"sledgehammer" poems
You're an inspirational exciting jolt
Like an invitational lightning bolt
I'm suddenly shocked by the results
When I am blocked by your revolt
You have my beating heart in your hand
Holding me hostage where I silently stand
Staring at your ****** butcher's cleaver
That morphs me into a landlocked ******
You're a two-hander
Like a sledgehammer
Or a radar jammer
I start to stutter and stammer
When I see your weekly planner
And the lack of my presence
Because I'm incessant
You hold a pencil and an eraser
You delete when I become a tracer
And start to draw a better replacer
You hold the scales of justice
Though I claim you're unfit
You say add that to the list
From the throne where you sit
And there's no avenue for any recourse
When your other hand holds so much force
I must deal with your actions
So I can stay in your faction
For my heart's attraction
I am never right
So we never fight
And we never might
Understand each other
When we're taking cover
From exposing vulnerability
An exploding soul is filling me
Because the cold mist killing steam
Between us until you are only a dream
And my mind starts bursting at the seams
Until there's a monster barely mentally caged
But the bars shake when it is constantly enraged
When your saccharine emotions are cynically staged
My bustling brain will unfortunately always be plagued
By your neutral reactions which I'll never be able to gauge
You hold two hands behind your back
Will it be an attack?
Our two hands should meet
Instead I'm trampled by feet
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 5:00 AM UTC
a zit—(white iceberg tip
infection-floating)
a heart (yours was always lipid-
slippery)
an ember (firefly abdomen
exhaling in black velvet)
a full bladder—(toilet-bowl relief:
a temporary prescription)
a bag of hot chips (extra habanero
for a spicy explosion)
a sink pipe (domestic artery rupture
of your sledgehammer swing)
a water balloon, (concrete-spiked,
insoluble rubber jigsaw)
spaghetti in the microwave: (blood
stain pattern analysis of metal walls)
a seam. (sewn ending
frays: leave the stitch, re-exposed.)
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Somebody call Ben Affleck
We got phantoms in this *****
This endless haunted mansion
Their presence pervades
No company
In this lonely labyrinth
Only phantoms
The only figures resembling humanity
Are the corpses of those before
Who couldn't navigate this torturous structure
And of course, the masquerading phantoms
My soul they aim to puncture
I tried closing my eyes
But I just kept running into walls
I tried sleeping through it
But I just sank deeper into the basement
When I attempted to join the phantoms
You were there
You waited until I was hanging there
On the rope
And eviscerated everything
Lycanthrope
The rope in shreds
Your heart then fled
Leaving me alone again
Lying in my exhausted blood
The phantoms sensed my desperation
And took advantage of my disorientation
So I ran to the darkest recesses of the basement
To retrieve my blindfold and sledgehammer
But is my hammer powerful enough?
Will visual impairment abstain the trickery of ghosts?
I put Sisyphus to shame
With the determination I utilize to demolish these walls
But the phantoms are devious
They ***** new facades
Thicker, sturdier, with odder textures
I destroy them all the same
It just takes a bit more time
And time means nothing
To a man who's sole purpose is knocking down walls
And cowering from apparitions
Yet a man means nothing
To a time ruled by phantoms
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
I wheel it out, my green and black bicycle
The roads shiny and quiet, the grey skies overcast
I start slow, breathing in the clean morning air
The fragrance of wet leaves and mulch, moss and old trees
I hear the morning song of the birds
And see the blossoms heralding spring
I nod to the old woman walking her spaniel
And notice the beating of my own heart
The rucksack a comforting weight
My breath even and warm in the wintry air
My derriere sore from yesterday’s excesses
The road, glorious, wide, welcoming and endless
Crossing the road, I am struck by the symmetry
Of a lone tree, leafless, bare, proud, naked
And the beauty of an old, stone church
And the wheels of the cycle keep spinning
The roar of traffic on the motorway always a shock
As I adjust, I breathe in the manure
From green fields so vast, flanked by white
And pause to see the muddy, turbulent stream
As I rack up the miles
My heartbeat is a sledgehammer
My legs are on fire
And I feel alive
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
I'm covered from head to toe in resin, acrylics and epoxy,
Some pulverized rocks my son gathered from the Chattooga River,
Now reduced to a burnt ember dust.
