"shoveling" poems
He was the ocean; handsome, but yet, Impulsively damaged. He had a sandy heart to correspond his sandy eyes, the moon dismantled that omitted pride he carried at a dead weight; shoveling and reshaping it, so people would see a sandcastle statue assembled in strength. But his washed-up soul and unannounced insecurities were aware of its genuine purpose,
this beach alongside his pupils;
quicksand, he'll sink so slowly in. Waves in his hair like ripples on his cheeks, skipping stones land at his defeat, he left notes in bottles for you, sank multiple ships for you, because he hasn't the heart to say he's desiccating with the arrival of the stars.. Retracting scars are not too far from gasps for air, foaming words of crisis by writing in the sand, signaling a light as the last one in him died. You wouldn't understand, the calm before the storm, as valve after valve puncture him. So intoxicating as it drains him, and from within, he's drying out. Sunburns stain him, a smile restrains him,
in an inescapable drought--
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
the bed is not very big
a sufficient pillow shoveling
her small manure-shaped head
one sheet on which distinctly wags
at times the weary twig
of a neckless ******
(very occasionally budding
a flabby algebraic odour
jigs
et tout en face
always wiggles the perfectly dead
finger of thitherhithering gas.
clothed with a luminous fur
poilu
a Jesus sags
in frolicsome wooden agony).
25.4k
multimedia macramé
sloshing propaganda sewage
on the unsuspecting public
***** lice infest ****** hill folk
west Virginia outbreak threatening the world
as we know it
flesh altering nonsense explicitly graphed
charting movement of microbes
on air, land, and/ or sea
global currents the new deliverer of death –
infected immigrants sit smiling
internment camps providing nutrition
never before experienced
as non-natives negotiate freedom
by submitting to vaccinations baths
and the standard delousing powder –
paranoid hand-sanitizer users
glued to the **** tube
spray their shoes with disinfectant
praying to an absent GOD for health
while shoveling GMO corn chips into ever widening
mouth holes
pharmaceutical companies lick lifeless lips
as Congress recognizes their humanity
while rejecting the concerns of the poor
…..no money in it –
outlandish claims of outbreaking Ebola
flood the mainstream outlets
fear: version – infinity
one more plague plan to stimulate new legislation
more law
no touching
even looking at the infirm can be cause for isolation
radiation treatments
courtesy of Fukushima, reactors 1-4 –
new found focus on fracturing the shale
releasing new oil reserves
and old bacteria
dinosaur killers
free-radicals
radically changing the genetic code
humanity altered
once again –
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?"
"Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?"
Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow,
Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow.
Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup
And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up.
We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view
And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew.
The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song,
The cougars reminding us that we are strong.
We are Canadian, eh?
But would we really want it any other way?
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
Depression,
I caught you swimming in my sorrow, you were drowning in
my tears.
There in my mind I laid down
my life but you stole my heart instead and I lost my mind amongst the shadows.
In the battle of my chemical imbalance I fight for my right to be happy again.
I am dancing in the dark
with myself, my heart beats
in the shadows as my breath
stands to the side, whispering
to me keep dancing.
Exhausted and frade sorrow
follows me, my flaws abuse me,
my mistakes scared me.
Society forgot about me,
I faded into the pitch of nothing.
A void of me, frightening memories
of taunting accusations from a
devilish monster.
Those eyes of blue devoured
my hopes and dreams,
he had no love for me.
His teeth bit into me,
his harsh lashing of accusations
embodied hate and broken ideas,
from the narcissist who said
he loved me.
The narcissist invaded my dreams,
with grinding bones from the
skeleton's he stored in his closet
of screams.
Scratching my brain with his
narcissistic rants and shoveling
wants trying to steal what
I achieved for himself.
The narcissist knows nothing of
love and passionate embraces.
For the narcissist only
knows how to break things.
A narcissist gaslights until crazy
devours everything.
©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 7:44 PM UTC
blizzard passes
fluffy snow left
deep footprints
sun comes out
melting mountains of snow
night falls
cold descends
ice freezes hard
top layer of snow
now hard
feet don't
fall deep
owing the universe
a mountain of shoveling
shovel in hand
off i go.....
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.
We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.
We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
I followed the path that had signs to sunflowers
When I arrived, everything was dead
The full moon no longer shines and a dark cloud have been chasing my every step.
