"trimmer" poems
I got sick of shaving
Every day
So I started growing a beard
For a while, it was technically stubble
But now it would make William T. Riker proud
Or at least smile and nod in approval
At the effort
I bought a beard trimmer at Walgreens
And I trimmed that *****
Made it nice and even
But it itches a lot
So I have to use dandruff shampoo on it when I can
I get compliments on it
From my mom and my brother
Whose beard should belong to a Canadian lumberjack
(Not my mom, my brother)
I love this beard
But I still get the urge to shave it completely
And return to baby-face
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Forever neglected
Forever dismayed
Forever deafened
By the cacophony of the trade
The antiquated digger stands by
A sentient guard of the worker
It watches as the tree slowly dissipates
Its life slowly crumbling
As the voracious chipper
Devours the tree whole
The worker stands by
The digger stands by
The chipper chips away
The taciturn worker remains
Ruminating the existence of the world.
Why was he put here?
For what reason must he stay with these hallowed construction tools?
Do they feel any remorse for the change that they've enacted
On the world around them?
Are they aware that they transgress the laws of nature?
The bellicose chipper
Wages war with nature
As the people watch so distantly.
Its sound makes the neighbors quite belligerent
Yet the zealots watch attentively.
The pure ignorance
The pure neglect
The blatant apathy
Is something to be seen.
Whatever could possess you
To follow in the footsteps of the worker
To feel his pain as the trimmer
Chips away at the trees' centuries
The sound of shattered glass
Punctuates the air.
Perhaps there has been an accident.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
“I’ve become lost in the cross hairs of love and lust.”
His line of thought became stagnant with no one to watch,
spellbound by her snare looking for someone to care,
her words would trimmer proving to much to bare—
“it’s just not the same, in the way that i love you,
something doesn’t remain.”
A sword breeched his heart that day,
vessel went off course filling with black waters of spite,
lines became blurred, compass askew,
naive conceptions of a roadmap wouldn’t do.
“Rain washed away our chalk, it’s not all lost”
this thought’s become seared,
simmering in his mind until the time would come.
I can’t talk of the grilling in our prince’s kingdom,
except that the tyrannical king, made hell his home.
Acidity was palpable, yet still he continued,
never ceasing words kept him through—
“but I do love you” until the fat lady’s tune,
sulking in the nostalgia of her swoons.
He continued to praise her more than the moon
thanks the sun, for illuminating it’s room,
in the sky, and the stars scream out cries,
for the mangled prince lays waiting only for her shine;
however the lyrics must stop, at some point,
the fat ladies pitch will drop,
until the nightingales love song stops.
Scared to be hurt once again,
a vow has been made that no more friends will be lost,
or bring pain, but this came at a cost.
Drowned by sorrow he knew only one way to manage,
cut everyone out because they can do damage.
Reclusive, seclusive, he shut out all,
friends’ unaware, the ball couldn’t have dropped further;
ashamed, self-disdained the thought feels like ******
What of the piper that doesn’t pipe?—As grim as tales come,
stuck between a gloc and a hard bane.
“Baring may be impossible” he said to cold steel,
heavier than expected, ice-like to his lips,
sitting against the wall, with a cumbersome grip.
Last text sent “Take care of everyone for me, you’re now the guardian.”
Panic set in friends, but it was all to late to heed.
Until the end comes, he looks into the cosmos of his mind,
and lastly to her shrine; final thoughts unknown,
except to the wall and rug bellow
but here I’ve presumed— “I will love you forever”
trigger pulled, death concludes.
RIP- Clay
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
This is a nice walk.
Good job I've gone
Out and about
I ate way too much today
I need to burn that off
Christ, my belly looks huge!
OK, breathe in, breathe in
I wonder what I'll have
For tea tonight
It'd better be something light
I had a bar of chocolate last night
I wonder how many calories
I've left for the day
What do My Fitness Pal say?
600. That's okay
BUT
It would be better
To have less
I'm at a party this weekend
So I'll probably eat and drink
More than I should
I could just skip tea altogether?