I added silicone sludge and a little baking powder as well,
And once mixed, this dicey concoction is beautifully toxic,
So I waft the air and inhale it.
Painting a colorful sunset is too easy, I prefer black and white,
So with a wooden board the size of a door,
I get to work with my rubber sledgehammer, blowtorch
A gallon of poison and flammable spray.
The passers by have seen this look in eyes,
From The Shining or possibly their preachers,
You know, the same look that's a sight to behold.
Slamming the hammer down with brute force
And purposed abandonment,
I paint my sunset and wrangle the stars later.
A shower won't do me justice>
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
It is the mundanity of the act,
of envisioning your hand gently wrapped around the copper kettle.
Obstinately gripping the pen, while you wring a sheet of paper dry for the right words.
You, cupping my face as if you were holding something precious.
As if I might slip through your fingers.
It is this devastating simplicity that obliterates every shard of my being.
A brick wall, left at the mercy of a gleaming sledgehammer
that is determined to turn everything to dust.
I see your hands everywhere.
In the haze of steam and shower curtains,
the lines dragged in velvet throw pillows,
the cloudy smudges left on a glass of water.
They run faint paths through my hair, their touch ghosts against my eyelid.
If I stare long enough,
your palm is right there, pressing into mine.
Silver cuts through the air and delivers a redundant blow.
The dust scatters once more.
You did not leave a hole
the way everyone said you were bound to.
Empty space cannot exist without everything that surrounds it, yields to it, forgives it,
validates its gaping hollowness.
Empty space is a needle and thread on the dresser, a sellotape dispenser on the desk, a container of soup left on the doorstep with a get-well-soon scribbled on the lid.
Empty space is where you can see remnants of what once was whole.
The faith and conviction that bit by bit, you will put your fragmented pieces back together again.
The nothing you left was so thick and suffocating
that it permeated every room,
filled my lungs to bursting capacity and left me gasping for more.
Its sickly, bitter fragrance danced relentlessly in my nostrils,
as though my suffering was the sweetest symphony ever heard.
It waltzed until I could feel it rising in my throat and leaking from my eyes,
twirled until my head spun.
The nothing you left insisted on making its presence known my every waking moment
and then gleefully romped its way into my nightmares.
It was so quiet, though.
A resigned quiet, like that of the ****** swinging in the gallows,
when everybody holds their breath to watch the pendulum sway.
The crossbeam glistens with last night’s rain and
they trudge back home, muttering to themselves as the dust settles beneath their feet.
I sink into sheets creased by your fingers and watch it sway.
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 6:45 AM UTC
choo choo
next stop.....perdition
(no, not really...no-one believes this Stygian opacity)
1.
look how Time doth ravage thee
look what it did to thy visage
in smithereens, lies youth
it so artfully takes away
what is held so dear
rivers and streams
valleys and hills
arching to ecstatic heights
plunging to abysmal lows
into the ravine of chance
stirred by the spoon of Time
slowly around the cauldron
brews the self-same mixture
then poured into chasms of forgetfulness
using the eternal sledgehammer
it
smashes the foundation of thought
grinds the nutmeg of speed
pulps the fruit of mentality
slows the pulse of sensation
and pardons none.
2.
what was once sensuous and voluptuous lips
now are merely two dry slits on your face
once stared-into eyeballs, now glass over
vitreous cataracts steadily grow, weed-like
toned into lithe elastic bands now stretch
away into forever, a pale platform to walk on
life's morn is encompassed by years' slanting
clouded and bedimmed by mists of age
butterfly's existence outweighs a man's
by mere night-veiled windowpane of true sight
draw the curtains; close the shutters; screen the eyes
the time has come to shed all blinkers and face the sun.
3.
crimp
sag
limp
drag
mud cracks down a dipping dale
scalding pain sears sore half-foot
yes, time is but a disease
ravaging all
without fear or favour
sunken eyes
slower reflexes
tardier mind
scraggly body
hides not
condescends not
forgets not
the glimmer of ....
a time of ...
