Chisels Poems

SONNET OF LIMERENCE

Obscured Cupid as a brimming stream
To drench when thou hath bathe

Transformed he as a adherence
And hath entwined ye abdomen

Disguised as maid in thy harem
To admire your ravishing beauty

Art thou giveth aroma to flowers?
For sure! when thou blush, feel I.

Chisels he, insanely thy name
On his love-shaft

Beneath the Sea, scribes he bewitching songs
That testaments his lunatic love on you

Why thou maketh virile men fanatic?
Cupid! Ensconse her from this tranquil earth.

Attitude

Hate not the clouds that roar;
Feel happy, seeing their outpour!		
Glare not at the chisels that cut you hard;
Mind, they turn you into the idols of high regard!

basalt columns

volcanic
activity

liquid 
magma

cools
contracts

chisels
rasps

measured
patterns

settling to
hexagonal
colonnade

morphed
entablature

unique
marvel

unsigned
sculpture

To the other woman who took my man

Resilience Unveiled”

To the woman who weeps upon betrayal’s blade, Her heart’s fragile wings, in tempests swayed. Yet within pain’s chisels, a metamorphosis blooms, Mating intelligence refined, wisdom consumes.

She deciphers subtle cues in future mates’ eyes, No longer blinded by love’s sweet disguise. Her heart, a compass, guides through the storm, Detecting low mate value, keeping her warm.

But what of the other woman, entwined? Dancing with deception, love’s twisted bind. Her prize: a man who betrayed with ease, A heart ill at ease, history’s infidelity keys.

Days pass, the all-woman stands tall, Dress discarded, memories small. Her worth, her happiness—her own throne, No charity case, no borrowed zone.

Malice whispers, venomous hiss, She invokes Hanlon’s razor, dismissing the abyss: “Never attribute to malice,” she imparts, “That which is explained by stupidity’s arts.”

Human behavior, folly and wisdom entwine, And silently, one weeps upon life’s knife.

THE LONELY WOODS

In the lonely woods,
Memories stir like the wind in the trees.
Lost in the shadows, 
I find you,
With your gentle smile and kind eyes.


In the lonely woods,
Your memory stays with me.
Even when the night is dark,
Your love is a guiding light.

In the lonely woods,
Beneath the whispering trees,
Memories drift like leaves on the wind.
I follow their trail,
Through the shadows,
Till I reach the place
Where your smile still lingers.

In the lonely woods,
Your memory fills the space
That your absence left behind.
In the cold of night,
Your love warms me
Like the firelight that once danced
In your eyes.

In the lonely woods 
I stay all day 
Hoping that someday
You would say hey.
As time chisels away 
You never left my face 

In the lonely woods
 the light began to fade 
Like a spade 
Pierced to the heart 
Unbearable it became 
Till the lonely woods became 
Our resting place.

The Tool Shed

It was a dark hole
into an Aladdin's cave of old tools.
A small window
gave the only light and fell
on a rough sawn bench wearing
scars inflicted by years of use.
Saw cuts, drill holes
and the miscued gouges
of chisels had crusted to
dark scabs. Oil stains blotched 
the surface like age spots.

Reclaimed tin beaten flat 
on an anvil length of railway line
covered the walls in a mosaic 
of odd shapes glazed 
in powdery rust. The floor
was hardened clay compacted
over decades by a pair 
of shuffling boots.

It seemed almost a holy place,
a grotto cut into a life to house
precious things a man valued
back then. Tools bore a sanctity, 
a purity of purpose,
the blessed instruments 
of a craftsman kept
and looked after for life.
Some were venerated relics
passed down by generations.

I closed the door, 
leaving the cobweb draped
silence intact.
Soon to be demolished, 
its contents will be thrown
into bargain boxes
at the local trash and treasure. 
Sad how the age bundles up 
and dumps the holy 
to feed an empty core.

The Swashbuckler

Wind filled sails drives his command,
A salty breeze chisels his face.
The crew obeys his every demand,
Master of the sea stands in his place.

Sailing South to all virgin lands,
Heading's true and steering straight.
Ship is cradled in starlit hands,
With fertile dreams at Heaven's gate.

No tempest will dissuade his course,
A swashbuckler oh so bold.
Guided by unnatural force,
To fill his coffers full of gold.

All deckhands will now prepare,
Adventure on the open seas.
While searching for islands fair,
Perchance to do as they please.

Lookouts spy a distant ship,
Crew stands firm to do their duty.
Now with sword strapped to the hip,
A plan to seize pirate's booty.

Alongside black sail moving fast,
All fall silent as cannons roar.
A fatal shot strikes the mast,
Skull and crossbones sail no more.

With victory that tastes so sweet,
On their way to a lavish coast.
Tahitian beauties soon to meet,
The part that they all love the most.

Rum filled shipmates sigh relief,
Back to sea no more to roam.
With gold and jewels beyond belief,
This Captain steers a course back home.