Living with sadness is like receiving a broken instrument
A printer with no ink
A car with no wheels
I stopped fighting it
Existing as a shell of the man I once was shoveling dirt on the man I could of been
Watching the clocks lie
The silence is deafening
and
hope taunts me out of reach
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
1. I was outside shoveling horse **** considering the more **** I piled up, the less you'd deal with when you came home.
2. I woke up every night at 2, unfamiliar to having the bed all to myself, curled around a pillow like a buoy far from shore, sea sick in the choppy water, my vision reduced to abstract smudges. I focused on what must have been your silhouette as I gulped cups of salty water half a mile into the ocean, exhausted and drowning.
3. Medicinal marijuana alleviates anxiety. I won't swear on depression, I believe, there are four types of depression. Blue dreams are most desirable, every day for 8 months.
4. You've probably seen this desktop orb that captures electrical currents, so when you touch it with your fingers violet bolts ignite against your glass fingerprint. With this light, 2 a.m. I scoop the sandman's hash into my pipe so i can get some rest from my past who caught up to me a few days ago.
5. Dreamer. Heartbreaker. Deep thinker. No harm has come -- to--- you.
6. When it gets dark again, run baby run. Spin around with my eyes on his, reveal the wreck behind my lids, at the thought of losing him, not to another woman, but to Fate. Hold him tight. Make love like you mean it, not to **** but to tie two hearts together as they bleed. It's bloodstains on the white sheets, two people loved here like death sat by the dinner table, waiting on his appetizer.
7. The cruel morning illuminates his naked body as he slept. I cried because I didn't know if dreamed of pleasing me. Why did I let things I couldn't control worry me?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
In the arctic wastes where the Inuit tribe hunts caribou and fights to survive,
I have been told since long ago that tribe has fifty words for “snow”
That seemed superfluous to me- Fifty words for one commodity!
If I was born an Eskimo, I’d have fifty words to learn and know
I do most of the shoveling here, my wife and children cheer me on.
The winter lingers long and drear, some days it seems the Sun is gone.
Despite the calendar I greatly fear that blessed spring is nowhere near
Tomorrow, the radio makes clear, we’re expecting six more inches here.
Some snow is like a sugary mist, granulated and sublime,
Quite useless for a snow ball fight, for that you need the packing kind.
The worst is the wet sodden snow, the kind that threatens a heart attack.
It’s difficult to lift and throw; it hurts the arms and strains the back.
I told my wife I now know why they need fifty words for snow.
I have a few choice words I’d add; words the children shouldn’t know.
Those Inuit folk who fight to survive in the land of snow and ice-
Now I too have fifty words for snow, not one of which is nice.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Dead neck down,
Smile on face,
Feed me friend,
Let me eat cake.
Can't dance like everyone,
That's not how I roll.
Fateful accident,
****** up my world.
At least I get that strawberry cake,
Licking the fingers of my good friend.
I can feed her too,
If she is willing to play pretend.
If it's not broke don't fix it,
When it does you replace.
Stop feeding me so much,
I'm choking on strawberry cake.
I can't stop her and the food,
Shoved down my throat I chew.
Shoveling handfuls in,
How much more of this can I do?
Stopped breathing then,
Couldn't believe my fate.
A tragedy,
Killed by strawberry cake.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened...
apparently in light of the European
i was not European enough,
a mongrel, a ******* Mongol...
eastern Europeans are Mongols,
mind you...
i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote
happened...
because the A8 joined...
when the Eatern European joined
the old post-colonial powers...
plenty of Pakistanis...
do i mind?
do i ******* care?!
i don't care...
you deal with: the minding!
no...
i have an inheritance tax
without any ceremonial
past...
your **** is your ******* ****
plus the Arab, and the curry...
**** off!
i'm no *******
*vierte ***** pussy-whip...
you ******* yo-yo oreo!
mind you?
put me down on this one...
i hate the Poles...
i ******* hate the Poles...
what they did to the Chernobyl me?
i hate the Polacks...
don't like them...
i'd rather spit
than talk to them...
i've learned my lesson...
i hate them more than
the Germans, or the Russians...
i hate them with the sort of hatred
reserved for
patriots...
Judas Priests...
i abhor the ****** catholicism...
it makes me... cringe...
then i think:
thickens the thong -
better than the Islamic
crap to mind making a boot...
