"trimmers" poems
the bane of my existence
here
now
is
all of the incessant
noise.
the city encroaches
ever outward,
gobbling up
the suburbs
like the great big
Blob
contributing
layer
after
layer
of noise.
a new metro line
opened last year
disheartened
the morning
realized
it was the trains
i heard
as my puppy
and i
walked so early.
trash trucks,
back up beeping noises,
leaf blowers,
mowers
and trimmers ...
all
conspiring
to drive me
mad.
the birds and owls,
snakes and deer,
hawks and rabbits
toads
and trees
and flowers,
puppies
all other creatures
divine,
tempering
this man-made chaos
this man-made
hell
keeping me hopeful
that
i
will
have some
respite
some respite
from this
hideous cacophony,
this man-made hell,
in the future,
not
too distant.
of course
there are
some benefits
from all
the city life
but i prefer
the silence
the solitude
of nature.
the Taoist recluses
who speak to me,
whose poems
paintings
writings
and silence
are balm
to my soul.
some day soon,
i too
shall join
the recluses
far away
far far away
in the mountains.
but for now,
i am
only a modern day
taoist
recluse
stuck in suburbia,
doing my best,
living in this
noisy hell.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
It comes in waves
Trimmers
Shaking my ribs
Rattling-loose bone
Surfing the surface of my thought
Making breath shallow
It stutters
In the rhythm of my heart
Pulling at tendons
Leeching at the life found therein
Sputtering-spindling
Thumping
Flat-line
The thought of you leaving
Killing me every time
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
Throw away the ashes
Pull the sutures out
Wipe away the dust from pictures
Start to scream and shout
One last look for this lifetime
One more final glance
Tomorrow’s coming and I’m leaving
I’m not coming back
I took the garbage out today
Nothing to report
Just faded dreams and rotting meat
Not difficult to sort
My heart was in that bag too
My brain falls from my hand
I think it will remain with you
Kick it if you can
It’s like a dream that’s gone away
A picture I can’t sketch
An idea lost in my head
Unsteady hand, lit match
Dry earth seeping noxious gas
Melancholy rays
Shining down from up above
Dispirit me today
The burning wood
Falls to the floor
As trimmers split the cracks
It all blows me away
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 8:18 AM UTC
I was found
A flower of purple bloom
Alone, in a gloom
Until petals of yellow
Scent soothing
Took root not far away
After time
And months of rhyme
She whispered
To the yellow bloom
Said that there was no room
For the two of us
"Wild violet"
I was branded
Called a ****
Said to be slowly
Choking out the yellow bloom
That in that garden
There was no room
For a vile ****
Alas, a **** I was not
Am not
For I am a flower
Nothing more
But
Call me what you want
Drop venom where you please
My voice perhaps stolen
My leaves torn by your
Shaking hands
Fists in the air
But I hold in
A thousand words
To battle your chaos
Cast away
With every attack
Like leaves to a blower
I won't lie
That's your job
Cruel gardener
Pick all of my petals
Shred my leaves
Pull me by the roots
Still I shall stand
No matter the swinging
Of your crazed trimmers
Snipping away
Though far away
I shall stay
Just a memory
Fueling your chaos
Growing a wall of thorns
Dripping with blood
Around your proud bloom
Of yellow light.
- Jay M
September 18th, 2020
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 11:32 AM UTC
so i am here this morning to show you the moons and they are not the moons that everyone else sees but they are beautiful all the same
and i refuse to be destroyed but what they can't see.
and i planted a tree in the sky and felt its leaves but i was too short and no one else would water it so it is dead.
i will never let them destroy my plants again.
they will never again trample them and drag their own dreams into my soil or use the hedge trimmers on a sunday afternoon
shut up i am sleeping turn that thing off.
I have made a decision
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
One roll of quarters on my desk
hoarded for a rainy day
two books with pages cut out
my failed attempt at art
three textbooks staring accusingly at me
you should be studying, they chant
four nail trimmers because its a compulsive habit
to stop my nails from cutting my hands when I make a fist
five vinyl figures of my favorite characters
giving my courage when I feel scared
Peter
Dean
Steve
Mike
Dany
six spoons
not sure about that one
seven bottles of paint
waiting until the urge hits
eight dvds
from lonely nights when the wifi doesn't work
nine half-filled notebooks
waiting for a finished story, or notes, or anything
ten hardback books
that I haven't read in years
my room
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
over the creek and through the woods,
a mower roars to life
shattering sweet morning silence with
sounds of this manmade hell.
little homeowner
lazy little **** or *****
is your little patch
of manicured green
so important a sign
to ruin this sweet morn?
keeping up with the neighbors
buying into this artificial life.
never are you seen out
sitting about
in your little-manicured world
of green.
pesticides and trimmers
blowers and mowers
how i turn my eye with disgusted scorn
at the destruction
your convoluted idea
of beauty
has brought.
earplugs firmly inserted
windows and doors tightly shut
still i can’t help
but to cry out,
"why can’t you just
shut the **** up?!"
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
I decided love wasn't worth its while
So I severed every stem
And watched as every petal wilted
I scattered the bodies around my heart
Daring any seed to sprout
Now, the trimmers have rusted
And I see the buds
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Riding lawn mower
**** trimmers
sit idly in the repair shop
again
this Spring
while sweet sunshine
soaks in the leaky skies
crazy growing grass
tall enough
for our Lily cat
to reprise her
daily
king of the jungle
role
wearing
a dandelion crown.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
I once met an angel
His wings had ruffled feathers
They showed his trials in life
This angel claims to love me
But I couldn't help but envy his wings despite my feelings for him
So even though I envy his wings
They also scare me
For if he has wings he could fly away and leave me
One night out of fear, he became my experiment
As he slept so peacefully I grabbed the hedge trimmers
And I brought them to his gorgeous wings
And snapped straight into the bones
They snapped loudly, his blood staining the feathers as he shrieked
And once I saw what I had done
My experiment was complete
But my fear came true, as he still chose to leave me.
I sleep with his wings every night, regret still eating at me.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
6 0’ clock
and the string of doors on the block
creak open in unison,
The briny smell of sizzling, leathery bacon accretes,
Seeping forth from pale shutters,
Peeling past the cars, stripping beige paint off the sides of houses.
The morning drizzle, forming tiny rainbows,
You would think it was acid rain,
melting away the plastic people.
Midday, after only an hour passes
and white wine splashes
like crashing waves in the crystalline stemware,
Where orderlies dazedly rescue their children from the montessories
Where power lines crack like whips,
So generously oozing sustenance to babes.
The civiliter mortuus, roam their undead domain,
Like a swarm of cockroach wasps
speed walking in parasitic pairs
darting through Safeway aisles,
Demolishing houses of white chocolate, and roasting sweet nothings
On the new George Foreman Grill ™ .
Every house on loan to apathetic debtors
They come to yours with their holy letters
PTA, … IRA … NSA … HOA
They proselytize, prioritize
Themselves over forest bears and wolves,
But where only hedge trimmers growl
The only Tuesday sounds are the behemoth
Devouring your trash,
And where leaf blowers asthmatically howl.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC