Best Craftsmen Poems
Why A Poem Is More Than Ink On A Page
Why a poem is more than ink on a page
its heart, soul and sweet treasure at any age
can be expressing sorrows and deep rage
or gems of wisdom from a brilliant sage,
a singer that lyrics so sweetly move
or artist that dares to share cool groove
a magical huntress, for true romance
a bold gambler, willing to take a chance.
Why poems are more than just paper ink stained
they are truth, often from those painting, deep pained
they are treasures, from those with braver hearts
or valiant cast dreams from across star charts,
a warrior, singing of courageous deeds
or farmer, planting hope and true word seeds
a sailor, sailing through turbulent storms
a paper kids sitting in college dorms.
Why poems are gifts that the reader rewards
they are aces in life's hands of living cards
with wins that can benefit one and all
or valiant words sent to answer a call,
a lost soul, asking for some great relief
or sinner unburdening darkest grief
a lover, horribly lost in a maze
a phoenix rising from hot, fiery haze.
Why a poem is more than ink on a page
its heart, soul and sweet treasure at any age
can be expressing sorrows and deep rage
or gems of wisdom from a brilliant sage,
a singer that lyrics so sweetly move
or artist that dares to share cool groove
a magical huntress, for true romance
a bold gambler, willing to take a chance.
Robert J. Lindley, November 9th, 2000
edited, July 13th, 2006,
March 7th, 2020
Note: We write because we must, we write because we should,
we write because to not write is a heartache, we write to unburden
our souls, we write to give to others, we write to record we existed,
we write to say we are imperfect, we are loved, we are forgiven, we are hopeful, we are dreamers, we are artists, we are painters, we are craftsmen,
we are fighters, we are lost, we are found and we care about more than just ourselves, etc..
Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.) Marcel Proust
__________________________________
Slumber unwinds within crinkled cellophane,
Enigmatic visions come to life and sustain.
Geometrical shapes skin to pyramids, expand,
Cruising fairies sing through shimmering sand.
Hey, Captain! Ferry sails across any hurdle,
A searing streak splits the sky as a starved squirrel.
A prize is won, dock shuts, and crowds cheer,
At night, memories of you come back so near.
Delicate spiderwebs hang as stars in the sky,
Mozart hands waltz ivory piano keys sigh.
Galaxy emits a lambent, milky-white light,
Tapestry Highways sails by my a quilted sight.
A cosmic queen embarks on a cynosure journey,
Slicing over a glistening ocean during night mercy.
Colorful pathways in the sky are formed by sea swirls,
Mermaids glide fluffy waves of glistening pearls.
Behold a sturdy sail, a tough and bold ship, oh heart!
As bleak as the gnomes at dawn, it's time to depart!
On deck, the skipper is fierce and red-dripping,
Meanwhile, my soul lingers in frigid buds snipping.
Captain! Rise and hear chimes; to you, a flag raised,
You gained fights and flights, and doves amazed.
The ship has sailed safely and fulfilled its voyage,
He gulped distance, sea, time, and buoyage.
It was a time of jubilation and feelings of love,
During spell hour, they shone brightly from above.
Dived in the chaotic bliss of love, this waned,
In a misty past, the spirit soared and stained.
Rivers rush down slopes, and peaks loom tall,
Rafters ride via waterfalls as bridges never fall.
Deer graze in fields, and craftsmen, work away,
Sweets and meals sizzle on burner, made to stay.
Chili, pasta, beans, and maize are all we need,
The Alpine guy eats grits, Angus, and meat, indeed.
Riders hold on tight with flying manes and fish dives,
West Virginia alpine star twinkles and jives.
No greasy treats from chippie van;
I have my starch now au, gratin
with blasted, deconstructed bass,
petits pois, served; in Demi tasse.
No pint of best down at the pub
I drink with chums now at the club;
Prosecco, or a Chardonay
depending on the time of day.