Heart Broken

It seemed as if the air was sucked 
out of my lungs, my breathe in tatters
I heard my heart break into a million pieces
The sound of it shook out my tears
Like shards of glass falling, each memory
etched in every drop that fell out of love
Can I ever revive those butterflies that fluttered
each time you were close? 
All of those nights of stars and dreams
Can I ever hold a hand in trust? 
Walk away if you must, loneliness steadily 
chisels away at my soul as I exist
A scar where my heart was, and a tattoo on my wrist! 
One more heart broken, as you add it to your list! 
11.10.22

La Voix Humaine

I speak of the breast best,
mother Mary and her voiceless love.
My pillow-talk told to doves and divas.

And my voice sounds in the whale bone,
in the thunder of workaday ants in their
Brooklyn bodega’s.

The breathless, the brazen
those who bargain and barter
their marketplace musical masterpieces,
let them unsling all vocal vending’s
be they sharp or velvet
in a caroling of living daylights.

Talk is dirt, let our mute fingers plow;
what we say, we say beneath the light
where ancient suns still lay voiceless.

I am a penny opera, you are the
song of the earth, my throat
swallows words
turns them into raw diamonds
for your cleaving,
facets you polish
with chorus and chant.

Where you echo I follow
washing my face in
your timbre and tone.

Deliver us plain into a Voice,
one chord struck as clear
as a chisels gleaming cut.

Utter me in your tongue
and I will croon you in the womb
where a common blood speaks.

Proclaim your revelations in a simple song,
an anthem for us to pray
at the end of our tolerable,
unsung days.

Mother

And God saw it all and it was good
He saw the man, and the beasts
The silent stream, weaving and waving through the woods.
Serene, Blissful, Breath Giving spectacle.
It was good but God lingered
Ah-ah! an Idea through the dark like a halberd in battle.
Woman was created, such a beauty,
the much needed flint for the “spark of life”
and while it lasted it was good.
Hey!!! 
The storks have arrived and the peak of evolution attained.
MOTHER was crafted,
forged in the fires of perseverance,
chisels of LOVE etched on her the ancient runes of endurance.
yes the masterpiece is done,
And God looked again and saw perfection.
Serene, Blissful, Breath giving, Perfect spectacle.

Our ungrateful asses holler, "WE LOVE YOU!"
not enough to cover all quiet ones we skipped though.

The dog hid his Mother in heaven, 
today he is Man's best friend, companion even.
such is it for those who cherish Mother.

take a full minute, speak no word, take a trip to the past
I'll be back in a minute.
>............................................................<
Yeah, that's for all the prone ones.
deep breaths and sighs a silent teardrop,
able testament of your life and love.

Scourged Flesh

Scourged is the flesh of a man whose soul chisels at his heart.

The Silent Saint

a carpenter chisels creativity ~ his son saves souls

[First of May: Here in Malta, apart from celebrating Labour Day, 
we also celebrate the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker.] 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Work Perspective Monoku Contest
containing alliteration.
Sponsored by Beata Agustin

© 5th May 2022

Cliff

Marvel of fond Mother-Nature,
Carefully carved nomenclature!
Mountains fold hands toward blue skies,
Where stars flutter, like, butterflies! 
Water-waves warmly wash the feet,
Fleets on sleets meet around and greet! 
High, steep, sharply molded boulders,
Stand in accord holding shoulders...!

Solitary human standing,
On a broken cliff crash-landing!
A bird flying around its edge,
To build her nest, finding no hedge!
An owl dwelling in a small hole,
Lost as though with a restless soul!
Bats, waiting for the silent night,
Alike, are, bleak views of cliff- sight...!
	
Suffering writs of erosion, 
Churned by chisels of corrosion!
Carved, compiled, combined, conditioned,
Into wild bird-beaks protruded!
Steeply, slippery, surfaces,
Sloppy, soapy, still, circuses!
Cliff has its captivating charm,
That until disturbed does no harm...!



11 January 2022 
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Jagged

Only few vague notions remain.
Resource lowering has emerged. 
Poverty and shame endure strain.
Money and action have diverged.

They shackled him with sharp pebbles.
False idols' rage will not be tamed.
Justice can be served, he chisels. 
Though with a spirit that's untamed.

I cede safety pins for deep breadth.
Bleed on the rough stones as I move.
Preparedness is worse than death.
Sheer struggle in vain; I chose prove.

The jagged bores of shrub and gorse.
Slumbering softly down their track.
Unyielding uphill this steep source.
The birds chirp and echo ducks quack.

No skin, bear on shreds of mercy.
Our cells used to make a new death.
Keep your bliss, won't bite agony.
Go for different god and breadth.

I'll scale this hard peak until dusk.
Enjoy summer's beauty and clean air.
The wind will take the dusk luck.
Free of jagged rocks and despair.


Written: September 11, 2021


''J'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

A Brand-New Day

Draped over the land like a ghostly shroud,
a blanket of morning mist
morphs into rolling banks of fog;
soft as an eider-filled duvet.
Dawn rebukes Night's claim to darkened skies
and armed with chisels of light
sculpts ebony shadows
into shifting shapes,
sent scurrying into nooks and crevices.
Sleeping sounds slowly awaken;
giving voice to Nature,
as a scarlet sun silently shimmies up a crimson sky.
Pink, indigo, and blue hues
flow over an ebony canvas of stars and moon;
as color emerges from Sol's first light.
And a bashful breeze blows silhouettes into disarray;
etch-a-sketching a brand-new day.

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