Crafters 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!

Battle of the Beers

   German Beer 
     Its crafters considered superior

   American Beer manufactured by
     ~ the ‘Department of the Inferior’

At a Craft Fair

At a craft fair, people’s projects
Proudly are displayed,
So would-be customers can stop
To see what they have made.

From jewelry to knitted hats,
To paintings, quilts and soaps,
The crafters eye each passerby;
A stop will raise their hopes.

I feel a little bad if I
Slip by with just a glance
And sense that if I do so,
I’ll receive some looks askance.

Yet if I show some interest
They’re prepared to make a sale
And if that doesn’t happen,
Disappointment will prevail.

I like to go to craft fairs
Though I often wonder why,
For I leave there feeling guilty
If there’s nothing I must buy.

Level of Concouness

Borders Galashiels and Peebles
Sycamore Gap By Hadrian's Wall stood a sycamore tree
m cut it down for a world to see. Maybe the shoots will resprout
we heard an angler say. 

Her smiled signaled her excitement
she was eager to reveal
something more than elegant
a cloth would conceal
startled by it's
magnificents
I gasped upon the sight
the exquisite beauty
an antiqued technique
 liked distressed it shines
in the dimmest of light
nighttime does it best
The Hadrian Sycamore
a well storied detail
she used the natural of night
it secrets she would reveal

They crafted a picture frame
on each corner was a
scarlet red
the shimmering golded hue
each corner brightened
with red
it glory stems
from the crafters sorted works
the grooves of embossing
carved with an artisains detail
again the night
sold the peice some wanders to conceal
all strangers of this
aren't as novice as they seem
the stuff of story
sort of like a dream

Oh, Poetry

Oh, Poetry, why are you not
What we think you should be?
Have you not been forever malleable
Pliantly submissive beneath our hammers
Assuming forms that mimic or surpass
The master crafters lingering tones
A thickening of thinning edges
Slicing through the arrogance of time.

Oh, Poetry, must I make you mine?
Court you, cajole you, dance your dance.
Could we not meet as passing lover’s,
Teasers, flaunting temptations,
Scintillating scents wafting wildly
Through a momentary passion,
A secret rendezvous
with desire’s
need..

The Temptress and Her Dark Spread Wicked Web

The Temptress And Her Dark Spread Wicked Web

Your course was chosen, waiting for you to find it
Love came forth and you sought to forever bind it
Yet earth and sky saw your scheming inner spirit
And in life's madden race, a voice said, just shear it
Mother Nature saw and fiercely shook your rafters
Whilst Fate smiled at those wily little crafters
O' blindness, your melody races ahead
Your soul lives on dirty water and molded bread.

Laugh at those that see your audacious little game
With those selfish whims and you without any shame
Moon mocks you as your lying roars like loud thunder
Tis very true, truth shall bring your dreams asunder.

Your course was chosen, waiting for you to find it.
Love came forth and you sought to forever bind it.

Robert J. Lindley, 9-08- 2022
Sonnet, (Dark)- (Light reveals evil and its tragic deeds exist)

Note:
A sad look back into the darkness, wherein youth and folly collided.. Pain and sorrow flourished. -1977

A Gift

Courier arrived today,
Doorstep gift in the usual way,
Nothing better than this,
Inhale wool to craft and knit,
It's about textures and threads,
No wool is what I dread,
"Fat chance!' is what the crafters said!

Quite a Party

I know how to party,
On Friday nights, really,
I have crocheting, you see,
A stash of yarn, and coffee,
I'd say that's quite a party,
Hope all the crafters agree!

Home Alone

Here I am, home alone,
 I do not whinge or moan,
 I have wool and yarn.
For patterns, I do not go far,
Crafters do not need company,
We occupy time quite merrily,
Even if this is Irish craft,
Might be in the bin, I laugh,
So I scribble more poetry,
Home alone with no company!

National Button Day

Yesterday was Button Day;
I somehow let it slip
Or maybe I just chose instead
To button up my lip.

Begun in 1938,
This date was set aside
To celebrate the crafters
Who keep notions stores supplied.

For think about your buttons – 
Not those round ones, white and plain
But the myriad varieties
That sewing sites contain.

There are endless shapes and colors
And materials as well,
Most with little holes for threading – 
Look real close and you can tell.

Why, the perfect style of button
Can improve a garment’s looks
And as fasteners, they’re easier
Than zippers, snaps or hooks.

Just don’t push somebody’s buttons,
Even one who’s button cute
For on Button Day (or one day late)
We owe them a salute.

Gaslight Square

In another narcoleptic nightmare,
along crepuscular curbs
I am endlessly stalked by the depraved. 
Their railing against conspiring contrivances.
These gaslighting doctors of spin.

On every corner a barking Icke or Alex Jones,
On every path a fear-mongering Judy Mikovits.
Get hip to all the globalist conspiracies, 
Look smart, as all the word-crafters think for you!
Submit, as all the witchcrafters take from you!
These gaslighting doctors of spin.

Everywhere the nebulous deep state threat! 
Don’t you know?
OAN told me so,
	and Fox News provided the echo.
Co-conspirators of conspiracy conspiring,
Their shrieking against baleful bogeys,
Their immolation of fading truths.
These gaslighting doctors of spin.

Warlord POTUS, a Stalin, and Hitler disciple.
“Truth isn’t truth,” Rudy told us, after all.
The best control of the masses:
choke all channels 
with conspiring conspiracy cocktails,
these gaslighting doctors of spin.

It's a Chick Thing

We are crafters,I know, 
We do things row by row,
We'll do housework at the end of this row,
We said that several hours ago!

Crafters and Makers

Crafters  and Makers

         How Bless you are if you can craft and make  your living.

         Not too many people can craft an idea or merchandise to

         make a living.  Crafters  and Makers-How Bless they are

         to be living in this country to copyright their items and

         make a living.

Be the Poem

the world craves
more artists
creative souls
sensitive antennas
conceptual skills
performing arts
artisans of beauty
painters
crafters
poets
musicians
dancers
the world craves
more expression
more love
more magic

your life is your gift
back to the universe

be the poem
that moves the world



Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~IN THE GARDEN OF MY FANTASY~ 2023

Read on air by invitation  ~  July 14, 2021  'WORDS & MUSIC'

AP: 2nd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2021

Submitted on July 13, 2021 for A BRIAN STRAND JULY 14 POETRY CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST

Originally posted on June 20, 2019

God, Bottles Our Tears

God, Bottles Our Tears
shed
For Fallen Roses
By: Tom Wright
4/26/00

Sleep,
lay heavy o'er the room.
Fading fast, a single Rose,
that once was held, full in bloom.
Now,
It's fading petals have been cast.
Strewn about as papier-mâché’s,
before a crafters broom,
whose time has came to fast.
Weep,
but mourn not your lovely flower,
forever from gloom,
now, having fulfilled appointed hour.
Swift,
has fallen the petal last,
but from saddening thoughts, refrain.
Granting pleasant memories space
to flourish and remain,
of your Roses' vibrant past.

Psalms:  126 : 5
"They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy"
Dedicated:
To those whose Rose has gone.
Mothers Day 2000

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