No picking up the kids from school;
done by Au pair now; as a rule;
she turns up in our four by four
dressed top to toe in old Dior
No visits to the Home Depot
I have ten craftsmen now in tow;
who add things at my beck and call
to my enormous stately hall.
No need to visit family;
They all now want to come see me,
drink all my wine, then use the pool;
methinks they take me for some fool!
There's nothing left that I can buy;
so why, you ask, that big old sigh?
I have new friends, but here's the rub;
I miss my mates down at the pub.
Yes, being rich is such a bore!
This Sabbath, we read about the Tabernacle
and the avoidance of a great debacle
Seems the Israelites donated so much stuff
Moses told them, 'That's enough!'
In fact, much gold and silver were left over
fine silk, and animal skins, moreover
Yet each donation was still put to good use
and the craftsmen a fine Tabernacle produced
With this ends the Book of Exodus
to teach this lesson to each of us
God values every contribution, large or small
~ Take away just one, there'd be no Tabernacle at all
bricks lay scattered,
cement piled up bad,
the mason was ill trained,
and was a new lad,
he knew nothing,
and could not begin anything,
came the master craftsmen,
and the bricks themselves walked to places,
cement gelled with water,
and leaped to seal,
the building shaped,
and no longer was a dream.
they're in the work places
and stores downtown...
silent and quiet
blank faces
private
in groups...
they express
themselves all
freely the same
and...me not feeling
time stealing
from them
thought...
"aliens"...
the years have cleared
the unfamiliar scene
and now...i'm what had been all along...
alien...in an alien world...
now with access only to the relevant
universal intellect continuum
and this...'this invention' enables
craftsmen of the word
to furnish the world
with script and book
to read or cook...
wonderful
pass-time-planet
earth
Strands of satiny pineapple fibers
From the superbly prickly pieces of leaves
Refined by the nifty naked hands
Of the great sophisticated artisans
Beyond this unequaled plant
Is a peculiar product exist
Only native Filipinos - Tagalogs can procreate
An art of aesthetic craftsmen
The fabric of my historical breed
Versatile apparel suits for formal affairs - weddings
From 20 meters of silk processed and produced - four months
Nation known as PEARL OF THE ORIENT
Exaltedly introduces this "BARONG TAGALOG"
Through cordial hardworks and artistic thinkings
A lifetime masterpiece dominates the Philippine Art
A cloth woven by faith and ornamented by passion
A cloth designed by heart and given birth through life
A cloth perfected by artistry and embroidered by fidelity
For native Batanguenos, this is their breath
Respiring together as they brocade their future
Future that depends on THE PHILIPPINE NATIONAL CLOTH - BARONG TAGALOG.
*BATANGUENOS - people of Batangas,Philippines
*BARONG TAGALOG - Philippine National Cloth
------------Jun-jun Villanueva
----ANYTHING HANDMADE CONTEST by nette onclaud
Its sonorous tone has struck the hours for well over a hundred years,
But time hath surely taken its toll on its weary wheels and gears.
'Tis built of sturdy oak by craftsmen who took pride in their guild.
My old friend stands nigh seven feet tall and leaves my life fulfilled.
To keep fit he needs a tune-up now and then as all we old guys do,
And with a generous squirt of oil here and there, he runs just like new!
His beaming face shines and his rhythmic tick-tock tells me all is well.
He's a dear and treasured companion for all who in this home do dwell.
Oh, if only he could talk of the many things he's witnessed during his life;
Birth, death, sad and happy times, the struggles of foolish man in strife.
Old Grandpap has been quite the world traveler since his birth in Bavaria.
He's been to Japan and all over America - he's covered a lot of area!
How comforting it is to hear his soothing chimes in the still of the night,
Knowing that he is keeping time for me and that everything is alright.
With each pendulum swing he reminds me that my time on earth is measured.
Time I dare not squander and time with friends and family must be treasured!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
A BALLAD TO THE ANCESTORS
Like ripened fruits plucked from a flourishing tree,
They were stolen from a lush paradise garden;
A self sustained dwelling having no need of a warden;
A beautiful paradise where all could work and live free;
But the thieves of the sea came, taking them to the shore.
