Carving Poems - Poems about Carving

On the Cutting Stone

Some days I fly like an eagle,
some days I waddle like a duck—
today I’m fried chicken
crispy, cold, out of luck.
 
Some days I run with wild horses,
some days I hunt with the wolfpack—
today I’m a belly-up snake
on asphalt cracked and black.
 
Oh, how I swam with dolphins,
struck like white sharks through foam—
today I’m gutted salmon,
smoked

Solo Heart

Am I wrong? 
Always drifting left when the world turns right,  
Like a compass drawn to storms instead of light.  

Am I wrong? 
For trusting the beat of my own internal song,  
Even if silence is the chorus all along.

I move to the rhythm only I hear,  
Not chasing thrill rides

Carving a Niche

She sat in silence, whittling wood,
Creating magic with her hands,
Here she couldn't be misunderstood,
Carving charming pieces on stands,
Fulfilling customer demands;

She carved serenely, working hard,
Chipping away those needless bits,
Making art out of something marred,
This showcased her finesse and wits,
She loved her work, wouldn’t call it quits;

With this job, she couldn’t make ends meet,
But she rose to

Carving a Mask Is a Task

Why would one ask,
If the carving of a mask 
Is, indeed, a task 
When to simply this question ask 
Is itself a task?
Mask carvers in their job bask,
Their wine glasses beside a cask, 
Their African salad in their flask, 
Their own faces a beatific Mask…

Sweet styles of reducing the heat
From a long sitting on a

Carving a Road Through Time

he stood and people stand,
he walked and people walk,
he flew and people fly,
and on the inside wrappers
of candy bars
and on the paper napkins
from fast food restaurants
and from the scraps of 
brown bags and
old newspapers 
the notes 
came pouring in
notes from songs 
that people longed
to have sung
from all who 
followed him 
climbing 
rung to rung.
The notes

White Meat

It's getting hot in here, 
   350 degrees,
      picked clean, and stuffed.

Keep the meats separated, turkey!
   Some like dark meat.
      Some like white meat.

Segregated even on Thanksgiving.

Yams or sweet potatoes,
   Mashed or baked,
      all

100 Words the Closet Door and the Modest Carving

 "...and 
the modist 
carving 
into the 
closet 
door 
read: 

"I do not place my life, nor my trust, 
my belief nor my faith within 
the 
resume 
of man, 
nor within 
his cause. 

For he 
proclaimed, 
is but a 
mere 
farthing 
of his 
merest 
self; 
and not 
of Me. 

He is 
an avid 
boasting; 
ungrateful,

Carving Time

Pummy the pumpkin refused to be sliced

Resisted against being sacrificed 

For modern Pagan delight

Did not fancy the limelight

Turned the knife against trivial zeitgeist



30th October 2019

howmanysyllables.com

Carving the Cake

happy birthday America-time to carve the blue stars from the cake

Grandma's Grandchildren

Aren't grandchildren marvelous! Spoil them just rotten, 
then give them back, but they are never forgotten.

My maternal instincts are rekindled and who 
best to let them experience the joy I knew.

One of my preferred seasons is pumpkin season, 
tis for Halloween if for no other reason 

than to take them out to a pumpkin patch

Starving and Carving

Starving and Carving

While other people in the world are starving,
In America,  on a turkey have been carving;
Then heard God say,
Have happy Holiday,
And soon Christmas season will be arriving.

James Serious Mysterious Horn
Master of Limericks, MLm

This poem can be found on Page 6A
of Brunswick Beacon, Shallotte, NC
dated Thursday, November 30, 2017.

The Turtle With the Carving On Its Back

The morning sun creeps slowly from underneath the grey sky
Dancing merrily with the angels on high
while the trees  listen  carefully to  the Gods will
And the birds converse harmoniously within 

I kept walking along the path watching the day as  it starts
I stood Faraway from human interaction seeking out natures ambitions
Suddenly I

A Carving of Hearts

I can not give away the Image engraved in my vision 
as I stood beside giants while hidden
mighty Titans, that is how I saw the trees that hid me
in their shadows like a villain 
thrown together by circumstance, 
I looked high into the sky, had to cover my eyes 
reaching out for an introduction
my gesture

Carving Time

supernatural
friend I never see, touch, - rose
without thorns I kiss

Wood Carving

Wood Carving


He sits there, not quite motionless, for
even the comfortable must alter their
perception occasionally, frozen stare
upon a craggy visage, tiny fox-like predator
eyes peering into your soul.  “What are his
origins?” ask the bespectacled intellectuals.
“Who is he?” and “Why has he taken up
his unwelcome residence here?”  The buses
pass carrying workers, students, captains
of industry. They look

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