italian stallion.
Like a kamikaze pilot head for my pink squirrel
Then give me your ol’ Alabama slammer
And pack a *** punch* into that screwdriver of yours.
I want a *screaming ******
That’ll send me to blue heaven. Wu Wu!
So, don’t mention that ****** Mary*
With her devil’s kiss,
Or you’ll find I can give a snake bite that’s as deadly as a B-52.
Instead let’s ride into the tequila sunset in our golden Cadillac
For *** on the beach*
And on the sea breeze we'll hear an old love song sung by a ‘salty dog’ with a Gibson
And watch a tropical storm over Manhattan
We'll go to Peppermint Patti’s café
And order an Irish coffee and a large slice of cherry pie.
Happy, after dark let’s drive home for a *sloe comfortable ***** with satin pillows*
And fall into the sweet surrender of a summer dream.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
objectification is very much a cul de sac,
it's a one way street...
to objectify is to
allow an animate object a
confirmation of an all-pervasive control...
objectification =
the inability of an object to become
a self-serving subject -
no hammer ever managed
to self-serve itself into a role of a screwdriver...
to be objectified is to have no
self-serving subject, i.e. a self;
how can a woman ever be "objectified"
when she subjects herself to both
the object (that's her body) and
the subject (that's her mind) -
or, objects to the object stated -
whereby by "objectification" there's
a reinforcement of being subject to the object...
her body, which reinforces her
subjectivity -
when man is prone to objectification,
as pronouncing his extended members,
a woman is prone to subjection -
irony on the ob- prefix,
wasn't it ever reverse infatuation?
sure, not all the subplots appear
in being "objectified" -
but at least being "objectified"
does not equate to being subject to a man's
will...
if you can't deal with
the "extremes": is being "objectified" as bad
as being subject to a niqab?!
besides the point,
i can't believe that one animate thing can
make another animate thing objectified -
in the purest sense of:
deeming an animate thing
inanimate to be: a thing observed
without a self-serving self-aware ******
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
Always____**
Days
Months
Up to our loved ones
necks
Getting callbacks
and lookbacks
Will I be
most likely rejected?
Until dusk to Dawn
The full moon turned
What will be expected?
Shoved mouth to mouth
brewed into the
Starbucks
With any luck
It's hard to make
a buck $
The Dawn Lightning
Striking again wetter
Ridiculous remarks
and kicks
in the pants
He shoved
me into a romance
But we never
ended up where
I wanted to go
France
The editorial the
Mediterranean
Slim chance rainbow diet
The villas of the exotic
flowers riot
Vacationer in vineyards
Grassy bear
Mr. Griswald
Vacation despair
Party pushovers
The sour cherries OOh!
La Wee Vacation,
The push and shove
What's up
Doc_____*
The jilted Jump always
a stump
What-what
about the
President
Trump
Shoved me right
into
this poem
sonnet
Documents of
Vacations places
of memories
The Jack ***
Surrounded by
screwdriver
Or meeting the
screwballs_______
Or goofballs
Sesame Street parade
Big bird feast
His face climbed
Mount Everest
Dry mouth lips
((Frenchie Vermouth))
He's the
right fielder
The field Mr. Costner
on her left dreams
The toast all shoved
around the town
chauffeur
Don't shove me
inside
your world
vacation
Big problems not
like ordering
the best pizza
in Brooklyn
Memorial day
shoved into a soiree'
Unbelievable traffic
American Major
problem leagues
Upscale love signs
and graphics
To resolve this
Vacation big shots
The London
Hotshots
Society
At the worst time,
I had to do
Political speech
Don't shove
me or leave me
If you're not
going to please me
And not your
payroll to
tease me
He's next on the move
pushed to be shoved
I rose
I suppose
He shoved me
He gazed upon me
Like another ticket
to his vacation
He dazed with
his eyes
not to be loved
But all yummy
To take a bite
Apple strudel
pie
But dark ends
of petal
flowered bright
The last word
struggling to
feel shot
My payroll got me a raise
My own vacation
to myself big praise
to love me
Not to be pushed to
love someone
A vacation is to be
with someone that
treats you
on a pedestal
Don't shove me this
is my portal
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I sit in the soil
With a ***** driver,
Too coated in Earth
To ever fix
Anything again,
And I eat a carrot
Taken from the ground
While, like Adam,
Only with modern
Conveniences-
Like ***** drivers-
I wonder about
What would’ve been
If Eve had just
Liked carrots
And not apples
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
Absentminded speech.
