Best Sawn Poems
He gave her a Rose what else could he do
her bands so tied a one way avenue
though not Red nor White or hard to find Blue
a token to hide from kin’s retinue.
He gives her a smile to bridge hyper space
he’s let her down his prowess a disgrace
longs for Lilac eyes that match her face
oozing memories of lasting the pace.
Everything was blue in the sky at dawn
pitting his mood being one with the thorn
a stone cold kiss for love he feels sawn
in reality this his life borne.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
Categories:
sawn, blue,
Form:
Quatrain
Dear swollen-trunk maple, deemed
diseased by the saw-happy tree guy,
you who have stood silently, supposedly
slipping your ailment through your roots
to the neighboring trees, now fallen
full blast down, geometrically down,
right angle, then parallel at last, your flat-
sawn stump blotched with incriminating
evidence—you came and leafed
and are gone, and I who have grown old
in your lifetime, who intuited you rather
than knew you, felt you in my bones,
now feel the slightly thinner woods,
the hint of frailty. Scott the tree guy
has carried your eighteen-inch logs in his
red wheelbarrow and stacked them
for winter: a little Williams, a little Frost.
Oh tree, everywhere I look
I have to pledge reclamation, fill
the forest floor with ferns, mushrooms,
pine needles, and in the side corner
place the outhouse, practically unused
anymore, still in good shape, emitting
its rich human-waste smell, its wood
smell, its few spiders climbing
their trellises with their sticky feet.
Oh tree, so much has been discovered
to fill in the space where you were:
seven new species of Philippine
forest mice, a new genus of blind
Bulgarian beetle, four new species
of jewel beetles, six of New World
micromoths. I have filled my note cards,
I have left the vertical space open
for the Ur-tree, the canonical vision
that will take your place, even the stigmata,
your bulged and arthritic joints, the
whither of your leaving, the grand word
whither standing where you were.
Categories:
sawn, life, tree, space, tree,
Form:
??Wisdom of Solomon 13:11 KJVAAE??
[11] Now a carpenter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn down a tree meet for the purpose, and taken off all the bark skilfully round about, and hath wrought it handsomely, and made a vessel thereof fit for the service of man's life;
??Ecclesiasticus 38:27 KJVAAE??
[27] So every carpenter and workmaster, that laboreth night and day: and they that cut and grave seals, and are diligent to make great variety, and give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work:
??Isaiah 41:7 KJVAAE??
[7] So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the soldering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
??Isaiah 44:13 KJVAAE??
[13] The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
??Matthew 13:55 KJVAAE??
[55] Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
??Colossians 2:14-15 KJVAAE??
[14] blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; [15] and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it.
Categories:
sawn, faith,
Form:
Free verse
He whittled away
A very large branch
That in 6,000 days
Was part of his ranch
Yet not just the branch
Or a tree or two
He whittled a forest
Full, through and through
For this man and knife
Both aptly named, Jack
Had spent half their life
Constructing a shack
Jack’s knife was quite big
With hammer and shovel
To both cut and dig
A primitive hovel
After trees dropped
With Jack’s knife axe
The bark was lopped
To fill in the cracks
He whittled five oaks
And one hundred pines
Yet the pines, no joke
Took half the time
He sliced up the frame
Most days and nights
But could not hue stain
Nor pare out the lights
He whittled a door
Out of an ash tree
And also the floors
Of all rooms, just three
The man ate plenty
With no need to shop
Whittling fish hooks
And felling peach crops
Then finally old Jack
On a day with gloom
Completed the shack
That lacked head room
The rooms were too small
For all the hassle
Yet, Jack stood tall
Beside his castle
His wife took a tour
But quickly fumed
Since there was no sign
Of a bathroom
But Jack was prepared
For his fair spouse
Pointing out back to
A rough sawn outhouse
Still, floors were creaky
From lacking nails
And ceilings were leaky
Details, details
So Jack told his wife
That his next mission
He’ll devote his life
On an addition
And when they had kids
Of at least three
They learned to whittle
Their own family tree
Categories:
sawn, fun, home, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
~ Believe And Trust ~
( Sonnette )
Believe each day
On God always trust
The Lord is great, just
Gives love, hope each day
In sunshine or rain
Worship Lord we must
With Him peace attain.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2017
December.05.2017
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)
- Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer
Romans 12: 12 ( NIV )
-The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Exodus 14: 13 ( NIV )
-What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?
