Best In Fine Fettle Poems | Poetry

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The Best In Fine Fettle Poems

Details | In Fine Fettle Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bled Out

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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HEAVENS ABOVE

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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SWORD, the anger of truth

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


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SWORD,the anger of truth

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


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SWORD (THE ANGER OF TRUTH)

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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Let The Dust Settle

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