Best Hand Crafted Poems
It was a lovely little house.
Built of white painted timber,
with a gabled roof clad in green tin,
it had never been a rich person's house.
It was her house.
And driving up to park outside it,
each time I went there,
was like the beginning of a new adventure.
I would always enter by the rickety side gate
and walk through that small garden she tended to on weekends,
in the hope that one day it might become beautiful.
The back door gave entry to her tiny kitchen where,
sometimes she would be,
baking scones or some other treat for her and me
to have later with some coffee or cheap red wine.
It wasn't a well designed house.
The bathroom and lavatory and laundry
weren't where you might expect.
And most rooms were very small.
But for the living cum dining room.
And her bedroom.
I never counted all the rooms in that house.
I'm not certain I even saw all of them.
But all of those I did see
were furnished and decorated with pieces that she
had shopped for at garage sales
and in second hand shops.
Except for those things that she had made herself.
There were pictures she painted,
and other hand crafted knick-knacks.
And some bottles filled
with interesting vegetable matter
embalmed in colourful oils and such.
It was a small house and a little quaint.
But beautiful.
And warm.
Her bedroom was of a good size
and her bed was large and sumptuous,
with a profusion of richly coloured cushions and pillows.
We'd discovered one another in that large bed,
in that good sized bedroom,
in that warm little house,
that still warms me with it's memories.
For there was nothing inside that house
that she had not chosen.
Categories:
hand crafted, memory,
Form:
Free verse
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reformations amities amid poetics tour de force overture within, virtuoso's....
Fatalisms exuberant pas de deux; foreordained this ballet in exquisites verse
To cross dimensions of spatial extent; the new promised frontier?!
Paragons quintessential interludes gracing the paramouric stages
Amid divinities design a birth, borne upon the canvas of touchstone time....
Fantastic phenomena; parting these cosmic curtains in yesteryears ambivalence
Watersheds cardinal red moment in predestined manifestations crossing thresholds
Parallel spheres once bound by catharsises hand crafted crucibles reasons!?
Eclipsed, from limbo to be carried unto Eden; loves, eternal cats cradle palms....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.... * “Imagine” ~
Categories:
hand crafted, faith, love, passion
Form:
If I were a bird, would you clip my wings
then cage me away with pretty things?
And, if my wings were to be clipped
why not just burry me within a crypt,
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
For to have wings that cannot soar,
then why not nail me to the floor?
Tonight I shall make my final swan song
knowing I have been locked away so long.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant so kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So still the caged bird, she sings
without her sky, without wings.
Sometimes laments, sometimes sighs,
sometimes she whistles her own reprise.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So then curious is it, the caged thing
who finds she has the heart to sing?
Because it would seem a great strain
to be caged seems twisted and profane,
for a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
When asked, why do you sing, bird?
The answer is a simple word,
hope, for escape from behind these bars
that keep me caged from the stars.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
Birds should have no master, no kings
and love cannot be clipping wings.
But now it seems I must live confined,
in this hand crafted cage of your design,
but a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So must I wait for these wings to heal
and relearn how the wind may feel.
If I must be caged, still my heart sings
of the day I can again use my wings.
Categories:
hand crafted, animals, caregiving, confusion, depression,
Form:
Couplet
I was a runner
fleeing from homespun horrors that
wrapped around my delicacy like a tourniquet
Only a child attempting to bestir
the warrior dormant within;
having no idea the enthrallment
she reveled in,
I learned to accost my demons
Nigh, even at the wide-eyed age of eight,
scarred
shattered
broken
I found, in a hand-crafted cardboard crate,
my only chance at freedom
Every Saturday I'd sneak away
to my makeshift universe
that gave life to dreams unspoken --
I would crouch and crawl
through thorn-encrusted branches
enclosed in a thicket,
sunbeams cutting into the tangles
alighting my face, piercing my eyes
The oceans breath
cascaded over the brush,
and everything, suppressed,
would fall into a hush
until I breached the winding path
Amongst the jungle of weeds/rose garlanded structures,
high above the jagged rocks
and wide open mouth of the watery abyss,
my hideaway centered --
flimsy cardboard walls,
brightly painted bold brazen symbols protecting all who entered,
tightly sealed with an invisible lock
opening only when voices of forgotten children fluttered through the air
I'd stand silent beneath the incandescent sky,
for just a moment,
breathing deep the silken salty breeze
and thrust my arms out to the sides
like the seagulls hovering over the loud, fathomless cavern of the sea,
Losing myself in the mist
Categories:
hand crafted, abuse, beach, deep, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
The Fairground
I remember the fairground when I was a child, there
was the candy Fairy Floss machines, and you could
See them spinning the spider webs of sugar which
Made up the sweet delight, that children loved to eat
Then There was Sideshow Alleys with its clown stall
With the moving heads and popping the balls into it's
Mouth, there was the shooting galleries and penny
Toss events and many other things to play, there was a
Ghost Train and the Dodgem Cars and Boats, where
Bumping deliberately was not allowed, the Penny Arcade
With Pinball games and the Claw Crane where you tried
To grab a prize If you where lucky, penny slots which
Could give you a free ball and your penny back by flicking
A lever, and now the main events, the Big Dipper or
Roller Coaster, it would leave you going back for your
Stomach, the large Slippery Dips, Hall of Mirrors and
The Tunnel of Love river caves, Ferris Wheel and the
Helter Skelter where you rode down a spiral on a mat
But the one thing that stands out in the Fairground
Was the giant Carousel, a beautiful hand crafted
Turntable loaded with beautifully crafted wooden
Horses, which where all hand painted, children would
Always want to ride this iconic ride and if you where
Able to grab the brass ring, you would get another
Ride absolutely free, yes the Fairground was an event
In itself, as children would always want to go there
All of the time and even the adults would ask their
Children to go, because inside every adult lived
Another little child, they all loved the Fairground.
Categories:
hand crafted, nostalgia,
Form:
Narrative
The small antique shop beckons to me as if calling my name
I hurry to enter with great anticipation
The chime above the door provides an eerie greeting
The store is aglow with articles of times past
I pass from aisle to aisle my eyes darting from relic to relic
I see high top shoes with white laces
I see brushes and combs with pearl handles
I see pictures in boxes of families in fine clothes
I see a doll in the corner eyes staring blankly ahead
I see worn dresses on racks with lace collars and bows
My journey through time continues as I move on in haste
I see a stringless violin in a black scuffed up case
I see silverware with fine bone handles
I see pocket watches with long golden chains
I see hundreds of tiny bottles that once held fine fragrances
I see scratched phonograph records strewn hither and yon
I see fine tools of the trade in hand crafted cases
I see rows of fine china all hand painted with care
I see a faded picture of a child with long golden hair
Suddenly I pause as my mind starts to reflect
Everything before me shelters a story of long ago
They are not useless items that I view but the relics of lives past
Each article once the personal possession of a living breathing soul
With a new respect for the articles before me I move on
Ghostly images of faces now accompany each piece that I see
If I purchase just one it must be displayed with the utmost dignity
For its original owner will have bestowed its care to me
I leave the shop with my new treasure all neatly wrapped
The chime above the door signals my departure
The stale aroma of the shop is replaced by the cool evening air
Life, as fragile as the tiny piece of crystal that I carry, goes on
Copyright 2007 Charlie Gragg
Categories:
hand crafted, life, nostalgia, places, me,
Form:
Free verse
A true daughter,
Delightful.
A polished gem in the Good Master's crown.
Another soul of the Virtues demonstrates
Further the role of Faith in our Lord's realm
Of the here and now...
Singing so sweetly to our Jesus
Of all the love that she had long since found in Him.
Favored for her adherence to having,
Applying the small grain of a mustard seed to the
Existing situations that she might be faced with...
Situations that daunt her not in the least...
That by the authority of His Name this dear sister
Is no stranger to speaking the Word into these
Areas of her life... into the lives of others that she has come
To hold so dear.
A maker, seller of lovely jewelry is a gift she gladly possesses,
Makes the most out of this special talent, this special craft.
Makes the recipients of these hand crafted jewels joyful of heart,
And the ones to whom had never heard the message of our
Lord's salvation,
Eternally grateful, for now they too will one day walk the Kingdom's
Streets of gold with praise, thanksgiving in their hearts.
For now though these newly born into the Kingdom take up their
Own God given gifts and talents to use them in full measure for
His Glory and many people's good... while they pass on the most
Valuable message of Jesus' redemption to all who would say yes
Lord and believe it so.
Wisdom, lessons gained.
To rise, to walk in the here and now.