Wow, my thighs really rub together
That's disgusting
Yeah, I probably should
(I definitely shouldn't wear shorts)
I wonder what I'll do tonight
Maybe go for a run?
I'm tired from last night's, but
I'll be happier once it's done
I look disgusting
In everything right now
Maybe it'll help me be
A little trimmer for that party?
Oh God, that person's looking at me
I bet they're judging
My double chin
OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO BREATHE IN.
For God's sake
Why can't I just be thin?
There are too many people about
I should have waited
'til it was dark
My flab is less stark
Less to remark on
If people can't see properly
It's OK, nearly home now
...That was a nice walk.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 2:07 PM UTC
Now, we find needs just so we can fill them. We go insane so we can buy the meds. Soccer moms popping children’s pills. Everyone dreaming suicide and depression. No how. No why. No reason.
We want inventions so we can make infomercials. Who cares about shipping and handling? **** the national debt. I’ll give you my credit card number, and you’ll send me a pet nail trimmer, even though Max (the dog) died four years ago, you never know what you’ll need right?
We find government just to have politicians. Everyone promises a solution to the problem. No one ever expects it to pan out. Instead, we vote on name recognition, parties, and skin color. Who cares about platforms or empty promises?
We wage wars just to make video games. I’ll shoot you now, your brother will shoot me later, but don’t worry, when we’re all in the ground. Someone, somewhere, will design a kickass, strategic, lifelike game, where dying only means regenerating and less ammo.
We all want something, or nothing. We all work to live, live to die.
Try just to fail, fail to try.
We want anonymity, just to forget the tragedy of our minds.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 12:18 PM UTC
On slick steel strings
six of them gather.
Around the electric hum box,
the muffled distortion buzzing
of suave spear-like poses
We are so green
and so mean.
The dance of divinity
in-between drum filled paradise
and a pair of hi-hat smash
the opening line to our razor's crass waving
our mantis praying
Drenched in reverb chorus shimmer
lightning dash with the blast trimmer
our boats the bass on the river melody
In reverie, Minced the mic
our barely audible voices shivering
our mantis praying
Strap stable static through magnetized
cords of magic
getting picked up on the down stroke
the shift bend pinch harmonic
capo for the overture
the reprise.
Fallen leaves in the back of the half-stack
octave raving
our mantis praying.
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 7:48 AM UTC
*I woke with chills
shivering down my spine,
like a scratchy shadow
clawing at my skin,
I trimmer from within.
My fears consume
and devour,
as my mind goes sour.
These night’s I fight with monsters
from my nightmares,
deeper and deeper
I slowly approach
my darkest dreams,
only to find my tortured screams.*
*
© By Amanda D Shelton
*
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
I stuck my hand in the pocket
Of one of your ancient wool coats.
Unworn for many years, too small for me,
It had obviously fit a much younger, trimmer you.
Inside I found a single well-handled pink tissue,
Very fragile, but still in one piece.
I held it up, in awe of its age.
It was then I saw the glimmer
Of infinitesimal crystals;
****** secretions from the distant past.
At once I imagined you outside,
Nose running freely in the cold air,
Furtively brushing your nose now and again
With the tissue, before reburying it
In the satin-lined pocket.
As I held it up in the dim light of the bedroom,
A furtive breeze, aided by the shaking
Of my hand, unlocked the tiny prisms
From the weave of pinkness,
And they dispersed into the air invisibly,
Like the popping of silent bubbles.
A delicate part of you had been returned,
Freed, into the constantly moving stream of life,
Now released from a silken *******
I bowed my head in wonder at it;
That you were gone from me now,
And yet here was this most human statement left behind,
An outpouring from your once vibrant body.