4.
cathedral invites the walker in
cool and calm recesses
sit silent
wait....
then they walk in, carrying
one who had but a lucky half-score lot
clear soprano note becomes a rudderless bleat
announcing the folly of stifling ego
now shorn of burning frost of circuitous fervour
beams of mercy cast a final look-see
jump the barriers of
time
to
carry thee off.
pipe organ-stops are pulled out
(art thee ready? platform number 5)
S T, 9 May 2013
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
The funny thing about life is
You try and try to be a good person
A good neighbor
In a good mood
With only good things to say
But then life intervenes
With the landlord screaming
About uncollected bills
That shouldn’t exist in the first place
Of bosses ranting
That you’re lucky to be working for them
When they’re running the company into the ground
And your only compensation is a poor paycheck
That you take home to your family
So that you can afford to stay under your roof
For another day longer
And put some food on the table
For another night longer
And let’s not forget about the conservatives
Screaming at the top of their lungs
That we’ve lost our way
And that only they can save us
By bringing us back to how it used to be
News flash grenade explosion
**We are the way we are
Because we were the way we were
For far too long**
And then the conservatives parading
Their hidden agendas like they’re liberals
Pay more taxes than the government is worth
A system that’s failing to support it’s own weight
Should have it’s leg kicked out from beneath it
To quicken the fall and rise of sovereignty
Every day is a new day
And it’s how you deal with the obstacles
Placed in front of you that matters
But the matter of banging your head
On the brick wall
Trying to placate the niceties that we were
Brought up to hold so dear to our hearts
Gets out of control
I’ll grab the sledgehammer
And bash the wall down
I’ll walk around the wall
And find my own path
The one least occupied
By the masses
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
four years ago i became a carpenter
and started to build a wall
between myself and the world.
people came and went
and tried to take out the bricks
like they were playing jenga.
and some people walked up to me
with a sledgehammer in their hand
and knocked me down with the wall.
as the years went by
my wall got taller
and the people became fewer
until there was no one left.
i'm starting to rethink my blueprints
because it's getting lonely over here
and i forgot the windows.
(a.m.c.)
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
I break dawn
with a sledgehammer,
splintering the night
and scattering the stars,
and with hands made of stains,
I spend my days
piecing it back together.
Jan 17, 2023
Jan 17, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
Dear Sledgehammer Heart,
You are tough as nails,
and you are also soft as silk.
You are wildflowers
blossoming in the spring,
and again in the summer.
You bloom more for yourself,
than for anyone else.
You are both student and teacher
with fistfuls of love,
clenched for those that hurt.
You taught me
the importance of a good porch:
The Foundation Must Be Solid.
A Home can be built anywhere,
as long as the Foundation is Solid.
You taught me to announce myself,
and to be proud of the songs that come out.
*(Even when the sounds are sharp,
they must be set free somehow, right?)*
And you taught me
how to handle a heart
as delicate as mine
pretends not to be,
with soft hands and gentle love
Stones smoothed into little pebbles
at the bottom of a river.
I can only hope I have learned
to hold your heart
with the skill and grace of bird wings
And to lift you
higher
as you do me.
It is the only way I can think to return
the lightness
you gift by existing.
Please remember,
My Sledgehammer Man,
you must simply exist
and the universe is lighter
for it.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
So.
What kind of sleep
Do you want?
The lacy white kind
Where you remember
All of your dreams,
Like glimpsing gardens
Behind cobwebs?
The kind of sleep that
slips on air,
running out of oxygen
like a drowner,
a sleep where
you recall
the hour you
closed your eyes?
Or do you want a
Sledgehammer?
A total blackout,
A sudden death,
Oblivious to fires
And burglaries
And nightmares?
Asleep so fast you
Can barely make out
Legs,
A marathon of hours
Done.
****** or Ambien?
C’mon,
Choose and hush up,
Morning’s waiting.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
I consumed a small
vial of courage today.
And it got me out of my mind,
my aches
and my bed.
It got me showered,
dressed
and out the door.
It helped me on the bus,
through the rumble of
the exhausted engine.
It deflected the stares from eyes
who seemingly judged.