Categories:
hand crafted, appreciation, beauty, blessing, courage,
Form:
Free verse
Which - 'Witch' is which :)
when a Bat doesn't need a ball to fly home,
can’t tell a Black Kat from a black cat in Rome
a wood bat has no wings to hit one homer,
havin' fun, can't stay home alone
Which Jack Lantern beats a Pumpkin
in one’s store hands-down:) a hand crafted,
one set alone...over any other lit in a window
at someone's home,
Witch screams from a 'mat' is louder...
than a cat, or 'Kat's Tale' when stepped on
then asked 'What is the mat-ter'
[Or-One]
Witch's hungry howls for a 'Black Kat'
thirsty to mugg some new Witch...
costumed 'City Kat' on some 'White block',
draped in a black cape, on a black pitch
night, not Knight, all out of candy hard rock
'meow',
Which U hear- Ghostly bats or Witch's HELLO?
'WhO' me or BOO; on Fright Night’s city streets,
Witch Trick's or treat for pumpkin sweets...
which is, also known, in our City as Holloween.
Categories:
hand crafted, halloween, humorous, imagination, parody,
Form:
Free verse
Logo streets
Tarek Hassan
I saw in Kathmandu in Nepal
Hand-crafted paintings of the city, aesthetic artistry
She did like him forgot
Suddenly the door sound memory.
I went to the Indonesian island of buttam
Filled eyes saw, the sea shore
I wrote the name of the plane splitting book
Baluchar got to bed rest.
I saw the sea waves Malay
A long line of rows in the garden of the plume,
Malekkara arranged the scene, to me,
It was really fascinating, bhuleni mind.
I saw the Maldives, around the island city
Travel enthusiasts spend hours in the parlor
Small passenger plane shuttled everyone
No it does not flying and landing airport.
I've lived long, the city of dreams
Eternal spring in the country, the love
Took her as his workers,
He went to the city, I saw how much
Are there to touch hands
luxury lifetime pass in Palace.
I traveled in China in technology
Many people say to me they don't understand
I was impressed to see the love of their homeland,
How many state alleges the new angirase
lightning at night I have seen in Beijing.
I went to Hong Kong on the way
He also saw how the people
I am surprised the external mix, fascinating behaviors,
I have no one to tell details.
I have seen skilled people in the Philippines exercises
Again I saw something there to look dirty,
I was shocked to see their culture
Girl brutalized the country.
I went to India, to heal the mind
How many scenes have been unknowingly plunge
I have seen the Taj Mahal in Agra, I thought again and again
Why do we need so much love.
I bent down and touched the high mountains of Bhutan
I shook with fear of their lives when the plane varies
I'm going down through the mountains.
I went to Australia, on the ground
I could not keep my feet,
The fate did not respond to me, warning that day
dream is still chasing me.
I love to this day, do not see the city
I did it in the hope chest, one night,
This is a dream I have traveled on the fog
Logo luxury streets.
Categories:
hand crafted, art, bangla, beach, beautiful,
Form:
ABC
Faith, hope, and love--and the greatest of these is LOVE
(1 Corinthians 13:13)
Love is a word that is difficult to define
Hand crafted by God from the beginning of time
He created this wonderful world for man
So we could love one another and live by his plan
It has the healing power to drive away pain
Even just a smile would bring a broken heart gain
It is an emotion which man can hardly live without
And though it is FREE, it’s scarce and circled in doubt
As sunshine makes the flowers flourish
The warmth of love takes away man’s anguish
Keep hatred away as it bears a great weight
Instead spread love wherever you can show it.
We can learn a few tips from the animal kingdom
Where sharing, kindness, caring, loving are random
Prestige, power, riches may have a significant part
But we are nothing if we have no Love in our hearts.
Categories:
hand crafted, emotions, love,
Form:
Rhyme
The rugged bark of an old tree
with imperfection due to its cracks
is a wondrous thing of beauty
and it's the imperfection that attracts
We know that a star-shaped flower
does not make a perfect star
Yet it has a certain loveliness
that induces a sense of wonder
A hand-crafted ceramic bowl
because of its asymmetry
is a wonderful artefact
that is valued very highly
An old-time cobblestone street
has a unique charm and quaintness
due to its imprecise pattern
that gives it its loveliness
Perfection is not easy to attain
and even more difficult to sustain
Beauty lies in Imperfection
and they are a natural combination
Categories:
hand crafted, beauty, flower, imagery, nature,
Form:
Quatrain
~~~
Entranced through castle window
arms outstretched ...