Matthew 16:26 (NIV)
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
~ Author's Notes :
As its name suggests, the Sonnette ( pronounced sawn - et ) is a Sonnet,
exactly half as long as its counterpart. Despite its French suffix, the Sonnette takes on most aspects of the Italian version of the poem.
Categories:
sawn, christian, faith, hope, love,
Form:
Free verse
There is a place where deserts bloom and loving is the law
Where miracles are commonplace and sorrows come to fall
When desires flower amidst the fields of singing lily throngs
And sin, with its razors edge, is a foregone ancient song
It is a place by streams of life, where marigolds do thrive
Where misty aqua canopies supply pleasures to our lives
Then luscious verve and greenery on mountaintops do grow
And pleasures we past put aside, no longer do forgo
Here, patchwork friendships sawn asunder are seamlessly re-sewn
And trees of men and sapling sons for times long lost atone
Oh, how I long for these dear times when nations breathe as one
When frozen tongues of languages have melted in the Son
No pain, no sickness, no sullen thoughts - no lurking death to fear
To see the work of one’s own hands, for all eternity to cheer
This passionate air, this prospect true, this paradise re-claim
Oh, how I strive to walk the path to see this righteous reign
Categories:
sawn, devotion, faith, happiness, hope,
Form:
Couplet
Miles that I have gone,
The things that I have known,
Some things that their beauty can be seen even in the
dawn,
Mostly on earth plants that have been sawn.
Flowers and their beauty,
To brighten is their duty,
Their leaves smoothly,
Some of them even fruity.
Always I had seen roses in white or red,
Amazingly they are made,
Am always an admirer as they grow till they fade,
On rank they are on the highest grade.
Traveling around the World is my ace,
To the warm heart of Africa I caried my case,
With me I traveled with Gods grace,
To the golden sands of Malawi what a beautiful place.
But on this journey I had a pose,
For a second my mind froze,
As I came close,
I realized I had seen a black rose.
Her hair so thick and black,
Its the black beauty that can be seen even in the dark,
She sparkled I knew it was good luck,
I wanted to go on but something held me back.
I know why,
My luck is what I had to try,
Her eyes are so bright like a firefly,
She is so thrillingly amazing like a butterfly.
The beauty of a Malawian flower,
Love has found me at the unexpected hour,
With her beauty power,
Love on her I will shower.
Categories:
sawn, feelings, love, travel,
Form:
ABC
The old man and his grandson viewed
A barren bladeless ground.
When to his left the young lad's eye
Saw bleached bones scattered 'round.
'Twas more than one beast's bones that lay
There exposed to the sun.
It seemed more like a battlefield
Where only death had won.
The old man saw the young lad wince,
He reined in close behind.
As memories of what took place
Came flooding through his mind.
A century turned, but not his luck,
For rains had failed again.
He slowly watched the dams dry up
While cattle died in pain.
A little water still remained
Though sought by feral stock.
Some brumbies which came down at dawn
Still often used the block.
In good times no one cared that much,
But not so any more.
The young lad's dad and this old man
Both knew what lay in store.
A high log fence closed off the dam,
The timber they had sawn.
Suspended gate it lay in wait
For piccaninny dawn.
Then as the last mare ambled through
Wood gate it dropped like lead.
A wood rail race seemed their escape,
But death lurked there instead. Their capital had all dried up,
No cash for lead and gun.
To execute the feral stock
Took knife and old man's son.
With legs astride the wood rail race
Son grimaced as he drew
That blade of death 'cross jug'lar vein,
Then slapped the victim through.
Each fleet foot spirit faltered there
A hundred yards away,
While blazing eyes showed fear of death,
Mouths gave a weakened neigh.
Then one by one their weak frames fell
Onto the dusty ground.
The racing hearts of those poor beasts
Then gave their final pound.
The slaughter did not save the stock
For all the dams went dry.
It fin'ly broke the old man's son,
He watched the grown man cry.
All this the old man told the lad,
The picture was now drawn.
On why his dad then took his life
One piccaninny dawn.
The young lad then took from his head
his father's sweat stained hat
And as he wiped the tears away
He said, Gramps thanks for that."
I'd always had my doubts you see
About the way Dad died,
But now I know the truth at last
I'll wear this hat with pride.