You had taken the scissors from the basket
in the darkroom, they were just
still in your hands, the ones
not covered in rust.
It was absentminded, that part
is important. Just absentminded,
like the way you'd play
with her hair or pretend not
to care,
like the way you'd talk with
your hands even when the
darkness spoke louder. The way
you'd nudge me, a "don't move"
elbow, to let me know you'd
dropped your film and I shouldn't
step for fear of stepping on it
like the shadows did.
I absentmindedly twirled a pen,
and you absentmindedly looked
down again and again,
scissors open, scissors closed,
running your fingers over
the little ***** between the blades
as I ran my fingers
over a little ink drawing I'd made.
You absentmindedly followed
my eyes with your own, and then
threw absentminded to the smoke,
up and out the window and gone,
and the smooth blade up and down
your arm.
It wasn't sharp. It couldn't even
cut the film. That's how you'd
dropped it in the first place.
Still watching my eyes, my dawning worry.
Oh, you. Ignorance reduced me
to child and pity before your
knowing eyes, but what do.
You know me, I know you.
A deliberate story now (absentminded
can't be filtered out of the smoke anymore),
of a girl you used to know.
Something to do with little screws
in every pocket of every
long-sleeved shirt she owned.
They had to be from something cheaper,
you mused. Mindedly.
Scissors don't come in bulk.
Little screws. Not razors, not knives.
Little screws.
You thought out loud, but it wasn't
thought. It was speech. It was
words you already knew.
Where'd they all come from?
You asked questions to give me
the answers.
I reached out for those ****
bright green plastic scissors
that wouldn't cut a piece
of film in a darkroom, because
fear gives light great powers.
You smiled at the anxiety in my
eyes. You chose then to stumble
upon the answer. (It wasn't scissors.)
To relieve me, you meant.You
meant to share without telling,
to lighten my head and dissipate
the ignorance like your
absentminded smoke.
You knew a girl...
But when you put knowledge
in this mind it gets picked up
and circled around and around,
centripetal acceleration, exponentially
flying, so fast, so high, what do I
do with it there. I build it up.
It tears me down.
I scanned your wrists for months.
I watched you pull your wallet out
of your pocket, checking the floor for
little screws.
You knew, ****** You knew
your wrists would stay smooth
as a scissor blade, smooth as
darkness. You gave me the story
deliberately, but you gave me the
answer absentmindedly.
You didn't mean to.
You gave me the worry,
you gave me the thought.
You didn't tell me where to find
a ******* screwdriver.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Ax To Grind
Blood dripping from the eye,
looks like Jesus starting to cry.
I stabbed you with a screwdriver,
blood gushing like a geyser.
Cut off your ears with some scissors,
blood flowing just like rivers.
Took a hacksaw to your nose,
felt so good, used it on tour toes.
I cut off your fingers with garden shears,
they were twenty bucks at the local Sears.
Chopped of your head with my ax,
I'm from the IRS, and you paid no tax,
We don't care if you have no money,
continue not paying and people become ******
Burning crosses in your front yard,
I'm a white boy and kind of a ******
When you run out of your house,
your home gets a gasoline douse.
In white robes we walk the street,
we sure hate the dark meat.
We're grinding the ole ax,
we're KKK and hunting blacks.
The problem is they fight back,
so we just give them some killer crack.
Blood dripping from the heart,
dragged the carcass to the local mart.
Hunting animals is what I do,
then I cook them in my famous stew.
Whether a shotgun or bow and arrow,
could be a bear or a helpless sparrow.
Sometimes a dog, sometimes a cat,
maybe a mouse, maybe a cat.
I'm a hunter on the loose,
how I love to **** a moose.
I use the skins as a rug,
I just killed an annoying bug.
I use my trusty ax to chop off their head,
now they hang above my king sized bed.