Cabled towed neck to neck; waist shackled like others before.
They were stacked in ship bellies reeking with death, feces and pee.
God please let their souls’ survival spirit always abide within me?
Though many of our ancestors chose the freedom of death
Over the slavery of life, others chose for one reason or another,
To survive the Middle Passage in hope of returning to the home they left;
These arrived as chained exotic human cargo for trade and barter.
From sea ships’ corrals to auction blocks, they were bought and sold.
Skilled craftsmen they were—intelligence secret—skills used later to get free;
Fooling bidders believing the dumb beasts were well worth their weight in gold.
Oh God I pray their souls’ survival spirit will always abide within me.
Four hundred years of bloody slaving labor from can see to can’t see—
Our ancestors—bonded—free fodder fueling a peculiar institution
In which one had to be fully white in order to really be free.
And all blacks—objects of pleasure for all whites’ ravenous satisfaction.
The black woman—fertile young and old—became its chief breeder.
For pleasure or profit—fertile mother of bastards she was branded to be.
For all children, black, mulatto or white, the black breast was the leaking feeder.
God please allow their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within me?
Yes, through skills, blood, sweat and tears, our ancestors learned to prevail;
Leaving us here still able to struggle and fearlessly fight to be totally free.
With the undying spirit of our ancestors’ audacious faith and hope, we will not fail;
For God has decreed their souls’ survival spirit to always abide within you and me.
Africa, land of plenty, and riches, Copper, gold, uranium and salt
But the heart of Africa, is its people
Traveling far over caravan routes
Across the plains and heat stricken desert
Camels carrying tremendous loads
Just to find that Oasis in the sky
Snow-capped mount of Kilimanjaro
A wonderful sight, a splendour of splendours
Where summer months, and winters are completely dry
The Equator? Rain falls all year round
Africa continues to grow
New towns arise from the dusty ground
Along with their cultures and languages
And learning how to live for just another day
Tiny huts and youngsters hard at work
Breaking their hearts for us to look and buy
Banging on metal or working with clay
Craftsmen wanting to work for the day
Just to earn enough for their family to eat, not play
Traditional dance, part of everyday life, Festivals, religious celebrations and rites
Africa, land of plenty
My loved one
she is an oasis
a rare species
lemon of the cloister grape
in Savannah
she parades beauty
she made a proposal to God
before her creation
hips to happily embrace
eyes that cares me with joy
she is not ordinary
she isn't the stereotype
her complexion,
a manuscript to read hymns from
when she walks, all the world behind her
you are the beat of me
you are like holy water from paradise
flower of the firmament
wrought by divine craftsmen
I
hate
the
oppression
you
so
heavily
bear
upon
my
mind.
Made
carry
heavy
loads
like
a
donkey,
messed
up
my
views
like
the
sight
of
the
blind.
I
know
no
more
what
I
knew
before.
You
came
to
South
Africa
with
your
Boere-
war.
Chewed
down
the
thinnest
breadlines,
and
saw
the
many
lives
you've
torn.
Raped
my
sisters
and
birthed
pink
babies,
the
original
black
man's
spawn.
Your
craftsmen
were
learned
in
bashing
our
heads
against
the
wall.
Then
you
lie
to
the
world
about
Adam
and
The
Fall.
As
you
preached
God,
you
killed
thousands
with
your
guns.
Catholic
popes
were
pedophile
gays
who
married
lesbian
nuns.
Your
husbands
killed
our
brothers
and
raped
their
daughters,
or
pimped
their
mothers
as
slavery
bought
their
sons.
Encouraged
abortion
amongst
blacks,
so
you
can
over-
populate
the
country.
You
hunger
me
like
Somalia,
and
your
pocket
money
never
fed
me.
Took
my
cattle
and
fields
and
turned
them
into
slave
labour.
Thanks
to
you
we
now
know
what
it
means
to
hate
your
neighbor.