Categories:
sawn, history, loss, sad, death,
Form:
Ballad
The road to my backyard is long and straight
Evergreen trees abound and provide welcome shade
Home to myriad birds, butterflies and the bees
Last summer their branches were sawn off, without notice
The orgy with power-saws lasted barely a day
The trees shorn of foliage, the limbless torsos remained
To secure the safety of a VIP on a state visit
To a smog-laden metropolis, labouring hard to breathe
A few years back, we moved house to an oasis of green
But now, the storm of development is relentlessly closing in
Razing and levelling with electric saws and bull dozers
And a host of equipment used by modern day builders
Pile drivers mounted on rigs clump through the day
Unrelenting even at night, when the elusive foxes bay
Grieving in the darkness with plaintive howls
For a vanishing habitat where his endangered kin prowls
They have acquired fish farms and farmland
And even encroached on the protected wetlands
Which naturally dispose tons of city waste
In danger of destruction due to greed and haste
Truckloads of rubble are dumped every day
The pace is frenetic, even in sweltering May
Toiling hard for masters, who’ve deadlines to meet
And citizens to house, from whom votes they’ll seek
A haze of dust now covers construction sites
The pace doesn’t slacken here, even at nights
Construction materials arrive here daily by the truckloads
And given shape by workmen, as planned on drawing boards
What was once green cover and blue sky
Will be concrete monoliths, stretching up very high
With parking lots and asphalt streets
And billboards and neon signs, ready to be leased
No longer will fields of mustard flowers sway sinuously in spring
Nor ripe ears of golden corn bob gently in the wind
The sounds of frogs and crickets are a memory of the past
Songbirds have fled, deprived of their natural habitat
Slowly the memory of winter’s migratory birds will fade
Never again, the razed canopy of green, provide cooling shade
As I walk through my ravaged neighbourhood, I wonder why
Impotent rage pervades through me and I silently cry
Categories:
sawn, loss, nature, memory, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
Second Quiz with even broader hints for blind poets
The Princess Anna stood
arms half-akimbo
at the scrawny edge of the receding bank
her Polonaise pollarded down
to her exposed tarsus heels
A wilting comb of fern and shrivelled grass
still clinging to her rump
mud trailing in crusty clumps around the soles
half exposed at the base of the trunk
A soft curling gust about her waist
shook the panticles of her bells
light translucent purple corolla
peeling tinnitus at her lobes
out of the gathering Siberian clouds
sounded like her father calling:
“ Pavlovnia! Pavlovnia! My Darling!
Shake! Shake! Your ample locks!
And let your capsicles pop and drop
Your myriad minute pods
Wafting towards Tsarist towers
Tintinnabulating on troikas and travois! ”
“ Hélas! Hélas! My Royal Pa!
I’m wed for life to nether water-logged land
See how the wind furrows the leathery waters
Licking and tickling my bared soles!
Here with one sawn shoulder and one twisted arm
My hip sags with each dastardly axe-raised slap
Leaning onto the other talus’s side
They say it’s for my own own good
My head was severed at the start
My heart-shaped tresses thick in the heat
Now float on the faint muddy bank tide!
I dream of the day
My Phoenix tubers will climb
And seek the sunrise over the Eastern divide
In lands where the waters drain
Whole crowns of dark-green broccoli buds
Before the sun goes down in the Taiga! “
“ O! I’ll tell your whey-faced mother, My Dear!
Her eyes look long past the Western Gate!
Till your timbers all grow strong with sheen
And we’ll look for a handsome Prince, My Dear!
Sturdy as oak-bound sails on brine!
O! We’ll cut and soothe the grainy boards
Till the dressing-chest’s adorned
With trefoil liana round mirrors and knobs
On the day of your dowry’s prize
For you! For you alone! My Dear!
Down in the lowlands shut in fear! “
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
sawn, fantasy, heartbreak, loneliness, ,
Form:
Free verse
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 45
Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar
The most well-kept secret’s about to be sawn
At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law
Who makes worlds go round and round like swinging door
Who turns on firmament lights like on home lawn
Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar
Who drew Andromeda into Milky Way’s maw
Who raised Wall of Galaxies as tennis lawn
At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law
Who made glacial periods run like mad wild boar
Who swung meteorites like golf balls every dawn
Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar
Truth ricochets like Le Bourget planes roar
The secret’s hidden from us poor folks ill-born
At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law
Thanks to COP21 we now know much more
NATURE is the plaything of those who use brawn
Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar
At last Great Leaders can reveal the true LAW
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Categories:
sawn, anti bullying, environment, god,
Form:
Villanelle
Cindy was really a man
You could tell by the size of her hands
So one day in Bournemouth
She had them both sawn off
But now she can't shave her beard
Categories:
sawn, funny,
Form:
Limerick
WHO WILL CRY FOR THE WOUNDED, THE INNOCCENT LITTLE CHILDREN?
