Blacksmiths make a horse's shoes.
That's certainly not news,
but who do you suppose
made the horse's nose...
so far out of proportion,
a preposterous distortion?
Barmy blacksmiths, forging Fate
Smack-dab, smashed and working late
Stuck deep in and wrenching wrists
Tattered skin on itchy fists
Spewing salty starless space
Into eyes and all over face
The wall and put your best foot on
A boxy board housing Spawn
Groggy gauges, clicking close
To the time the Boss had chose
Feeling funny, one Smith exits
Others watch him through their slits
Lined looking, between blades
Hanging hazards, shovels and spades
Their brother's bowel blows and boils
As life's liquid bursts and soils
Clothes clamped, stammered sound
Shrieking lumps, lurching around
Weapons washed, in red and green
The first, and last, blacksmith seen.
July 22, 2011
A sea of flowers and candles grew outside the Cathedral
- in total 15 tons
Solidarity, an unbreakable bond of care, democracy
Terrorist attack, 77 people died
grotesque images on the retina
Sound of gunshots and desperate screams
The killers ideology
referred to himself as "A Templar knight"
Artists Tobbe Malm and Tone Karlsrud
invite blacksmiths from all over the world
to forge roses in iron as a memorial
People acted spontaneously
Grief was wrought in iron
"The iron roses" ... the abyss sea
will always remind us of all those we lost
"Hidden in heaven, but never forgotten"
Written: November 06, 2023
___________________________________________
A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
Remember you were told
To always remain bold
While walking the Path of Gold;
To not let self be down rolled
But the Yellowish Thing hold…
Gold mere blacksmiths would remold
And by simple jewelers controlled.
So, never before Gold
Accept that you’re old
Nor shiver like The Cold
Nor like Autumnal Leaves fold
A just alerted cuckold!
To have a boat poled
To a good length
From no glittering Gold
Comes the strength.
Today April 06,2020 in my city
In the time of return home from my office
In GEC circle I am advised by a duty police to stay safe from nCoV-19
'To wear face mask and wash hands'
I was laughing at the advice with my inside mind
I do not know actually
If wearing mask and washing hands can save a life
Then no need to live with overall neat and clean body,
Then who will wash the most used and poisonous taka, every seat of buses
Then who will save thousands of homeless street beggars,
Then who will save the poor sweepers, blacksmiths, potters, burga farmers
those who live always with filthy dust, dustbin, rubbish, mud....
06.04.2020 (Chattogram City)
A terrible tragedy occurs,
We do not move to handle it,
Yet we wallow in our own self pity,
And allow ourselves to enter the maze
The labyrinth has a centre that stuns and confuses
Why enter the furthest distance from the exit
Rejuvenated in Summer and cowering away in winter,
Yet it is summer elsewhere
We do not have mercy for ourselves,
The indistinguishable difference between humanity and pity
Emulating a casing disproving of truly digging deeper
Angry and hating what we might find
You see a pyramid, made by Gods, worshiped by ancestors
Casual to us until we hear of locks
Blacksmiths forge the key
And produce it available to the common rat
Plaguing the details of an event unbeknownst to us
Tangentially spewing albeit still connected to the central circle
Whatever point you leave you come from the same
How can you describe the catch
22 answers are not enough to explain the downtrodden expression of a lonely man
Without a dog perhaps dead, the sadness drives him to rage
Which unearths and unholy truth
Everyone has a beast and all it takes is a little nudge
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/fortress-on-high
Fortress on high, stands fortified
Tower of the valley and countryside
Bow and arrow, sovereign sword
Comfort chamber, homely lord
Magnificent halls of grand prestige
Throughout the ages castles besieged
Guard protection, tall high tower
Stronghold defence of such great power
Order of the king, show loyalty
Rebellion against the royalty
Blacksmiths, merchants, products sold
Working life for adult role
Wealthy lords and active knights
Poor pheasants of lesser rights
Assembling of the scaffolding
Labours loading, strong building
Distant castle stands remote
A gatehouse, keep, chapel, moat
Conquered lands, mass invasion
Rebuilt towns of restoration
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Winston Churchill- the Tailor
chose material, designed fashion
Franklin D Roosevelt- the Weaver
later wove success with Marshall magic
Joseph Stalin- the Color Master
painted the Curtain with blood of soldiers
Adolf Hitler- the Spirit
provided living fear among architects
Victims- the haunting ghosts
precaution never to resurrect from the dead
The world- the watchman
soon fell asleep allowing war without war
So it happened in aftermath
with organic fabrics exhausted, metals served
with professional clothiers on imaginary strike
willing blacksmiths were readily available
Iron Curtain was built in haste
to erect durable peace, security outside the heart
Inglenook
She, the face in the embers,
The remnants of a raging fire,
Smoulders like a cigarette
Between lips of lustful desire.