Called
our
faiths
pagan
and
took
away
our
herbs.
Made
witches
out
our
doctors
of
the
spirit.
turned
experience
into
science,
and
bestowed
it
upon
dark
artists
with
merit.
We
now
have
become
street
kids,
because
we
can't
make
another
riot.
This
is
my
free
speech
like
radio
broadcasts,
try
hard
to
keep
me
quiet.
Oh, King David I think your groovy.
If You were here.
Unlike Your peers.
In spite the Years.
You would not go goofy.
May I meet You at the movies?
"Indeed." King David spoke,
Without malice.
"You have brought your crystal Ball."
Inside my Palace.
Wait a decade.
When everyone memorizes The Bible.
To counter-act The Liable.
And the clergy eclipses theatrics.
We also have concessions.
But the peanut gallery, boogieing to biographies?
On your way outside,
Hang the, " do not disturb."
Feed my ravens, popcorn along the curb."
"Well," I guess someone should get mad"
I replied.
" Well certainly, can't be us.
In our virtual realm of,"No Conscience."
Can we still be friends?
I know your not mean."
King David spoke " Most assuredly.
Take my bow and sling.
You will need them.
The New Millennium,
New authors, writing New psalms.
New craftsmen, learning to muffle.
Blessed excuses for the super bowl shuffle.
When it all comes together.
Truth will be stranger than fiction. Verily,
Verily I say to you.
Everything will seem fake.
You will turn away to the dictionary.
You'll need to understand, Why.
The capitol S' in "Satan."
Has been erased."
Oh, King David I think your groovy.
Destiny demands that we be the debtor
that we sacrafice for the skin of our future,
We left the cradle of the Caucasuses to explore,
to plant the dreams of our Creator,
venturing into the virgin chaos
where the tiger tears apart the trespasser
We made the way, we made love with our Cause,
following the highway of the emerald pasture
from the Euxine to the shimmer of the Yellow Sea
finding war and wealth in the weight of adventure
subduing savages with frightening ferocity
managing frontiers with a proud mercy,
leaving behind our blood's legacy
trading safety for salt, vanity for victory,
Trading safety for salt, vanity for victory
coming home to the Black Sea
introducing steel smelting and a taste for head hunting,
scalping Cimmerians with glee
assailing the Assyrians
extorting Egyptians
respected by Hellenes
dominating Asiatic Indians
cabletowing Celts
and pouncing on Persians,
Phoenicians filled their boats
with exotic Scythian goods,
We were collectors of civilised throats,
our empire needs no roads
Our empire needs no roads,
Saka, Sauromatae, Massagatae, Tocharians, Scythians
We are One, ancient craftsmen and warlords,
our women were the Amazons
Cauterized breast and soldier slayers
Tomyris taught Cyrus
that bloodbaths belong to the losers,
the Scythian wilderness of war jeered Darius,
Zopyrion was made carrion
Alexander wisely just carried on,
to the Romans we were Sarmatian and Hun
Scythes being ancestors to the Gothic Confederation,
a culture canvassing the breadth of all civilization
migrating ever westward into the echo of the sun,
Migrating ever westward into the echo of the sun
bringing our wagons, warcraft, and women
custom of the blood oath quietly open
the wine, and honest blood spun
the two of us swearing in between a lifelong stare
will you be there
when I'm scared,
will you care
when death is there,
will you wait for me
when the war barks near,
will you honor me
when the fire becomes just a whisper,
our oath is our soul keeping
J.A.B. 2020
Anyone who visits this great grand beauty
Stands transfixed at its sublime majesty
The lavish magnificence in marble body
Stays incomparable as an edifice in history.
The emperor who built this famed mausoleum
As a token of abiding love for his dear begum
The architect who visualized the striking form
And the craftsmen; all deserve wide acclaim.
A superb locale along the playful Yamuna
On an imposing stage stands this splendour
Surrounded by entrancing emerald cover
That makes any visitor an admirer forever.