WHO ONLY KNOWS YOUR EYES TO LOOK INTO AND TO FIND A PLACE TO HIDE.
IMAGINE IF YOU WILL, BEING SEVEN YEARS OLD AND HAVING TO LEARN ABOUT
THE WORLD THROUGH EXPERIENCE WHILE OTHERS BY WHAT THEY ARE TOLD.
YOU HAVE TO LEARN FAST, TO NOT GET DESTROYED BY THE IGNORANCE OF ANOTHER, CAUSE EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS COLD, SEEM CONTROLLED BY
ANOTHER.
YOU SEE: SPIRITS ARE REAL, AND THEY DON'T DESCRIMINATE, THEIR ONLY JOB HERE IS TO PLANT AND SPREAD HATE. THE DEEDS ARE EVIL FROM DUST TO SAWN,
IT HAVE YOU LOOKING FOR ANYONE SHANE, THAT YOU CAN DEPEND ON.
EVRYONE SEEMS TO BE QUITE ALOOF, BUT THE PAIN YOU FEEL ARE REAL AND YOU HAVE THE PROOF. WHEN WILL SOMEONE WAKE UP AND CRY OUT FOR YOUR PAIN,OR WILL THE THEY PRETEND NOT TO SEE, IF THEY FEEL THEY WON'T GAIN.
PARENTS PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR CHILD, SIT DOWN AND TALK TO THEM AWHILE, AND YOU JUST MIGHT BE SURPRISED AT WHAT YOU MIGHT LEARN. THANK YOU!
Categories:
sawn, abuse, anger, baby, beautiful,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
A fistful of a metronome is an organic matter in a metro dome. Fish not a pirate ship and swim swim swim. Great isn't it. Marvel at the many passing floating cakes that arrive. And mirror not a choice of words fir remarkable is never found in a plastic case. It is quite unnatural you see. And unnatural means not characteristic. So upon playing charades with rain drops be aware the shape they create upon landing. Mission beams from above. Callously charming chequered chins. And it is not to be said that a yawning yacht equals tiredness. It is the laundry from a vested belt that breeds the spawn. So suit on a sawn off **** gun attends a hockey game and the pistol in a pink top scores. Underneath the ironing board. Sails snails and pails. Squalid yet atmospheric. And indifference is neither a sign of acceptance nor thought. Ho ho ho to all that. Ran the hahaha out of range earlier. Dare to dance with the signal box then? ***,, correspondences Z
Categories:
sawn, absence, anniversary, basketball,
Form:
After the storm, my brother
(all gangly knees and elbows)
bore the brunt of its ferocious aftermath.
Every day after school
I watched his wiry biceps bulge a little
as his handsaw scritched against the tree
which had fallen diagonally across our front yard.
I witnessed the violence of metal on wood,
the violence of The King of the Mountain’s smirk
as he too watched, his greedy eyes
taking in my brother’s razor sharp collar bone,
with jaw set in furious concentration.
This imposed punishment was meant to goad my brother,
meant to tempt him to rage
so that the next time the stepdad slugged him
he would feel justified, holy even.
Kneeling on scratchy couch to watch
I scrunched my shoulders,
Folding into myself like an accordion,
gathering myself up to make of me something smaller;
I pressed my knees together
wrapping my arms around them
and lowered my head,
waiting for the sky to rain trees
with swollen trunks, and branches thrust downward
as if warding off a sickening impact with earth.
My brother, it seems,
must be punished for the crime of
his existence;
for this the stepdad’s eyes shone bright,
bright as the heavy duty flashlights
he begrudgingly loaned my brother
so he could work far into the night.
His eyes fairly burned with lust—
The lust of sadism’s glee.
I saw him lick his lips;
You’d have thought he’d conjured up this
Columbus Day Storm all by himself
for the sole purpose
of proving to my brother
that he had no right
to co-exist with him in the same universe.
I watched until my eyes burned
and my head ached dully
and my brother, sweating and chilled,
laid down his saw
swiped his arm across his forehead,
and straightening up, met my wary gaze
with the scoured look
of shame whittled down into hatred,
sawn away into stumpy pieces like an old tree trunk.
After the storm my brother cleaned up nature’s wrath.
He stood a little taller and his eyes, when they met his abuser’s,
burned unflinching.
After the storm we feigned memory loss
Pretended that nothing had shifted in our family dynamic.
We sat down to meals silent and repressed and picked up our forks
as if the stepdad hadn’t just won a major battle,
as if my brother’s days in that household were not numbered.
Categories:
sawn, angst, brother, childhood, family,
Form:
Free verse