How I love to use my awesome ax,
whether for the IRS, hunting or torturing blacks.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
I'm tired of
being
******* over.
No, I don't
wanna *****
uhh
screwdriver.
Get out of
the shed.
Ya fuckin'
tool.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
I was walking minding my own business by myself
when an old friend of mine walked up next to me
and handed me the screwdriver that he had borrowed
from the person that I had lent my screwdriver too –
such a strange time for my screwdriver to be returned
and my friend clearly saw the confusion on my face
so he offered a weak smile and told me that my screwdriver
may come in handy and once again he saw the confusion
on my face since my city is safe or so it says in the papers
why would I need my screwdriver on my walk by myself
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
Ma haimmer stalled midswing,
a foot, yet, frae the nail -
frozen, useless and bizarre.
"Whit the hell?" I gasped,
tryin tae budge it.
I got my shouder ahent it, gie'd it a shove,
but nothin. It just hung there.
Turns oot it wis installin updates.
It's a ****** screwdriver noo,
and that nail hings hauf oot the waw,
grinnin at me.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 4:12 AM UTC
filed in
the most deviant chambers
of my memory bank
is a
summer of bliss
in a
breezy city
of blue lakes,
buxom blondes
and *****
near the baltic sea
eva's skin-tight
****** white jeans
were the envy
of my roving eye
"hi"
she replied
to my
transparent thought
and I
bought her
a screwdriver
with a twist
of jive
we sat poolside
chatting about this
and that
and after the
5th *****
driver that is,
we both knew
'twas time for
some intercontinental
**********
she was curious
and excited
to sample the coffee
in my african skin
and her talented
slavic tongue
stirred me gently
from
gdansk
all the way down
to krakow
I took eva
for a long
wild ride over
the serengeti
on my faithful thoroughbred
johnson
together
we climbed
the rugged hills of lust
to passion's prurient peak,
a blissful journey
that left us
gasping
breathlessly
we embraced
under a fountain of rapture
as words
hung dry
in our throats
we would wear them later...
~ P
(7/21/2013)
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
She's got a hinge loose.
Well, I'll tell you,
it's more than that.
The whole door is falling off,
And will certainly take a few other things with it.
The sum failure of her small unseen parts,
Coming loose one by one.
And there never seems to be a proper screwdriver handy when she needs one.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
i think my feel box is malfunctioning, i gotta find a screwdriver to pop off the faceplate and inspect the insides. it keeps saying the latitude and longitude aren’t localized. i can’t calibrate it because i’m up in the air. it flickers when it beeps and my static causes feedback. birds don’t know anything about artificial connective tissue, but they know all about falling.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
my heart with a gashing hole from a mythical screwdriver
rising
out of my problem filled mind, confused and mixed up brain
escaping
from my diminishing soul
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 10:22 AM UTC
I placed a bet earlier on
In the spirit of the spring that
I, or should I say, you
Would still be here - not moving
Staying as stale as a couch dorito.
And to think that
I placed this bounty on your head
While you sat still and slowly spun in reverse
Then raised the stakes
One hundred stacks.
To the last verse in the old King James;
You really made your mother proud.
You took the hammer and made two.
You stole the sunshine in hopes of a better view
Of your "holier" nightmares.
You made the one drop lock up so tight
That not a n'er not a sheep could slip through.
You wore that sweater that stole at least
One hundred hearts
Right out of the chests of the sunken treasure
That I fought so hard for,
But they were all for you.
I bet you never guessed that
You were always right when
You never guessed and I bet
You never guessed that
You should have guessed wrong
This time.
I was the one that dropped the screwdriver in your mind.
I never stopped to visit, I just didn't get the time.
I used to always cut the cactus off just a little too soon.
I remember I once left the moon in a hopeful wish that
I could go home too.
I guess I guessed a mess of a mess
Thus ends this insanity, thus ends this madness.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
you were my Doctor.
your touch my own personal TARDIS.
guiding me through new worlds
of pleasure,
introducing me to new species
of endorphins.
(I've never been
so ******* hot
in my life)
you made me feel
gorgeous.
(if only for a moment)
you made me feel
special.
(even if you've had
other companions
before)
you unwound me
lay me bare;
I was like a padlock beneath the
sonic screwdriver of your
delicate
oh so deliberate
ministrations.
