Crafter Poems | Examples

Craft Market at Pyree Fields

Each month a craft fair, 
is held at Pyree Fields in the open air.
All the local crafters are there,
proudly showing off their homemade fare.

Behind each stall, a pair of eyes stares,
hoping you will buy some of their wares,
or better still, admire their works and cares,
in making things, every devoted crafter shares.

Step right up to the craft fair.
Baskets, blankets, knitted ware.
Soaps that smell like orchard rains.
Scarves crocheted from woolen skeins.
Leather belts, and rings of brass.
Goblets and bowls of colored glass.
Jams from berries, wild and tart.
Paintings brushed with love of heart.
Patchwork quilts and scarves of dreams.
Homemade fudge, sweets and ice-creams.
Pottery crockery with glazes that swirl.
Wind-chimes and vanes, ribbons that twirl.
Wooden goblets and bowls, timber-scented schmooze.
Wax candles set, in solemn rows, pining like pews.

All around, the crowds have streamed,
past stalls half-baked and well esteemed.
With every artist standing up so tall,
So sure their work outshines them all.
So let's not disappoint them! 
Join in Folks! Cheers!

Common

From beneath a veil,
A shroud itself hidden,
Anonymity It's masquerade.
Tired secrets languish,
Benighted by nature,
Emerald, to pale green and white, from jade.
A sough in the head,
Of their tepid maker,
Whispers nothing, wholly unaware.
Crafty camouflage,
For the crafter of secrets,
Who never knew they were there.
The irony aroma,
Stagnant blood without pressure,
Metallic, unmoved, unaffected.
Averse to sense,
Illusory marionette's,
Clear strings, turbid skeins undetected.
And the irony lies,
With an off thirst disguised,
By the growing pines of set minds thought unique.
And as trite as the urges,
Desperate purges,
Like mewls of the sheep seeking shade from critique.

I'm a writer

I am a writer, 
A crafter of sculptures
Showing off ability in creativity. 
Beyond experiences of my own, 
Beyond feelings of my own.

I take a stroll in journeys of others, 
And pave routes in imagination. 
I fill gabs yet to be discovered,
And open doors yet to be walked in.

I bleed pain through ink in hand
And Keep my journal thriving in scripted thoughts 
I give life to thoughts in shapes unknown

I am a writer, 
And I am artistic.
I paint pictures felt with a full heart,
And then again mend a broken heart.

I am like a magician,
I am bound to make the world dance to the beat of my drum.
This is talent wrapped in a golden foil

THESE THOSE SPOKEN WORDS-

Mine boggled journey through the letters
Voices in my mind I hear I heard, reciting revealing words
Radiant verses, some words misspoken are curses
Humanity prime objectives numeral story tellers
Social modern time twenty-first century verses

I know longer write alone
There’s a greater power to be shown
One publisher, Elohim Jehovah
Purposeful will story teller

no dot, nor tittle
Not a unsolved riddle
There’s a greater power to be shown
I know longer write alone

There's a master crafter, a grander poet
A one whom creator of all words
He spoke the first words so stoic
Let there be light
And that point all was right


12/19/24 
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024© from anthology "COGNISANT”

political ruminations

Whereas and wherefore hence and hereafter
An idle balloon sits high in the rafters
It’s hard to decide which one is dafter
The one who just bought it or the “arts” crafter

the media just primps and prunes
while she stumbles in the ruins
rejoicing in the things she brings
while dancing on those puppet strings

he sees a future glowing bright
says he’s the one to make it right
that he will wage an endless fight
if the handcuffs aren’t too tight

The rainbow, seems it’s met its due
All they see is red and blue
Run their mouths, fuel their planes
Call each other nasty names

And we, poor saps, will cast our votes
Based on their nasty, feral quotes
In hopes whoever gets the nod
Will not bring back the firing squad

Karen keeps it all

Karen keeps it all
she has buttons and bows
her very first doll

there are sixteen drawers in her closet
none of them close
some are full of ruined old panty hose

Karen is a crafter, she throws nothing away
her husband keeps quiet, he has no real say

for she might need this and she might need that
she has a a rubber chicken and a Frisbee hat

she has an entire dresser full of patterns and stuff
if you suggest purging, Karen runs off in a huff

She might need that piece of cardboard or that old barrette
Try to sneak something into a garbage, she will most certainly fret.

She keeps it all, it is clutter she values the most.
She is a terrific crafter, but not ever ready to host.

Blank Space Craft

The dark spill muddied my canvas: 
Made its mess, dislocated light 
And thoughtful lines to the edges 
While it claimed the center for spite.
 
It seemed like all was wrecked. 
The time I'd worked nightly
To craft something perfect
(Or at least not unsightly) 

Laid to waist.
A vision erased. 

But then, I spied a photo of the original. 
I thought it would be pretty, as a picture. 
Instead, I noticed flaws so visible 
They would lead a critic to stricture.

It looked off-colored or drab in places. 
Contrived and technically bad. 
Downright mediocre and graceless. 
My memory of the thing had 

Rendered more precious and dear
The plainness this new light made clear. 

An impression most unimpressive.
The thing once grieved not worth its mourning. 
No longer the crafter obsessive
Or wracked with yearning.

What a stroke of luck! 
Now on to scrape the surface 
Or from a new layer construct
An entirely new interface. 

The choice entirely my own
Blank space for the unknown…

With no room left for you.

Master Crafter

Master
crafter

paper
later

compute
astute

website
ignite

laptop
giftshop

FedEx
success

jogger
blogger

clever
weber

keyboard
switchboard

email
voicemail

midnight
uptight

father
mother

good night
sleep tight

blanket
flank it

cover
lover

father
smarter

mainline
offline

loser 
snoozer.

Paper Doll

      
      Pressed on perforated lines by a lonely playmate 
      Affiance instant, folding fingers christen simulate 
      Phantasm button nose,  rosebud lips,  locks flaxen
      Escapist catalogues outfits alphabetically, all prim
      Repairs rapid, creases cease, orchestrated by him


      Dependable quotidian, fix fold away any faults
      Origami girl gives empathy, mouth without insult 
      Lilliputian with ripped ringlets, rested submissive
      Lets crafter cover stiff corners with sterile kisses






                    Thirtieth of April 
            Thoughts overpower actual

A Gift For Myself

I needed a pick-me-up present
But couldn’t rely on an elf,
So I found what I wanted on Etsy
And ordered a gift for myself.

The crafter is stationed in Ireland
So when it was several days late,
I figured that holiday madness
Meant that I should be patient and wait.

Today, though, with patience rewarded,
A package arrived; there were cheers
From my husband, who noticed the dangling
As Guinness pints sway from my ears.

Hunger Fulfilled

Mahi's husband was hungry
Hungry in his longing
One day to be able to stay at an Ashram
His aptitude for yoga was insurmountable

Money was not plentiful and savings were low
The journey would be expensive
Mahi was a brilliant crafter
Being habile made her weaving exceptional.

So she spent all her spare time
Weaving and exchanging her wares
Came the day when she called ..." Ayush"
Giving him the monies she had saved

The journey was made
Ayush's hunger fulfilled
Home was once more a place of happiness.


Poem written on 22 October 2020

Random words were..husband..hungry..ashram..habile..exchanged.

I Am Troubadour

I Am Troubadour...

I am troubadour;
the singer and the swinger
of ancient lyrical lines,
as I inscribe them with my pen.
I am traditionalist;
of writing down many thoughts,
inscribing them on parchment skin
the feelings of inner self.
I am the smith;
a crafter of dexterity
in using many points of view;
when putting down on paper.
I am storyteller;
the one likes to relate
and tell tales of the past,
when sitting at my post
as a new verse unfolds.
and as for all of this
I am the lover of many words,
I am troubadour
and the scribe of writing down,
which effectively
comes from within my mind….

Francis Cooper - Mac

I Am

I Am

Me-Created by God

Woman–I give freely, I am not a tightwad.

Wife–But not to Todd.

Mother–I do not believe in sparing the rod.

Poet–I love to write even if it is about a fly rod.

Comedian–Give me a nod.

Reader-My reading is not about sod. 

Dreamer–About the beach and catching a cod.

Leader–We are off like a flying squad.

Artist-Creative and odd.

Crafter–Making things that are mod.

Lover–Do not call the vice squad.

Traveler-Alone home or abroad.

Speaker-I love when they applaud.


A Rhyming Bio
Date Written: 5/2/2020 

2 Place    I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE Contest Judged:5/25/2020
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich

I Am

I Am…

Woman – give me life to nurture
Wife – give me two lives made one
Singer – give me arias of symphonies
Poet – give me words to move the heart
Dancer – give me waltzes and tap shoes
Joker – give me whimsy born of laughter
Dreamer – give me bright visions to follow
Worker – give my hands tasks every morning
Leader – give me visions to plan
Athlete – give me grace to soar over hurdles  
Explorer – give me unmarked roads to ponder 
Artist - give me scenes to remember
Gardener – give me seeds for future harvests
Crafter – give me scraps of life to weave together
Seeker – give me puzzles to solve
Lover – give me a heart that reaches out
Mother – give me lives to encourage
Child of God – give me brothers and sisters to cherish
Believer – give me the joy of Heaven’s prayer
Prophet - give me sight through the fog

I am…. Made of yesterday, today - maybe tomorrow.
I am not I AM but long to see this face.

Haiku Three Verse Poems

I have created “Haiku Three Verse Poems ©”, English version 
in which I use 3 verses. All three verses are 5-7-5 word syllable counts.
I find this new way very interesting and enjoyable, especially trying to get 
things to work to 5-7-5 in English word syllables. Enjoy and have fun.
    I have several booklets of Haiku Three Verse English Poems © if you’re interested. Some include FIX-A-POEMS (c).
    W.C.Hull . Box 825 Mount Pearl NL CA A1N 3C8
    wchull57@yahoo.com
    Author…Publisher…Artist…Crafter

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