Best Grindstone Poems
Perseverance is surely the name of the game
With every challenge before you
It applies to the highest mountains you climb
Ignoring distractions is the clue
Roadblocks are there to test your patience
The glitter of gold clouds your eyes
Keep your nose to the proverbial grindstone
Much success will be yours by and by
I certainly haven't achieved all my goals
But employing this theory through the years
Has enabled me to increase the likelihood
Of avoiding many heartaches and tears
Working hard with the goal of cooperation
Bendability when shown a new path
You'll ultimately be placed in a higher standing
Great success will be yours at last
In closing please remember this friendly advice
To assist you in climbing life's tree
Compassion and patience are all important
But perseverance is surely the key
© Jack Ellison 2013
Categories:
grindstone, life, success,
Form:
Quatrain
Give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day.
At least that's what I hear.
Teach a man to fish and he'll sit in a rowboat
fishing and drinking beer!
When advised to "fight fire with fire"
please think about it twice.
Remember, firemen fight fire with water
so I kinda question that advice!
I'm told the way to get ahead
is by using your ambition.
They say "shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone".
However, now try working in that position!
Don't believe in superstition.
Folks will think you are a schmuck.
Besides if you believe in it
it's gonna bring bad luck!
I try to avoid a lot of things,
that will cause me degradation.
I can resist most anything,
that is, except temptation!
I always try my very best
not to make mistakes
In fact if wasn't for my faults,
I'd be perfect for goodness sakes!
These are some of the random thoughts
that keep running through my mind.
It's just a lot of nonsense,
but it sure helped me unwind.
(Soupers - Sorry you chose to read this
nonsense. Surely you must have
something better to do! Thanks anyway.)
Categories:
grindstone, funnyfire, fire, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Morning coffee, read the paper, brush your teeth and make the bed
Start the car up, drive to work with endless chatter in your head.
Rhythm’s just a decoy, really, structure faked for social poise
Must pretend, must feign an interest. Wouldn’t want to lose the toys.
Just ignore the yearning, silly, only fools have dreams these days.
Shoulder to the grindstone, Buster, don’t you know what really pays?
Over obligate yourself then hurry to the next event.
Don’t take time for introspection, musings never paid the rent.
Reinforcing concrete walls with rebar to protect from storms.
Cyclones of emotion dashed to bits before reaction forms.
Hold her steady, make the grade, ignore distractions, toe the line
Numbness is a good sign, keep it up and soon you’ll be just fine.
Can’t afford admission to tonight’s seductive shadow play.
Vulnerability and nakedness too high a price to pay.
Courage is for sissies, only children should be reckoned tears.
Safest bet’s to keep pretending that you’ve conquered all your fears.
Categories:
grindstone, business, life, on work
Form:
Rhyme
A red-rimmed sun of summer,
of the sweat of the workers,
the salt of their brows.
Shoulders to the grindstone,
the strength of sinew and muscle,
hours of their labors.
The Lord of their lives
and their eternity-
gives them a dreamer's sojourn
in the welcomed moonrise. ~
Categories:
grindstone, 7th grade, 8th grade,
Form:
Free verse
I'm just writing my story
Leaving out all the glory
I never tore them; yet the pages and spine are all but broken
Its letters are scattered, yet still the words form a concise omen
Would you read it back to me slowly, please, as you reach the bitter ending?
It hurts my eyes, you see; this heart could use a break from all this bending.....
Being devoured alive inside is such a epic novel unsavory
Moments, however, are kept in order by thoughts of your light upon my gnomon
They just keep coming, though without a care as to whether or not they are heartrending
It's so sour to own a form of pain that is this condescending
A barren land uncultivated and so divided from this yeoman
Painless by comparison to a nose job given by the grindstone of life's knavery
Just as I finished; then, the ink ran dry right before me.....
It's in this here and now that I've broken out
I wanna scream, but they drown out every shout
Then I think of all the things I ought not talk about:
Have they ever not been a couple minutes too late?
Do they ever have their story straight?
Inside me, hope has made its case to abate....
Hung from ropes unknown, can you relate?
Am I the world's least astute gadabout?
What I feel is that my intentions are drawn and quartered; based fully on others' self-doubt
But there is no way I will let this point of pitiful; be an excuse to live life by copping out
Categories:
grindstone, angst, deep, introspection, pain,
Form:
Free verse
“Made you look you dirty crook!”
And all those colourful phrases
Have vanished from our lexicon
They now belong to the ages!
“Keep your nose to the grindstone!”
Is another from way back when
So sad they've all but disappeared
Wish they could go back again!
Since the dawn of the computer age
We speak in a different fashion
Conversing in very short sentences
Using acronyms without much passion!
We now seem to have lost the ability
To have an intelligent conversation
Emailing, texting, or some such device
Or some other glitzy presentation!
I really long for those simpler days
When people took time to listen
And all the world seemed friendlier
Now feels like something's missing!