(please come back)
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
Throw out a book
Open to an ink-blotted page
Looks like a bird;
A butterfly;
A man with a screwdriver fixing a hole where the rain gets in.
Where will it go?
Red carpet rolling out of a scaly green mouth. The chameleon steals it away and slips away to his tree to find it cut down by an axe with a man.
Where will it go?
A white feather is all that remains as the scales are swept away by an agent of the wind.
Where does it all go?
To the ground?
To the sky?
Greed has come and gone; taking with him all that is left.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
A two timing bombshell, is still a two timing *****
Forgiving and forgetting
Laughing at suicidal thoughts
I don't cringe at pain
I infect it with my own remedy
Distilled spirits- The poison of solitude
I haven't yet decided if you are a gift
Or a curse
Your hands seem calm enough
Your lips are steady
Two eyes focusing and focusing under the bar lights
Calm
Collected
Childish infatuation teaming from your words
Is this really happening? Are you really here?
No, you are a figment of a figment of a figment of my imagination
You wrote a love letter
Copied it
Faxed it
Signed it with a flourish
You need love with notorization
Stamped
And approved
I need nothing but your hands
But your eyes
The devil of your tongue
The Sharp stab of pain
The gigantic cool of finite ecstacy
But no
You must break me down
Piece by piece
Marking me off on your checklist of (love)
I failed
I didn't care
I love you anyway- (I am a moth
Terrified of the flame
But I cannot leave it be
For it is much, much too beautiful)
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
Martha was shown
into a parlour
inside the front door
of the mother house
by a plump nun
in black and white
who looked like a penguin
out for a stroll
wait in there
she said
someone
will fetch you
in time
so Martha looked around
the room at the plain
white walls
the heavy curtains
at the windows
the huge crucifix
on the wall opposite
whose plaster Christ
seemed battered
an aged
the plaster had lines
and cracks
on the legs
and arms
and the hands
were contorted
like a crab
on its back
with rusty nails
holding them in place
she moved nearer
and reached up a hand
so that her fingers
could touch the feet
of Christ and run
them over the toes
and feel the nail
going through the feet
she rubbed her fingers there
she used to rub the crucifix
in her grandmother's house
the big one over
the double bed
and if she stood
on the bed
she could reach right up
to touch the face
and beard
and see if she could
hear Him breathe
or if she reached
really high
she could feel His nose
which on her grandmother's
Christ the nose seemed broken
and her grandmother said
that was where
her grandfather
had thrown a shoe in temper
and crack the plaster nose
will he go to Hell?
she recalled asking
her grandmother
O no
her grandmother said
not just for that
and she was pleased
because she liked her grandfather
and his simple ways
and hard toffees
she felt each toe in turn
moving a finger
over the plaster
and remembered
her school friend Mary
who had pressed
chewing gum
into the bellybutton
of the plaster Christ
in the cloister
of the convent school
back in the 1960s
and when Sister Bede
saw it she had to gently
chiselled it out
with a screwdriver
threatening severe punishment
to the girl responsible
but no one told
and even when she left years
after the bellybutton
of the Christ still had
the scar where Sister Bede
had chiselled too hard
there was a cough behind her
and Martha turned
and there was a nun
standing by the door
her eyes dark like berries
and her thin mouth
slowly opened
and she said
are you the girl
who wants to be a nun?
Martha nodded her head
and the nun told her
to follow her and she
went down a dim lit
passageway
the nun in front
pacing slow
each footstep measured
her hands tucked
out of sight
with only the sound
of her heels going
clip clop clip clop
on the flagstones
and the black habit
swaying very gracefully
as she walked
no more words
no questions
no answers
because no one talked.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
Guess I should have this:
your tool kit
one you'll truly miss.
To you I'm very ******
I just had it!
Now you'll be sorely missed...
A pliers for thee, my *dip ****
to pluck out your teeth
let your blood flow and drown in it.
I'll screwdriver your cavities
take 'em all away for you.
Farewell, to all of vanities!
No anesthesia for you, my loss.
Pain is my love for you, dear,
which you truly deserved, no love lost.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC