Best Foundry Poems
L'Empéreur s'amuse
(after Victor Hugo)
For the banished ones, of stubborn resistance,
France is far off. The tomb is near.
But don’t worry, Prince. Enjoy your existence.
In the Bois de Boulogne, chase deer,
chase women in the theatre. Rome’s burning incense
for you. The Tsar calls you “mon frère”.
Play on, sweet Prince. You have swans in Compiegne
and you have the wines of Bordeaux.
You seek novelty, amusement? Why then,
they’ll bring you fourchettes from Les Baux.
Swooning under your crown of grapes, tiens!
You’re something out of Caravaggio.
The convicts are building the lighthouse. Fine.
So ordered, by the King.
They’re casting bells on foundry lines.
In hellish heat, they’re suffering.
One day their light is going to shine.
Those bells are going to ring.
So dawdle, dally. Have your fun.
Put on your languid airs.
The thread of Fate’s already spun.
Who’s going to hear your prayers?
Who will save you? Where will you run,
when the people take what’s theirs?
Categories:
foundry, political,
Form:
Rhyme
Eyes of Seminary – Zamreen Zarook
Every day in our lives has different fragrance,
God give us various things in abundance,
Day by day knowledge is gained in accordance,
Things depend according to the attendance.
Two years of studies,
Helped us to come out with various abilities,
Extremely joyful moments with buddies,
But life said every aspect has its boundaries.
Teachers become very friendly,
They approach us very kindly,
They speak on us exaggeratedly,
Because they know, if not we might behave badly.
Big shots in the school boundary,
These are years of foundry,
It helped us to find and go for laundry,
Marvelous days, fully packed with sundry.
Various angles the kith and kins are civilized,
It’s because our knowledge is enhanced,
Guys and girls turned well experienced,
That’s why we call it levels of advanced.
Categories:
foundry, absence, age, best friend,
Form:
Rhyme
chipping and hacking
sawing and sanding
this is the life of a creator
these are his sounds
a cacophony of hustle and bustle
a primal link to the past and an eye on the future
ever striving for a land bridge between the two
like ancient explorers of the human condition
back and forth
to and fro
sweeping arm movements packed with energy
eye's steady and intense gaze resting on the immediate
standing on the precipice, the gateway of creativity
ready to push the boundaries of the possible one more time
forging potentials in the foundry of insight
molten heat emanating from the source of inspiration
leaving trails across le atelier in vibrant, living color
once more into the fray.....
a chance to become something more
a demigod, replete with all the powers
to cast off these earthly shackles and take one's rightful place
amongst the Apollonian and Dionysian pantheon
standing shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Giacometti, Rodin and Michelangelo
basking in their eternal aurora of shimmering crystalline streaks of productivity
leaving traces of ocular delight along the way
but always leaving something to be desired
just out of reach and unattainable, alluding to greater grandeur
scaling the philosophical peaks and traversing the political spectrum
to unify the scattered, to join the fragmented, to give voice to the oppressed
saying something with nothing
directing the viewer's eye with subtleties
emphasizing silence with space and void
painting and glazing
soldering and welding
hands steadily guiding and grinding
unearthing the inert qualities laying dormant, waiting to be revealed
commanding that the materials speak and be known
this is a life worth living
this is the life of a creator
Categories:
foundry, art,
Form:
Free verse
"Never Forget"
A brutal blow
From a foe.
Awoke a gentle giant.
With hatred fused.
Our planes were used
Like daggers while they chanted.
Hundreds of lives
They stole that day.
Of every religion and color.
Awakened to war.
On land ,sea, and shore.
Defending Americas honor.
Transforming the ruins into a ship.
That will hunt them down and we'll
"Never Forget"
Maflongfellow
USS New York
It was built with 24 tons of scrap steel from the
World Trade Center.
It is the fifth in a new class of warship - designed for missions that include special
operations against terrorists. It will carry a crew of 360 sailors and 700 combat-ready
Marines to be delivered ashore by helicopters and assault craft.
Steel from the World Trade Center was melted down in a foundry in Amite, LA to cast
the ship's bow section. When it was poured into the molds on Sept 9, 2003, 'those
big
rough steelworkers treated it with total reverence,' recalled Navy Capt. Kevin
Wensing,
who was there. 'It was a spiritual moment for everybody there.'
Junior Chavers, foundry operations manager, said that when the trade center steel
first
arrived, he touched it with his hand and the 'hair on my neck stood up.' 'It had a big
meaning to it for all of us,' he said 'They knocked us down. They can't keep us
down.We're going to be back.'
The ship's motto? 'Never Forget'
NEVER FORGET...!!!
She will be arriving in NY harbor on Nov 1, 2009 and commissioned in the US Navy
Nov.
7.
If you are planning a trip to NY, you will be able to tour the ship during that week.