Brexit only happened because
of the supposed invasion of the A8...
the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter -
somehow the "excess" Europeans
migrated...
whites combined with
whites...
Europeans mingled...
big problem for the Pakistanis...
Brexit only happened because
"eastern" Europe joined the
*vierte *****
well... "joined"...
some of us had enough sense as
to keep the currency...
******* Pakistani bullshitters...
what?!
i thought English girls loved
being gang-rape-fucked?!
no?!
my bad...
the joining of the A8
disrupted the presence of Britain in
the EU...
thumbs up on the curry-sauce...
thumbs down on the Baltic
sauerkraut....
guess what?!
**** you!
you ******* British Empire
bonkers...
relief contra racism with an
Empire disintegrating!
wankers...
sure, beseech alliances
outside of Europe...
seek them, find them,
govern them...
the next time you come shoveling your
**** into my: awareness...
i'll be asking...
so... Rotherham...
no, not really... don't bother me
with that sort of ****
you deal with your ********
before shoving your ***** into my mouth
expecting me to gargle
on the produce...
you're closer to Pakistan
than i am to Mongolia...
you draw the the postcard...
i'll draw the pretty picture.
don't get me wrong, thought,
i hate the Polacks...
i don't belong between them...
i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra
of homeless dogs...
than exercise the humanity
of a shared tongue
with these... mongrels;
mind you... the British are just as
bad... when it comes
to their, mongrel stature.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Running on empty,
Lost luck and fumes,
Choking out victims, with a distinct perfume.
Rub the glass between your palms,
And let it bleed out the toxins.
Litter the house with crude memories,
Like oil churning, polluting possibilities.
Ripping wings from flies,
And the legs from a spider.
One by one, shooting cans like army men.
Bleeding out to start again.
Snarky saints believing they're saved,
Crying blood and burning sage,
To rid themselves of the rage.
Thinking they'll see the graffitied golden gates,
When all they're doing is shoveling their own graves.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Winter.
New York.
North Pole.
Antarctica.
It's like entering a Winter Wonderland!
Building a snowman is as fun as shoveling with dad.
Sledding downhill is as exciting as going down a roller coaster.
Printing snow angels is as gorgeous as the white snow falling down.
Drinking hot chocolate gives my heart a hug.
It's the season I love the best which is Winter.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
I've always had trouble expressing my emotions
Constantly shoveling coal into a fire that needs to be tamed
Leaving me mentally deflated
But also ready to expload
My nails dug up skin
Scratch marks in moments with a lack of thought
Burning Running down my finger tips
Where i make connection with a pen
The ink finds words I can't quite form, even though the deliverence isn't always what I pictured
Its the sweetest release I'll receive
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
A Capitalist
burns each day shoveling dirt;
paid to dig his grave
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman **** and go free to
**** again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
2.2k
THIRTY-TWO Greeks are dipping their feet in a creek.
Sloshing their bare feet in a cool flow of clear water.
All one midsummer day ten hours the Greeks
stand in leather shoes shoveling gravel.
Now they hold their toes and ankles
to the drift of running water.
Then they go to the bunk cars
and eat mulligan and prune sauce,
Smoke one or two pipefuls, look at the stars,
tell ****** stories
About men and women they have known,
countries they have seen,
Railroads they have built-
and then the deep sleep of children.
2.1k
When I was a child
there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch.
All day she peered from her second story
window
from behind the wrinkled curtains
and sometimes she would open the window
and yell: Get out of my life!
She had hair like kelp
and a voice like a boulder.
I think of her sometimes now
and wonder if I am becoming her.
My shoes turn up like a jester's.
Clumps of my hair, as I write this,
curl up individually like toes.
I am shoveling the children out,
scoop after scoop.
Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins.
Maybe I am becoming a hermit,
opening the door for only
a few special animals?
Maybe my skull is too crowded
and it has no opening through which
to feed it soup?
Maybe I have plugged up my sockets
to keep the gods in?
Maybe, although my heart
is a kitten of butter,
I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
Yes. It is the witch's life,
climbing the primordial climb,
a dream within a dream,
then sitting here
holding a basket of fire.