And I had just touched you again,
And could feel you floating all around me,
Finer in the air, than ashes from a cremation,
Was this dust of ashes
From a long lost Winter day
And then, I breathed you into me
Just for a few minutes, and watched
As the boundaries of time and space were suspended.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:33 PM UTC
There was an old man who was very depressed
He'd failed every trouble and trial and test
He wept and he sobbed til his eyes had gone dry
He was so very sad that he wanted to
Seek emotional counsel for his dismal disorder
So he picked up the flute and the woodwind recorder
He learned to find joy through music expression
He thought he had finally beat his
Very hard level in Mario 3
But he failed at everything, even the Wii
He did with his sadness once again coincide
Til one fateful day he committed
To an exercise plan that got him in shape
He got slimmer and trimmer and boy, he felt great!
He was glad as a songbird and free as a dove
And thanks to the splendor of Tinder he even found
An overcontrolling excuse for a girl
Who caused years of therapy to slowly unfurl
As his job, his courtship, and his whole life went south
He finally put a bullet in his
Resume list of all of his talents
He saw each day as an exciting new challenge
From raise to promotion to recommendation letter
The old man's life had took a turn for the
Edge of the bridge that his body fell from
Though police say "suicide" there still are some
Who doubt the absurd and believe the absurder
That what actually killed him was coldblooded
Lizard-people who rule the government's workings
Putting on a facade while in the dark lurking
"The happiest suicide" may one day be explained
But if it is the Illuminati will wipe all our
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
Dig
We were nearly back to the house
when the front end loader shattered
the silence and back filled the hole
drove off some vireos and cowbirds
amped up seven whitetail browsing
the pine break above Calusa Way.
American Spirit *******
a new moon **** of mouth
the operator feathered the lever
while gathered together we grazed
potato salad, deviled eggs, sliced ham, rain
from the Gulf over to Melbourne
soaking the operator’s boots
ducking into his pickup truck
for the long drive home to Pedro.
It hammered the tin roof shed
out back where your tools
tarps, trouble lights, line trimmer
home brew insecticide in unmarked
milk jugs, old spark plugs
a lifetime of nuts, bolts and washers
huddled warm and dry on shelves
ball peened the tamped sand lozenge
on the ragged fringe of the silent ranks.
It’s hard to find even with a map
Calusa Way coiling through the bahia grass
flowing past stone faced theater goers
house lights up well past their final act.
Vireos and cowbirds
even the whitetail browsing
the pine break pay me no
mind down on hands and knees
undoing the honest work
of the operator, sifting handfuls
of sandy backfill for something
I might have missed.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Kiss me like your dreaming
And Let the stars clog your lucid dreaming
Foat above the clouds so high
And wish apon that bright star light
Make those legs trimmer because satisfaction makes those eyes shimmer
Rub apon your daily heart
And sing it songs of goddesses that float up in that sky so high
but in the end it shall wish it were thinking of just I
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
----------- SYTF E
War stories, secret fifty years,
then Trumps team added enough
for the names on the payroll to die.
Here we go again,
let's visit 1892 Nietzsche,
let's recollect the opera of it all,
We had characters, and complexes,
all from these sprachen mit Zararthustra,
unglaublichkeit
kein weg, wir wissen, es tut mir leid.
- we are barred from war study.
Dulles Brothers,
Wick trimmer John,
***** war to fix the judges.
So, intention to twist a human hair.
- in my judgement, its allowed
Frizzy splitting, dry broken ends,
caught there in the web,
seen fly's eyes close,
that proves you,
your code,
at attention, present in the scene,
we know the drill,
or so we have been led to believe.
Taught, trained, gently fed a fear,
of being selectable by the art intuit init
running on sense if
ever was a muse
used to tell time
to seem sequential,
after the hallelujah, in the ritual mass,
- peace on earth- heard under stars
message to the many from the few,
though the many be accused of shame
from ignorance evinced in use of tools,
IT as a calling is new, AI invented it,
MyTechPeople used it, the idea that
other people sell their know how, using
code, to identify the attention deficit
disorder undermined by primordial
old time rights of record rising on yes,
as the one word answer./
Used at instants, invisible at freeway speeds.
Jun 1, 2024
Jun 1, 2024 at 11:31 PM UTC