Categories:
grindstone, life,
Form:
Quatrain
First person shooter,
on a hate tour of duty,
swinging a bullet sling blade
Buying a death row ticket,
worth fifteen minutes of fame
First person murder shooter;
womb-to-the-cradle-to-the-grave robber,
using your Automatic Revolver
to solve your anti-social mental problems
Sharpen that sling blade
on a coroner grindstone wheel
Gather the scythe-shredded corpses
from the harvest killing field
Take the bullet-riddled body bags,
with warm blood dripping still ...
and kevlar
coffin
bury them on Tommy Gun hill
Guns and Roses —
Automatic Revolver 15 bullet salute
Let the gun pallbearers put ‘em in the ground,
and the saltpeter pew mourners
put the rose flowers on the graves
AR-15 bullet salute ...
Guns and Roses —
giving society another senseless violence eulogy
Guns and Roses —
weapons of war killing innocent children of peace
Guns and Roses —
ricochet death purchased with capitalist ease
No background check to vet tranquilize
the uncaged rage,
wearing a Second Amendment disguise
Empty thoughts and prayers,
full of politician hypocrisy
Thirty pieces of silver tongue lip-cluckers
offering a gun lobby: no gun control policy
A paid, no-money-back Judas apology
Snake oil teary talk rubbed on dry soul skin,
allergen empathy-free
Guns and Roses —
sacred shell religious philosophy
Guns and roses —
kinetic death violence theology
Gun manufacture worshipers
love deifying the work of their hands
They love to praise their golden trigger head
silver handle arms
brass chamber belly
lead barrel legs
paper green toes idol
Saying: Let your scimitar banana-shaped heart
always remain sharp
And may your lead scythe sling blade soul
never be dulled
Guns and roses —
waxy ears don’t hearst hear it ...
bulletproof hearts so iceberg smoking cold
Guns and roses —
plastic carnation petal spirits ...
metal detector salvation black market sold
Categories:
grindstone, dark, death, violence, wisdom,
Form:
Elegy
Nine Eleven—a dark day lives of many workers were stolen away
Individuals worked all night; stayed; without seeing the light of day
Nose to the grindstone below floor level they labored productively
Effectively moving papers, stacks, racks, speedily and so selectively
Encouraged basement overtime; more taxes paid; they worked away
Loyal workers; dedicated to the cause; laziness to them—not a gift!
Earnestly they called home to say, “Honey I am working another shift”
Encouraged by those who stayed; coffee and donuts— no need to pay
Encroachment above they never did see as terror stuck during the day
Night’s darkness envelope the light; underground darkness of the night
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph Spence, Sr., 8/27/09
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
Categories:
grindstone, history, introspection, life, loss,
Form:
Acrostic
“Made you look you dirty crook!”
And all those colourful phrases
Have vanished from our lexicon
They now belong to the ages!
“Keep your nose to the grindstone!”
Is another from way back when
So sad they've all but disappeared
Wish they'd come back again!
Since the dawn of the computer age
We speak in a different fashion
Conversing in very short sentences
Use acronyms without any passion!
We seem to have totally lost the ability
To have an intelligent conversation
Emailing, texting, talking on Facebook
A computer age generation!
I really long for those simpler days
When people took time to listen
All the world seemed friendlier then
Now feels like something's missing!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Categories:
grindstone, nostalgia, computer,
Form:
Quatrain
On the peak of Mount Gobbledygook a man of wisdom sat,
Wondering if this would be the day that someone might stop to chat.
For in his long life he had acquired a mountain of useful knowledge,
Earning several degrees while he was away at Valley Guru College.
He never went to watch the football team or ever drank a beer,
He never dated the guru girls or found a reason to cheer.
By keeping his nose to the grindstone he got what he wanted I suppose,
Degrees filled with useful knowledge not to mention a flattened nose.
After graduation he searched around until he had found the highest peak,
Then he took shelter in a cave and waited for someone with whom to speak.
Surely there would be a line of people seeking out the words he had to say,
Certainly they’d start showing up by tomorrow if they didn’t show up today.
Because the world was filled with people trapped in unhappy states,
And he knew that he could help them because sympathy was one of his traits.
So on the top of Gobbledygook this man of patient wisdom sat,
Waiting for those who’d never come because they have an app for that.
Categories:
grindstone, funny, people, graduation, people,
Form:
Light Verse
My paper, pen and me
Stepping from the shadows.
Not sure where we belong.
Wondering where we slipped off track.
And where life went so wrong.
My nose to the grindstone.
The whole world yet to see.
We face the world together.
My paper, pen and me.
Attempting to rewrite myself.
And change my whole outlook.
Why write one new chapter.
When I can write a brand new book.
Changing my perspective.
Of all the things I see.
Taking care of business.
My paper, pen and me.
I'll write a new horizon.
A rainbow in the sky.
I'll write a new beginning.
A new reason just to try.
And before my book is finished.
We will be flying free.