Categories:
foundry, death, dedication, history, loss
Form:
I am as subtle as the maker who made me;
I’m not the strongest,
I’m not the bravest,
I’m not the luckiest,
I’m not the smartest,
And definitely not the brightest,
I’m just one who works the hardest.
These words are a battle cry, save your empathy!
Least be assured that I’m a man of fight
For steel is steel and is not subject to the foundry that forged it
My feet are a massif and belly, a fireball.
This poem is a battle cry, only smoke and sirens
Today the toy soldier comes with a grenade.
24/11/2018
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
foundry, confidence, courage, desire, endurance,
Form:
Free verse
Percy would stand up and sidestep and tap dance while the bullets bounced around him....
Percy laughed at death
and the Grim Reapers sickle missed him..
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
PERCY WATT.
Percy he was as thin as wire there was none as game as he...
In Syria where hot lead did fly, bullets zipping round him like a Bee. ... (1941)
Percy walked across the open ground, as we watched him from the trench...
I'd call 'Jesus, Perc get down', as he'd dodge the bullets, French....
For he never was a moment still always shifting changing place....
He'd taunt the Vichy French to kill, they just couldn't hit this Ace....
He was a great morale booster, this lean boy we did admire....
Game as a young red bantam rooster drew the Foreign Legions fire.....(French Foreign Legion)
And then in New Guinea green, when sudden death was all around.......(1942)
Bullets bounced where Perc. was seen while the others hugged the ground.....
I'd yell 'Get down young Percy mate those Jap's will surely kill you!'
He`d laugh and say 'They can`t shoot straight, they're so bung eyed that it`s true! '.....
No they couldn`t hit young Percy Watt yet he lived where others died....
Came home alive it was his lot,...
Though the bung eyed Nip's they tried.....(my father worried about a 17
year old)
Don Johnson....Percy is in the Toowoomba cemetry :( old age got him.....
Percy was a young ex sunday school teacher about 17 year old in Syria. He was convinced he
couldn't be shot in war and never was hit by the many bullets fired at him .
In close quarter fighting he was deadly with the bayonet parry and butt slap on the Jap.
He worked in the Toowoomba foundry after the war.
Categories:
foundry, warold, old,
Form:
Ballad
Peep this boo message,
if you dare ...
Keyhole knowledge
of what cha’ see-hear
might give you a fetter scare
It’s best not to wanna know,
if you can’t handle
forced transportation
Or cruel subjugation,
by way of
cattle prod relocation
This kinda fetter knowledge
ain’t good,
if you got a
bad heart condition
Seriously wounded pride
can make an injured self-esteem die
Make it go to the fetal prone position
‘Cause everything you wanna do,
you gotta infantile ask for permission
With eyes downcast
(echo this boo thought)
in the womb of freedom sought
With eyes downcast,
it’s doubly tough to keep hopes up
Makes it hard to see
thru the keyhole
into the library space
of your oppressor’s soul
That sacred temple place,
where a taught conscience ought not
be bought or sold
And moneychanger practices
is the cranial golden idol
Chains invisible (of the morally lost)
can now be foundry seen
taking silver tether control
And the mind is a terrible thing
to have compassion melted
in a covetous mold
~
This better fetter knowledge
is a secret apothecary commodity
And it don’t come incensed free
Keyhole peeps can be
back lash costly
Philistine brand iron mercy
Keyhole peeps
of unlocked vision can be
User sight unfriendly
Can you pay the Samson fee?
So peep this boo message,
if you dare ...
I just pray tell,
that you’re not easily
lynch scared
Categories:
foundry, allegory, philosophy, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Dedicated to memory of my mother-in-law,
Nina Mihalova
Forgive me, please.
I speak these words too late.
You have been long already in the other world,
And God welcomed you.
But I want to thank you today.
I thank you for your patience and modesty, boldness and kindness,
I thank you for force of your spirit and generosity of your soul.
All this has helped you during terrible 900 days of blockade of Leningrad
to live, give and rescue the life of my most dear person,
your son Vladimir.
He was born on November 6, of 1941,
when Leningrad was surrounded by the German armed forces.
You came back to work a month later after his birth.
You had not enough food or warmth in your apartment,
You worked together with men from morning till the late evening
In a huge foundry. It was very heavy work.
It was too heavy a time for such a small, fragile woman like you.
But you never complained.
Your husband was lost, dying to protect Leningrad from fascists.
You met death around you very often.
But you worked for victory and a life for your son.
Once, when you have taken him from his bed to feed,
a bomb fell right on that place where he had been laid!
You have again rescued him.
You are not present with us already many years.
But I remember your nice smile
And I see your features on the face of my husband
who is the most important person in my life.
I hope you hear me
and I ask your blessing and protection.