but resting on its frame
The only sound that falls to ear
from a pendulum's rhythmic swing
~
A gentle flame
sends ghostly shadows
that dance to silent notes
Entwined in scents from fireside
inlaid with cherry smoke
~
They said she would appear this night
as all the stars align
I drank their potion
said the chant
Still dispirited
counting time
~
The hour's close
near darkest night
a looking glass beside me
hand crafted by the little folk
ornate with sprigs of ivy
~
Enchanted ... yes ... they cannot lie
my wish they guarantee
Their word's been kept
since dawning time
One minute more ...
we'll see
~
A deafening thunder breaks the still
as lightning strikes the spires
From gentle breeze
to baleful gale
dare never
to think them liars
~
The ancient mirror begins to glow
as the clock counts off the trials
My heart explodes
beneath my chest
with the force of a billion smiles
~
" Take my hand ...
while the clock still strikes "
your voice pleads ... from inside
To my surprise
I reach within
with both arms open wide
~
Your loving touch
and I'm pulled through time
to your kiss
oh ... sweet embrace
A whirling swirling rainbow ride
as the tears roll down my face
~
" To the end of time ... I beg of you
Never leave these loving arms "
"Ohh...
but there's one more task
you must fulfil
if you wish to win my charms "
~
With sprawling thud ... I hit the grass
spinning senses in a daze
A newborn sunlight
warms my face
sparkling air
helps lift the haze
~
Such marvels
cast
this wondrous world
a voice sings with a smile
~
... " You must catch me " ...
rings your taunting laugh
from a glade
nearly half a mile
~~~
July 23, 2000
Categories:
hand crafted, fairy, fantasy, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
On one Christmas Eve
To those who believe
News was declared
Honest and fair
Information needed for those trivial pursuits
About the red outfitted man wearing snowy black boots
“This is to be proclaimed
Santa Claus has a middle name!”
Bellowed the communication crier
Reading from a royally documented flyer
“What is it?
Does it fit?”
Townspeople asked
About the imaginary facts
Wondering if this was a wise act
Handled properly with tact
As the name was announced
Faith it was pronounced
Creating such a buzz
Describing exactly what Santa Claus does
A magical spirit
When one hears it
Conjuring up invisible power
Having strength not being a coward
Energizing a special force
Assisting in dealing with adversity, of course
Changing things for the better
Reason enough to write a letter
Explaining the trouble
Behind the burst bubble
While asking for peace and joy
Which appears in the form of a hand-crafted toy
Truth be told about this lesson
Where faith is addressing
Combatting the problem that is the mess
Forcing the enemy to confess
Santa exists
Equipped with a warm, loving Isotoner wearing fist
Guiding us through life’s cold blurry wintry mist
Giving the gift of understanding
During a time when things are demanding
Disrupting all the planning
So, go off and pray
With a simple request to say
“I am not scared,”
Remember to show the Santa stare
“Warning don’t you dare
Faith is inside me
Now let us enjoy our afternoon tea.”
Categories:
hand crafted, christmas, courage, england, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
I understand you’re insecure but why you gotta put that make up on
Ya beautiful, its true I ain't stunting, I ain't trying to con
Don’t run away from who you are, it’s the way you were born
Personally hand crafted by the man upstairs
He’d want you to be yourself
You’re unique, you ain't like every other book on the shelf
What’s underneath ya front cover
Let me see what’s under that powder and eye liner
It's true I want to open you up and read you up
Every page I turn to you getting finer and finer
God damn you got me tripping
I ain't the smartest around here but that’s saying something
Girl put that make up down
I’m being honest with ya ain't trying to make you frown
I know you’re insecure but I’d rather you natural
Categories:
hand crafted, appreciation, beauty, black african
Form:
shifting and swirling wind
biting cold
first light coming around the bend
illuminating each crevice and every fold
the kind of silence that makes a sound
lone bird on a branch
snow drifts by the pound
snow falling by happenstance
misty mountains revealed
herds slowly moving through the tree line
lit by the yawning morning sun shield
mountain mornings are one of a kind
trees coated in snow
all saplings and greenery lying doormat beneath the layers
not till' summer will they show
held in the clutches of winter's strong grip, quiet prayers
hips and spines hand crafted by the creator
silent, long since frozen creeks
views, there are none greater
lone, stalwart peaks
silent cathedrals of glistening light
grand columns amongst the cloud caps
granite faces of extraordinary might
white tipped tree caps
taciturn sequoias standing tall
guarding the valleys
and watching the glistening sprawl
among backwood alleys
Categories:
hand crafted, nature,
Form:
Quatrain