It placed me at work.
Fuelled me through
the sledgehammer ticks
that echo never ending seconds.
And I eventually find myself home...
So I consumed a small
vial of courage today.
And I'm brave enough
to admit that I'm afraid.
Afraid that I may be running out.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
**Put down that pen
Relax your hand
Please quit writing
Smash your keyboard
With a sledgehammer
Please quit typing**
I’ve had enough with the compliments
On your half assed verses of antiquated love
On your verses of woe is my childhood babbling ********
On your verses of epiphanous enlightenment
I can’t believe that you’re what passes for good poetry
All that praise must be going to your head making you loco
Thinking that you can get away with writing that utter crap
I can’t believe you have so many admirers, so many followers
Hanging on to your every unsurprising word
Mad-Lib poetry, paint by numbers
It’s nice to see that that thesaurus and rhyming dictionary
Are working wonders for your writing
Like you’re some ******* messiah
Writing the perfect words for how they feel deep down
Like you're some ******* prophet
That speaks the word of the masses
Listen to the masses speaking from my tongue:
**Put down that pen
Relax your hand
Please quit writing
Smash your keyboard
With a sledgehammer
Please quit typing**
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
bring a sledgehammer
i know you're going to break my heart
you broke me,
you broke me so easily
i'm broken
and its because of your ignorance
you ****
i hate you
your the worst
why don't break my heart too?
you already broke my trust
so finish me off
bring a sledgehammer,
bring an axe
bring anything,
just break my heart
but you've already done enough to **** me
**** me,
break my heart,
you know you want to
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
I know he's going insane
Inside that head of his
And I don't mean insane
With excitement...
Just downright ill
He tries to play it off
Be the cool guy
Wear his mask
And never let anyone see him unprotected
But I do the exact same thing...
If he would just give me a chance...
It's lovely
But I abhor it
It's rather ugly as well
Our minds are like prison walls
Bricks overlayed repetitively
As far as our eyes can see
Towering above us
I don't want to be the
Sledgehammer
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 8:42 AM UTC
The freckle, in the center of the back of his right hand, is the color of autumn leaves and tree bark. On it I draw flowers of love and waves of want with kisses and touches. His right hand is the one that fits perfectly into mine, crafted and cut from the same stone to connect at the lifeline on our palms. I notice everything about his hands. The scaly red knuckles and the delicate milk skin between each finger. The dark dirt under each broken nail that never disappears. His hands are the thing that passes over my arm and sends prickles down my back. The hand with that beautiful freckle is the hand that I want to hold for the rest of my life. I love that hand. I love the boy that is attached to this hand. His eyes are deep and bright at the same time. They are the color of a sunrise- dark blue with flecks of orange and yellow. Every day I look in to those eyes and I drown. I drown in the want and the need of him. The hair on his head is the color of happiness- blonde and brown and soft and long and perfect. His lips are average and insignificant but to me they are everything I have ever wanted. They are the color of melted and spun sugar that you get at the carnival. I want to press mine to his, I want to stand on the tops of my toes to reach his lips, to taste him. I want to make constellations with my kisses from the freckles on his nose. I love those freckles but my favorite one is the one on the center of the back of his right hand. The one the color of autumn leaves and tree bark. That freckle made me fall in love with him. The day I noticed that freckle is the day I knew that I was completely, utterly in love with this boy. I was drowning in everything that is him and I was deprived in everything that is not him. But this boy is not mine. He is no ones. He walks this earth with the intent of ruling it and though I am by his side this boy King does not love me the way I love him. I know he loves me but we are platonic. And platonic people do want to press their lips together. And platonic people do not want to wake up tangled in sheets in the morning to see one another. No, platonic people love at a distance but I cannot stand that distance anymore. I want to take my sledgehammer of impatience and dynamite of want and crumble that wall. I will do anything to close that distance because I want him, I need him, I love him. But what does that matter? He is the boy King that cannot be held down and I am just a peasant girl waiting for her Prince Charming.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
Sledgehammer
Glass heart
Should've known
From the start
That by the time
We would collide
I'd be left broken
on the inside
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
A shock to the system
A Loved one is lost
Sledgehammer to the heart
Lightning bolt to the brain
Entombed in a blackness
Unable to move
Suffocating in a thick tar
Flooding my lungs
Suspended in stasis
For what seems like eons
My body in a slumber
My mind round the bend
Now ready for healing
With the passage of time
For banishing the darkness
For reclaiming the light
Things seem clearer now
The dark shadows are lifting
I can see clarity, lucidity
I can see a light ahead
It's turning my stomach
It's crushing my chest
I'm struggling to breathe
It's RED
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
I think I'll buy a book
tomorrow;
maybe an autobiography
of a young black kid
who made it big;
defying odds
and urban statisticians
who had him in the pen
by 19;
a shallow grave
by 29
with pages of preparation
and focus;
perseverance
when failure became
a formidable foe;
a social sledgehammer
slamming him
back into his basement
studio
with the rodents,
chronic unemployment
and piles of unpaid bills
and diplomas on the wall
framed in gold and mahogany
and photographs of fleeting
scenes of success
and hope
fleeting...
