Nothing like hitting it on the head with
All the subtly of smashing things with a hammer
It made all of his friends nervous
Like when he was around they kept biting their…
Nail (an acrostic poem)
Tag Archives: hammer
Tool (an acrostic poem)
The hammer felt so good in his calloused hand
Only that didn’t seem enough for this task
Opening up the metal box he reached in and pulled out a larger hammer
Looking at his source of frustration he grinned and went to work “fixing it”
Chamber (an acrostic poem)
Cozy silver jacket
Hammer at the ready
All we need is a single twitch
Making all this potential energy
Become a cacophony of kinetic energy
Exploding the projectile forward
Recoiling from what was done
Smith (an acrostic poem)
Selecting the right words to give strength to the tale
Managing to weld together sentences without seams
Intricate work with the hammer to make the whole thing take shape
Then quenching it with an editing pass to give it durability
How a writer forges stories from raw emotional stock
Image: darksword-armory.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/sword-making-steel.jpg
Crash (an acrostic poem)
Capsizing the tin of screws sent them careening to the tile floor
Running away from the cacophony, Flynn kept his head down
Another hammer flew by, smashing the windows on his left
Splinters of glass impregnated themselves into his flesh
He threw himself through the ex-window before the ground finally found him
Image: s-i.huffpost.com/gen/1440349/images/o-SLEDGEHAMMER-facebook.jpg
Bloody Kiss
Tap. Tap. Tap. The chips of virgin white marble flew with each hit of the chisel from the hammer, littering the floor with inspiration. Morgan had spent seven days going over this particular block looking at what was hidden within. Seven days of laying on of hands, to get the feel of the rock. She spent hours upon hours looking at the block from every conceivable angle. Now she was obsessed with releasing the imprisoned statue held within the marble tomb. She tasted flecks of cold hard marble as she continued her work. The sound from her chisel and hammer gave her clues as to how she was doing with her excavation. The smell of her sweat mixed with the marble dust made her almost intoxicated.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The statue began to come to life. Morgan could feel it start to breathe with the life she was pouring out of her hands. It began to flex the muscles she carved into its limbs. The creator was working on the created, while the created worked on the creator; a circle of energy that kept building and building until…
Crack. A small imperfection of the marble block made itself known with the release of energy and sound pent up for millennia. Morgan stopped her hammer mid swing and let it drop of her deadened fingers. With a second crack it fell to the floor. The created life fled the lump of stone, leaving a petrified corpse behind. Morgan felt her creativity evaporate under the glare of the broken piece of art in front of her. She placed her chisel softly on her lips, as if to kiss the whole endeavor goodbye.
Morgan puckered her lips a bit, feeling the sharp end slice her lightly. The blood she tasted woke her out of her torpor. She picked up the flawed marble statue and gave it a bloody kiss. Where she had kissed the marble left a blood red “lipstick” mark. That made her smile. It was almost like a goodnight kiss on their first date. She would figure this piece out eventually. All good relationships just needed time. She left the marble behind on her table, the chisel laid beside. Tomorrow she would try again, but first she needed to take care of this bloody lip.
