Wave good day to our On Tech editor, Hanna Ingber, who picked just a few faves. Some of the hammer poems had been submitted by skilled writers. Thank you for all of them.
The Cold Cheeseburger of Love
slumps on the resort night time stand
subsequent to the Flat Diet Coke of Freedom
in its Paper Cup of Ennui. The Sad Clown
of Destiny hangs on the Bent Nail of Indifference
pushed into the Purple Wall of Oblivion
by the Slightly-Bent Hammer of Fecklessness.
Oh, Crispy Home Fries of Homesickness,
spilled onto the ground,
scattered beneath the
unmade mattress, the
— Matt Mason, Omaha, at present the Nebraska State Poet
Oh, how I really like my hammer
it’s such a stunning instrument.
It could lack so much in glamour
however as an implement it’s cool.
— Alan Payne, Etowah, Tenn.
A hammer is what a person wants,
on a November splashing heatless
daylight to and fro by midday,
like silvery Chablis
tossed among the many leaves;
I really like
the dim secrecy of this cellar’s cool,
the jars of nails
and nickel screw eyes,
the hammer’s iron tooth
there, in its corkboard
with gripping tape
and ready for some stable use.
It’s every thing my century applauds.
Roundheaded: riven: ready;
maker of rails and shingle;
now to yank, now to rend,
now, if known as upon, to kill.
— William Orem, Emerson College