Categories:
foundry, life, peace, people, social,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Beyond the mountains more steep and precipitous then canyon of Bryce
And sometimes in those mountains are glaciers of ice
In lower parts snakes with eyes like points of a dice
Step on one and with your life you will pay the price
There eight willows stand among grass covered heights
Their subtle amber colored leaves and smell carried by a breeze senses excites
In between them huge spider web dendrites
On it silver visage of the moon shines on with its eerie blue lights
Spider web similar to the one that in castle of Alhambra is made
But this one is made of actual spider silk and with innumerable forms it will cascade
It cannot be cut with a blade
And dew like honey will shine in sun’s light rays before the sun will fade
Then again this dew will glow in with eerie silver hue and emit strange tune
As it basks in the uncanny light of full moon
The web itself will oscillate in gentle breeze of June
It is so complex it resembles a cocoon
The web represents nonlinearity of destiny
And it is by it formed neural flame and its point of breakage of boundary
The spider web represents this with mastery and mystery
Defining its beauty made by spiders foundry
The web as a whole
Can help if discovering something new is your goal
It transcends into abyss so it stands proud and tall
But it is only one underlining aspect of a soul
Categories:
foundry, imagination, light, light, mountains,
Form:
Rhyme
Watershed thunder
Rise up the hill transformed by illusions,
majestic mountains tells a story.
intrigued to us this ancient world,
to celebrate this natural glory
Boasting with eagles of great flight,
waterfalls drool like jaggered curtains,
draped in rainbows of colour bright,
White thunder roars with sock - like feet.
pounding the rocks with erratic blows,
repeating the waves of history,
to a coastal foundry of the sea,
Categories:
foundry, environment, imagery, mountains, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Smoky and scarred
pills pushed to front
a poker or blunt
raised through the ruins
will be leaving here soon
open the chest
where living's a soul
burnt out by black coal
sifting the diamonds
sure is no chore
sparkling rich waters
just pick the right drawer
curled up in the corner
vague flickers ignite
words are repeated
teaching soft light
fill up the foundry
where emptiness lies
a need to a burning
seen in innocent eyes
Categories:
foundry, care, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
Risen
From the springtime flooding along South MLK
A sh#t-skinned slimy pipe
Pops half way up from a grimy hole
Like a gopher molded from iron ore
Neck and head periscoping left then right
Tiny arms bolted to its furry chest of rust
Surveying the silence of this industrial prairie
And the graves pocked from Foundry hammers
Until a school bell bangs
And a kaleidoscope gang of cell phone kids
Clamber from broken windows and dim doorways
To play in this forbidden park
Riding and rocking the new springer like a rodeo bronco
Screwing
The old boss back to its subterranean foundation
Another generation
Re-connecting the muddy wells to our silver faucets.
Categories:
foundry, cancer, children, city, community,
Form:
Free verse
Here
A
Little
Robin sings.
His joyful piping
Brings happiness to human ears,
His fiery redbreast glowing like a foundry furnace.
But
We
Humans
Misconstrue
His soliloquy.
No harbinger of Spring is he,
Unique amongst our garden birds, he sings all year round.
He
Sings
Not for
Happiness
Nor joy of Nature –
He’s driven by a primal urge,
His song, a warning, a territorial battle cry.
Categories:
foundry, bird, nature,
Form:
Fibonacci
I REMEMBER MY CREATOR
A GREAT BIG BURLY LAD
I WAS SENT OFF TO THE HARDWARE STORE
TO DO THE SAME JOB AS MY DAD.
A YOUNG CHAP CAME A BOUGHT ME
HE TOOK ME TO THE SITE
HE MADE ME WORK FOR HOURS ON END
MORNING NOON AND NIGHT.
MY BLADE IS GOING RUSTY NOW
MY EDGE HAS GONE TO POT
MY SHAFT THAT ONCE WAS RIGID
IS GOING SOFT AND STARTING TO ROT.
I KNOW MY DAYS ARE NUMBERED
I'M PASSED MY USE BY DATE
COULD YOU TAKE ME TO THE FOUNDRY PLEASE
TURN ME INTO SOMETHING MORE ORNATE.
IT'S HARD WORK BEING A SHOVEL
I WANT TO RETIRE.
Categories:
foundry, funny, goodbye, retirement,
Form:
Rhyme
Wet a glance as the nocturne faded. Deeply rooted was the clause of all men's fears and queries. Nonetheless stagnant to the terms of the ever growing woe-field at dusk. Nevermore would the twelfth cripple slay the beast of foundry lane. Cups of variation would beam and gawk the very presence of egotistical teas, or anything like it for that matter.
She had very much grown to like the groans of the cask watcher, as she needled him, sew. Mana waned, exalted at at the fact that a taco stand could ne'r grasp the sheer magnificence of such a blur of cosmic obliteration.
Fathers of bears DO enjoy skittles, after they have fallen to the gleaming, sometimes tripe-ridden lakes of the barbarian fist junkies of old. Don't ask me why, but scattered pie is far more delicious.
Categories:
foundry, extended metaphor, rude, solitude,
Form:
Imagism