Best In Fine Fettle Poems | Poetry
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The Best In Fine Fettle Poems
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In Fine Fettle Poem
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More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?
Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...
Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...
Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...
Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..
Copyright © Ruben Alejandro Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
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In Fine Fettle Poem
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I am a little archangel,
please let me in your garden dwell,
when there,I will spread out so well;
Later,you won't let me settle
but I'll keep you in fine fettle,
I'm the dreaded yellow-nettle.
or Lamium galeobdolon
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2010
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In Fine Fettle Poem
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The sword,
buried deep in its' scabbard,
tempered by fire,
strength it holds,
I desire
Metal fashioned by human hands,
skill from distant lands.
Beauty of proportion and line,
weapon so fine
For the sword in its' scabbard,
is like the truth hidden,
brought out in anger,
to do its' bidding
Flash of steel
I turn and wheel
arcing round,
truth be found
For to be sheathed,
nobody can hurt,
no anger unleashed,
no falldown, in dirt
But truth must come out willingly,
now and then,
rasp of steel,but when?
The sword always finds home,
piecing deep,
this sharp steel i hone
makes truth weep
blood and bone
The truth used as a weapon of war,
pulled out of its' hiding place.
These are the things I saw.
It takes no prisoners,only deaths' face,
running down the blade
This truth of metal,
is in fine fettle,
for the sword out of its' hiding place,
with death you must face
swish of air,
into battle you must wade,
heart beginning to tear,
carry the truth blade
Flash of steel,I turn and wheel,
arcing round,
truth be found
For the truth
can be used in rage,
to wound and maim.
No wisdom of sage,
to guide whence it came
Flame bright steel,you must deal
with the things you feel,
for arcing round
truth can be found
Copyright © Matthew Brackley | Year Posted 2007
Details |
In Fine Fettle Poem
|
The sword,
buried deep in its' scabbard,
tempered by fire,
strength it holds,
I desire
Metal fashioned by human hands,
skill from distant lands.
Beauty of proportion and line,
weapon so fine
For the sword in its' scabbard,
is like the truth hidden,
brought out in anger,
to do its' bidding
Flash of steel
I turn and wheel
arcing round,
truth be found
For to be sheathed,
nobody can hurt,
no anger unleashed,
no falldown, in dirt
But truth must come out willingly,
now and then,
rasp of steel,but when?
The sword always finds home,
piecing deep,
this sharp steel i hone
makes truth weep
blood and bone
The truth used as a weapon of war,
pulled out of its' hiding place.
These are the things I saw.
It takes no prisoners,only deaths' face,
running down the blade
This truth of metal,
is in fine fettle,
for the sword out of its' hiding place,
with death you must face
swish of air,
into battle you must wade,
heart beginning to tear,
carry the truth blade
Flash of steel,Iturn and wheel,
arcing round,
truth be found
For the truth
can be used in rage,
to wound and maim.
No wisdom of sage,
to guide whence it came
Flame bright steel,you must deal
with the things you feel,
for arcing round
truth can be found
Copyright © Matthew Brackley | Year Posted 2006
Details |
In Fine Fettle Poem
|
The sword,
buried deep in its' scabbard,
tempered by fire,
strength it holds,
I desire
Metal fashioned by human hands,
skill from distant lands.
Beauty of proportion and line,
weapon so fine
For the sword in its' scabbard,
is like the truth hidden,
brought out in anger,
to do its' bidding
Flash of steel
I turn and wheel
arcing round,
truth be found
For to be sheathed,
nobody can hurt,
no anger unleashed,
no falldown, in dirt
But truth must come out willingly,
now and then,
rasp of steel,but when?
The sword always finds home,
piecing deep,
this sharp steel i hone
makes truth weep
blood and bone
The truth used as a weapon of war,
pulled out of its' hiding place.
These are the things I saw.
It takes no prisoners,only deaths' face,
running down the blade
This truth of metal,
is in fine fettle,
for the sword out of its' hiding place,
with death you must face
swish of air,
into battle you must wade,
heart beginning to tear,
carry the truth blade
Flash of steel,Iturn and wheel,
arcing round,
truth be found
For the truth
can be used in rage,
to wound and maim.
No wisdom of sage,
to guide whence it came
Flame bright steel,you must deal
with the things you feel,
for arcing round
truth can be found
Copyright © Matthew Brackley | Year Posted 2007
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In Fine Fettle Poem
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L-et the dust settle,
I-nstead of making it gray;
E-vade the rugged wind,
Z-ealously take trouble
A-way.
G-ive time till things get calmer,
O-bliterate the devil's way;
D-istress will return to normality,
A-ugust twenty-ninth Tuesday.
L-et the conflict disappear,
L-et you be in fine fettle;
E-agerly let the haze fade, let the dust settle.
Copyright © Bernard F. Asuncion | Year Posted 2017