Where men stoke in gay abandon,
Pokers hot as blacksmiths arms,
To fade and die in the ashes,
The inglenook of her charms.
Breathe, breathe, smoke inhale,
Fill your lungs, my laddy, my son,
And when you spit the bloody spit
What manhood will be done?
Ten a penny, 'tis Rose and Jenny
For whom you shall but die,
But it is dreams of her raging fire
That will burn the smokey sky.
She, the naked, fireside chat
Will weep upon the ashen grate,
And you dowsed her, her inglenook,
How it sealed a young mans fate.
Where flames rose and flames fell
Like the dance of a harlots fare,
And you, the gasp of life and death
Did often purvey her there.
Breathe, breathe, my laddy, breathe,
How dare you die so young,
The inglenook knows many tunes
But you have hardly sung.
Ten a penny, yet be you broke
And deader than her yearn,
She, the face in the embers,
When once, my son, you burned.
© RJVHorton2016
I just found your last letter to me,
And read it while watching a blazing sunset,
Emulating the happy sun you drew in your letter.
Ten years almost to the day, you killed yourself,
I'm left with sadness, a cerulean sky,
And passing clouds, toasted orange,
Like heated iron in a blacksmiths forge.
You were a forger of enthusiasm, bipolar some say,
Yes maybe but by any standard extraordinary,
Up down like a sea saw, making words from polystyrene.
An extraordinary life, an extraordinary death,
An extraordinary sunset.
©dbyrne Jan 2015
A smile faint, but none the less
It's there within his eyes,
As the fire and the coals begin to burn.
Now, his hand is on the hammer
And the smoke begins to rise;
Along with lasting memories that blacksmith's earn.
Ten generations brought to him,
Much more than just the tools,
As he worked beside his father and the flame.
Learning very quickly,
It was not a trade for fools.
For thoughts and iron blacksmiths must learn to tame.
And though it's been so many years,
The hammer fits him well,
As the anvil reaches out to grasp his skill.
He's the master, the creative art,
That time cannot dispel.
For he's never lost the blacksmith's flaming will.
Hammers of hate beat the steel
Into a helmet and blade.
Blacksmiths and armorers feel
Proud of the death-bound brigade.
Marching past crowds on the curb,
Clattering heels on the stones.
Later, the crows will disturb
Flesh as it ripens on bones.
Preachers and Popes prate of peace,
Powerless to change history:
Powder, and guns wrapped in grease
Auger what always will be.
wists,kittle bit.see it.we writ the fit humble bit.
Round:the planet and the sun,
zebras , horses and the lake;
He said we should stay around the dish
He had placed for us his children:
garden of Eden.
The wolves have stained the white eyes
of the new born and unfolded their palm
to a reveal:rings of unequal fingers;
diamond,gold,silver,bronze and iron.
claws like an axe have carved a pyramid
out of a ball of earth.
we hear the voices of a frightening storm:
the doctrine of "boulder against pebble"
from a tongue that drips rain of vinegar
i look at this edifice from top to bottom:
many legs for a millipede,
so big a body for a head.
look at our shinning skulls
as they pluck from the sky its crystal stars;
like tanned metal of the blacksmiths store:
the true steps of a stair so tall.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.