2.1k
consuming cigarettes like candy at a theme park
shoveling, inhaling
before mom takes it away
incubating cool concrete
to hatch eggs of non-conformist
thoughts, theories, therapy
Costello glasses fog
with skinny-jeaned laughter and flannel
bellows only audible within the confines
of claustrophobic, humid basements
spilled with beer out of sun-lit
fear.
stay ****** ****** up and disconnected
feigning parental disregard and lacked motivation, except
to pet cats to the tune of vinyl
manicured with dust
seeping with lust
for the past
when rainbow-striped sweaters were cool.
pound the drums too loud for ears
sweating out anger and distrust
stuck to reconstruct or fit in
become the grey, the void, the in-between
the one thing you don't want.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Promised a life of sweetness
Said you wanted to take care
Feel better feel better feel better
For worse.
My soul says no to you
But body
she begs me
Always for more
I'm sick
I'm Tired
Of shoveling you in
putting you inside me
betraying all that I am
I am finished decaying
But sweet tooth wont stop panging
Oh, how desperate
always
for more
And I see that coat of yours fall to the floor... just a story the tongue
told to open a door
Now I find holes in my heart,
Cavities.
Galore
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
I had purchased the tickets home ten days in advance to force myself to get back to reality and civilization. My hands were weak from the constant shoveling; my liver the same. Each hour that had passed underneath that sun seemed like a punishment from God himself; a hot whipping sensation that singed the back of my hair and left permanent burn marks streaked across my back. There was no way I would ever forget the constant ridicule and insult from the other workers as I clumsily painted instant concrete on bricks which would soon be a house I would never see. The struggles of the white man seemed to bring a pleasure to the mexican work force that I would never understand which I was both jealous and disgusted by.
Lemino came over gripping a pick axe, large and the color of of a recently picked coconut. "Hey white boy, you need some water?" He threw me a muddied water bottle in a puddle of my sweat. "Thanks Lem. I can barely lift my ********* head in this heat, how do you do it?" Lemino looked up at the sun. "I don't know man." He lifted his finger to the noon hanging sun and said, "Sometimes I just think of the Sun as my woman and I never take no **** from Her so why's that any different." He took a sip of his own water and walked off, his back completely dry and cracked with a mix of mud and concrete.
Jesus, I thought. For someone like that and someone like me to be working on the same house made me wonder why I had ever been brought here in the first place. How did I get here? Why had I been punished so for my work in school, my excellent obedience with peers and with the community? I was not a religious man but I grew up in the land of the free and the brave, how had it come to this? I drank the entire bottle of water throwing it on the sizzling grey brown ground.
"Hey white boy!," screamed a voice from the rooftop. "Throw that **** away or I'll beat the **** out of you when the day is done." ****** I knew someone would see me during any act of comfort or clumsiness. The mexican hyenas chuckled as I stalked guiltily over to empty water bottle. The ten or twelve workers, all shirtless and brown, stood chuckling down on me like some horrific Greek chorus secretly whispering and planning my doomed fate either at a late night discoteca or some run down bar down by the water. Oh lord, how cometh taunt me so?
---
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:09 PM UTC
piercing my right eye from within
daggers, sharpened with blame
fly true
through the blue
into faces of lying dry-cleaned faces
puffed and crimson
spittle gathering
hate speech teachings
reaching beaches far from informed shores –
new ***** blesses the young
shoveling modified nutrients
smiles beam
glistening sweat runs
internal furnace matching
warm glow of planned dumbing-down
vaccination zombie
mercury poisoned baby rocks silently –
embryonic images
in laboratory dishes
sample size offering a slight variance
right-wing politicians eagerly await
the first course
stem-cell soufflé
desperation sets in as reality takes hold
the shift already happened –
glancing at a dime-store wristwatch
plotting an afternoon of debauchery
slowing pulling off the square
admiring the show -
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
it is winter,
still
although warm days
deceive us
dead branches
brown lawns
desolation
now, finally, in a winter's
black night
giant, sodden,
perfect
snowflakes
drift
the sky clouded
full of snow
to make the night sky
day
we stand
each wielding a shovel
working
sharing the joy
in this
perfect
winter
moment
in which
the universe once again
seems to work
yet,
it is the bond
of the shared moment
which generates an
intensity of
closeness
a perfect understanding
between souls
strung out along
the driveway
shoveling snow
in a cloud of grey
steam
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC