Nine Pound Sledge
With the kinetic force of a nine pound sledge
she strikes my chest. This sudden blow from nowhere
against my protective ribcage
fractures my thought processes.
It drives innocent nails into the palms of my love
puncturing my heart with splintered chords of hate.
The striated muscles of my limbs go soft; embarrassed,
they become limp, emasculated,
a pathetic atrophied excuse of a man.
Pierced and shocked by this unpleasant surprise
I experience a prolapse and begin to bleed.
My chest heaves in silent opposition
to this forced regurgitation,
and I protest
the vitriole of her ambush.
Deaf to my plea she puts the sledge down
and picks up a Stryker saw,
a saw designed to cut through bone
with minimal damage to the underlying soft tissue.
She mercifully opens me
splitting the wishbone into two unequal parts
with the dexterity of a graduate in residence.
She sees, of course, that i have hemorrhaged.
So she siphons off the blood
then casually removes my will to live
with a rusty clawhammer. Smiling ear to ear
and with innocent blood on her hands and lips
she nonchalantly walks away
dragging her nine pound sledge with her.
poem by Richard Ilnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Doormat
Im not your doormat, your floormat
So dont wipe your feet on me
Im not the only garibaldi
Theres more fish in the sea
Im not your puppy, nor goldfish
So dont treat me like your pet
Im not your butterfly, so dont try
To chase me with your net Im not your kneaded eraser
So dont you wear me down
Im not your sledge, sledge hammer
Im no tool, that you pound
Im not your blacktop, for hopscotch
So dont jump all over me
Im not the place where the dogs roam
At the bottom of the tree dont you treat me like I have no feelings
Dont you treat me like that, I have feelings
Dont treat me like that
Dont you treat me like that
Dont treat me like that
Dont you treat me like that! Im not your carefree, nor sugarless
Like the gum on your shoe,
Im not the ring round your finger
Nor am I wrapped around you
Im not your shoe string, your rope thing
So dont tie me in a knot
Im not your asphalt, with oil spots
So dont use me as a parking lot
song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epic Joureny
Epic Journey
This story happened before the invention of snow-scooters,
a couple- the Østerjøen was frozen over- wanted to flee
the poverty of Suomi to the relative prosperous Svearike on
a sledge pulled by their pony. It was a long, cold treck, their
small horse got very tired and could not pull them anymore.
They needed the pony it could be used as carter of gods in
Stockholm. They made the tired animal lie down
on the sledge put a big blanket over it and continued their
journey. The winter night was very cold and they also got
too tired to pull the sledge. They lay down beside the horse
and slept snugly to a dazzling sunlight awoke them.
The pony rested was fed with the last sack of hay left and
harnessed. In good mood all three continued their heroic
crossing to Svearike and new future.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Hit Me Like A Hammer
I dont like to worry
About no one else
I like to be, you know alone and free
Im happy by myself ....yeah
But here comes this girl....woh...yeah
Ive seen em all around the world
She looks into me
Looks right through me
Chorus
Dont you know it hit me like a hammer
Hit me like a ton of lead
You know it hit me like a hammer
You know it hit me, baby
I told myself to take it easy
cause this wont last long
A day or two Ill be back in love
And shell be long gone....yeah
But then she caught my eye....woh...yeah
I knew that it was all a lie
I started shakin
My heart was breakin
Repeat chorus
And now I cant stop this feelin I got...i wanna know
cause theres no time to make up my mind
You shocked me, now youve got me, if you really want me
But here comes this girl....woh...yeah
Ive seen em all around the world
She looks into me
Looks right through me
Repeat chorus
Shocked me, now youve got me
You know it hit me like a hammer
Hit me like a five pound sledge.
You know it hit me, baby.
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enter the Deep
I have ventured between her fleshy shade,
bearing tadpole and the spade-shifting spine,
vibrating frame...the sweet mystique-the
stories made.I've pushed in her ocean's
edge from symbolic gray swings my sledge
a plunging force, a striking wedge..soft
and curling lips turn red.I've heard the
sounds from the deepest fathoms, some dark
escape out of the well of phantoms.Sensual
cries feeding my twisting actions.Commanding
in the most giving forge with sliding traction.
poem by William Blackman
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Sonnet XXXII
The paynefull smith with force of feruent heat,
the hardest yron soone doth mollify:
that with his heauy sledge he can it beat,
and fashion to what he it list apply.
Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry,
her hart more harde then yron soft awhit;
ne all the playnts and prayers with which I
doe beat on th'anduyle of her stubberne wit:
But still the more she feruent sees my fit:
the more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde:
and harder growes the harder she is smit,
with all the playnts which to her be applyde.
What then remaines but I to ashes burne,
and she to stones at length all frosen turne?
poem by Edmund Spenser
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First Love
At first, what I thought was love had a smiling, gentle face.
All too soon it hemorrhaged like blood flowing through lace.
This life blood flowed from my heart; then drowned my mind,
Leaving only debris of stark loneliness behind.
Romance was torn asunder as I now try to recall
If what, at first, seemed a wonder was anything at all.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reptilian Brain
Rebuild my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae,
and cover my nervous tissue,
and protect the lines that trace
the impulses that shoot from my back
into my fingers and toes and wherever
else I might sometimes feel.
Restructure my ribcage, make the marrows
capitulate and bend to the subterranean
dwellings that harbor something that
seems almost alien to me—
that seems like the graffiti stains
of a loitering soul.
Then break my skull against the concrete slabs
that support my laying body,
limp with the lethargic weight
of atrophied instinct and muted desire—
the tenuous plaits of the aphotic mind,
drenched in its abyss of unsunken light.
Force my jaw to unfurl in the waking night,
my cranium shattering the superego
as the cold blood runs deep from
my reptilian brain to boil
where I've forgotten to bask.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Auld Wife
PART I
The auld wife sat at her ivied door,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her spectacles lay on her apron’d knees.
The piper he pip’d on the hill-top high,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
Till the cow said, “I die,” and the goose asked “Why?”
And the dog said nothing, but search’d for fleas.
The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
His last brew of ale was a trifle hard,
The connection of which with the plot one sees.
The farmer’s daughter hath frank blue eyes;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,
As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.
The farmer’s daughter hath ripe red lips;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
If you try to approach her away she skips
Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.
The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And I met with a ballad, I can’t say where,
Which wholly consisted of lines like these.
PART II
She sat with her hands ’neath her dimpled cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And spake not a word. While a lady speaks
There is hope, but she did n’t even sneeze.
She sat with her hands ’neath her crimson cheeks;
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
She gave up mending her father’s breeks,
And let the cat roll in her best chemise.
She sat with her hands ’neath her burning cheeks,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And gaz’d at the piper for thirteen weeks;
Then she follow’d him out o’er the misty leas.
Her sheep follow’d her, as their tails did them,
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese)
And this song is consider’d a perfect gem;
And as to the meaning, it ’s what you please.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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Innocent World
I used to live in an innocent world
I had a car and a pretty blond girlfriend
We was too young to know what we were doing
And anyway I was just fooling around
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
With a cute little monkey on my back
And a total disregard for the facts
Id run away and never get back
From my innocent world
There aint no reason to tell no lie
When youre young and youve got a lot of pie
Now I slink around like a killer
The things they say are just a lot of filler
In my mind, in my mind
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Running, laughing in the sun
And always having lots of fun
Smoking dope and just being young
In my innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
With a cute little monkey on my back
And a total disregard for the facts
Id run away and never get back
From my innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frozen Buds
Frozen buds are born into the world of blood and hate
They fall day by day
Caught up in the storm of rages.
Young lives are wrecked
Childhood is turned into cold hate
Guns are thrust into small hands
Innocent tears run down dusty cheeks
The tears of a newborn child run into rivers of blood.
They are forced to hate
Forced to kill
Forced to sacrifice their life for something they do not understand.
Many childhood years were cut short.
Their childhood was frozen
Wrecked from the start of their lives.
Innocence to anger
Toys to guns
Guns to kill
They do not deserve this life.
Where is human kindness?
Forever fearing
Forever scarred
Frozen buds live to drown in a never ending hate which was never theirs.
poem by Natasha Kirke
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Bonescraper
There is no future for us to suture
Your life ill-fated, beat down and hated
Shot in the head, walking undead
Numb to the world, around your head
Rip my skin from my bone, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Hide in the shadows, deep black, and hollow
Empty void of light cuts clean, like a knife
Damaged and torn, punctured by thorns
I've felt nothing since I was born
Rip my skins from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
My flesh <-> Your flesh
Your eyes <-> My sight
My pain <-> Your shame
We are the same ...