Hells fire far behind us.
My paper, pen and me.
Proclaiming from the mountain tops.
Life could not break my will.
The proof is in my writings.
I am standing still.
No longer in the shadows.
What will be will be.
Heaven lights the way for.
My paper, pen and me.
Edwin C Hofert
Categories:
grindstone, analogy, inspirational, poetry, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Going to get a “haircut” today
Actually getting all of them cut
Cutting just one would hardly be noticed
Now I'm being a silly nut
There's many other sayings similar to this
English is overloaded I find
Wanna hear some others I've discovered
Well stay tuned it'll blow your mind
“Keep your nose to the grindstone”
Now THAT'S gotta smart I'd say
See what I mean, don't follow this advice
You'll feel pain from here to Sunday
How about this one, “eye candy”
It certainly has me bamboozled
“Less is more” is another that's confusing
Looking for others for your perusal
Here's another, “left in the lurch”
Pretty sure they meant left in the “church”
“Dead as a doornail” as dead as you can be
Gonna do a little more research
To “peter out” means to dwindle away
Has a certain sexual connotation
Put it back in, it's a public place
You'll be arrested for excessive potation
“I rest my case”, now here's another one
Wasn't even carrying a case
Okay gonna “put this thing to bed”
Yikes! Can't wipe this grin from my face!
© Jack Ellison 2013
POTATION
• the action of drinking something, esp. Alcohol:
I intend to abstain from potation.
• (often potations) a drinking bout:
the dreadful potations of his youth.
Categories:
grindstone, humor,
Form:
Quatrain
Drumbeats, drumbeats, drumbeats
My soul is searching, searching, searching
My pulse is rising, rising, rising
My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding
I sit silent and meditate
Hoping for my sails of thought
...to catch the winds of motivation and inspiration
I have a value which I wish to improve soon
The urge in my heart is impatient to wait
I want to start now, I want to go now
That was yesterday, so here I am today
Exactly where I wanted to be as I wanted to be
Still I want to go farther, faster and faster
Still, my ideal dream seems further and farther
Something at the back of my mind assures me
It will all come to be... it will all come to pass
And that I absolutely believe
Only problem is I’m not good at waiting
I want it all and I want it now
From dawn to dawn I’m busy on every clock
Day after day still seeming not to move an inch
But I still must persist
I must keep on pushing and pushing
And when I’ve pushed my all I’ll still push some more
I’m in a different world from the one in my mind
...and I’m feeling all alone
These wordings are the SOS from my soul
Hoping the Infinite Mind may recognise and respond
My life is for the purpose of heeding a call
Each day on the grindstone of practice I sharpen my skills
Only eager to be me in the ways that only I can originally be
I believe in history to in the future appreciate me for being me
For I can never be anyone better than they are
But I can be me better than I was
So I must see the bottom inside of every cupful of coffee
I must see the light of dawn to know that it’s time to catch a little sleep
I must give my all with the promise of all
...for this is the opportunity I sought
I’m heeding the call thus pleasure fills my soul
Knowing I still have capacity for more
Soon I’ll reach the finish line and when I reach it
I’ll push it further to the limits beyond
I will never stop for as long as my heart beats on
I’m on a rugged path with my heavy cart of impossible dreams
I must push and push and push... and push some more
Till the wheel falls off
Categories:
grindstone, on work and working,
Form:
Narrative
I forgot.
When was it
the word withered
the phrases fled?
When did vigilance for the lines
crumble laxly into the air.
Was it when I, unfaithful
to my craft, forgot to work;
in nonchalance to practice;
lost nose to the grindstone.
I thought, poetic as I was,
the majestic write would
upon me light like
pollen in the breeze.
Write it down, when it comes.
I'll bet that's what Dr. Seuss did.
Kathryn Collins
May 8, 20016
Categories:
grindstone, motivation,
Form:
Free verse
Tucked in the gray mob, safe, sound and asleep.
An eternity of time never marked.
Dimly recalled eon of forest deep.
When all else is still, the whispered voice, “Hark!”
Restlessness dances between heart and mind,
Throat clenches tightly as the yearning wells.
Stolen window glance from my place in line,
But nose to grindstone, now, duty compels.
Yet yearnings boil blood in hypnotic tune,
Quickening pulse drowns out electric hum.
Compelling daydreams of the hunt and moon.
Hands and feet become paws, the will to run.
And then vivid magic, the sacred breath.
Stealthy movement becomes my spirit guide.
Sounds of the chase crowd out the looming death,
Dizzy breathless clifftop, vista looms wide.
Somewhere below lies the collar and yoke,
Happy casualties of manifest urge.
Shed for the moment, vanished as if smoke.
Blessed exhaustion, the demons are purged.
Back to the pack changed, it was never mine.
Satisfaction behind secretive grin.
There is no why if you cannot divine
The asynchronous drumbeat from within.
Categories:
grindstone, adventure, body, desire, how
Form:
Iambic Pentameter