banished by fate?
am I destined to be
old, gifted and poor
like my fathers before me?
what dreadful deed
or sin
has sealed my destiny
with such savage sorrow?
maybe my hero,
the young black kid
in the book
I'll buy tomorrow
who made it big...
will have some answers...
~ P (Pablo)
(8/7/2013)
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
She has had enough
Of looking through the keyholes
of her own apologies
observing silently
like the tiniest of dust particles
that nobody truly sees
She has had quite enough
of being that shadow that lurks within her own soul
She is sick and tired of the flag of "sorry"
Flapping high above the breeze while she is stuck
down below
just waiting as the world passes by
She has had it,
so sick of hiding within that small silent room
as the colors fly in whirls outside the tiny window
gracing the touch of her fingers
as the flutter of butterfly wings
She is ready to break down those walls
with the one sledgehammer
that she now
discovers is in the room
Rusty, standing up
In the corner
Unrecognizable but for the cloak of dust.
Dust and rust aside somehow,
she can feel it and it is unstoppable
pushing back the cobwebs in that prison cell
that she herself created
She is ready to unfurl
Fly out into the light
The horizons of her world
are already exploding
Shards of glass fly from it…
from where she's not sure
The walls pushed back through an invisible force
that simply was there
all along.
Here, feel that dance of multi-colored
Light
Coming in with each breath
As the heart and soul expand
Now there is no way
but up and out.
Timid hands open the door a crack
And like a magnetic force
She is almost ****** through
The time tunnel of freedom
Almost….
Like the tiniest of snails slides back into the
comforting shell
But then she wields it
taking charge.
Pride is on the shelf
and courage large
Sledgehammer roars through the air
and smashed walls
lead to freedom -
not slippery as the black ice she once tripped on
but as smooth and graceful as the stride
of a delicate wing
as it licks the sky
in her rising.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
I want things to be the way they were,
Before everything tore us apart,
but how can I ever trust you again,
After you carelessly broke my heart?
I wish I could go back in time,
and hide all my feelings away,
Lock them in a box before,
You ever found a chance to say...
You wished that we could be together,
So you could hold me in your arms,
If I had known your words were lies,
I wouldnt have believed your charms.
And just look where we are now,
Both of us losing the fight,
Youre Always in tears because of her,
While im pretending that I'm alright.
I can't tear myself away,
Though you bring me nothing but stress,
It doesn't matter how hard i try,
Ive fallen too deep into this mess.
Ive been tumbling down your rabbit hole,
Since the moment you said hello,
And now I think weve gone through too much,
For me to really let you go.
Its nights like these i think about,
All those promises that you made,
How I would lie awake telling God,
That I would change my life if you stayed.
You took a sledgehammer to my heart,
Until it finally broke in half,
and when you watched me fall to pieces,
I watched you shake your head and laugh.
I know that you can't understand,
Why i feel the way I still feel,
and I can see how hard you're trying,
but effort doesnt make it real.
I'll find the right direction somehow,
but im starting to wonder when,
Because if I don't watch where im going,
Ill get caught in your trap again.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 4:26 AM UTC