Rip my skin from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Rip my skin ...
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Meat
Cut into bits, the muscles drip and drip
Pools of blood plated on polystyrene.
The transparent film holding them down sips
The liquid staining its color, its sheen
Of glossy plastic sitting so serene
As if vacuum-sealed for silent repose.
The slivers of corpse will become cuisine
When in consumer hands, and so it goes.
The wrapping will be sliced. It will expose
The limp, artuated lumps of tissue
That, in fresh air, begin to decompose,
Spoiling in refrigerated mildew.
They'll toss the flayed strips swiftly in pan heat,
Boiling and browning the sheets of dead meat.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Sowing
Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flander's Field.
At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow;
like the backs of mothers, daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son upon the field.
No white crosses mark their passing.
For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat;
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields and in the fields by consent or rape;
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts.
Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious dropp blooms…..a heroines acknowledgement
the poppies yield.
poem by Deborah Guzzi
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So soft the calling
so soft
the calling
that tears the night apart
fragility hurting
the voice undone
so innocent
the hands
that touched the light all through
melting the thoughts
with the first of suns
the beams piercing soul
dance horizons blue
hands unholy in the whole
rest them healed on your chest
cloudward far fetched
oblivion detached
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a might man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawney arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can,
And looks the whole word in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear the bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his might sledge,
With measure beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar.
And catch the flaming sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like his mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hands he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiing, -- rejoicing, -- sorrowing,
Onward in life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned his night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou has taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Beat the plowshare
Pound the drum
Of war to come
Rhythm on steel
Red from the forge
Forms the sword
To carry to war
The sledge makes beat
On thinning edge
As it pounds
pounds
pounds
pounds
It sounds the drum
Of war to come
Soon it will be echoed
By marching men
cries of battle
Sounds of war
The sword will lead
Before the flag
Followed by the sound
Of drums
Pounding
Pounding
To war
Today, I beat my plowshare
And I listen to the drum
poem by James Timothy Jarrett
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Ambush
You're distant honey - Mr. Cool
You lock up your feelings - nobody's fool
You're facing the world
With your fist clenched tight
Tough guy - tough guy facing the fight
Don't forget to remember
She's coming up in back
Even you surrender
Surrender to her sweet attack
Ambush - ambush come from behind
Ambush - ambush capture your mind
Ambush - ambush I'm in disguise
Ambush - ambush take you by surprise
When you don't expect it
That's when she appear
Whisper your fancy - licking your ear
Put her arms around you - give a little squeeze
One little taste bring you to your knees
The way she touch - is almost too much
When she lay - lay that claim
You beg - begging her name
Ambush - ambush come from behind
Ambush - ambush capture your mind
Ambush - ambush I'm in disguise
Ambush - ambush take you by surprise
I'm telling you right up front
You're the prisoner
She do what she want
Ambush - ambush come from behind
Ambush - ambush capture your mind
Ambush - ambush I'm in disguise
Ambush - ambush take you by surprise
Ambush - ambush I'm in disguise
Ambush - ambush take you by surprise
song performed by by Heart from Passion Works
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snares
Snares, sears, nears, are, era, ears, as, an, seas, ran, snare;
And like a threshing-sledge dragging the mire,
But the rattle of the spear is all that i do hear around me.
White hair, black hair and coloured hair!
The deep boils like a caldron;
But my ears heard of you and now,
My own eyes have seen you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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0194 At last
At last I’m old enough
old enough not to be
embarrassed when
it happens
it can be when
some athlete stands
and mouths the words of
their national anthem
as the flag waves
or a young musician
makes their first, fresh
debut playing some
often played classic
as if it had never
been played before
or a cloud passes and
the sunlight reaches into
the room and says
look at this crystal vase,
look at this flower
look at this dewdrop
or someone who was anyone
a moment ago
smiles
oh so many so little big things and
my chest heaves, shudders,
and my heart not my eyes
is shaking with tears which
cannot be explained but
only recognised for
whence they come
beyond tears
at last I’m old enough
not to be embarrassed
by this joy
though
I make the excuse
to go into another room
in case
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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