Craftsman Poems

Jesus the Gardener

from a craftsman of heaven's domains ~ to a gardener of olives

Journey of the Craftsman

Raised by his grandmother,
He understood the depth of life at a young age,
He delved deeper into existence as he turned each page,
Life was like a book before him.

He often asked intriguing questions,
Ones that made people wonder and ponder,
His mind was a blooming field,
Time facilitated the yield.

His grandmother told him stories about the night,
How it had

The Craftsman

     He mended shoes for a mere pittance
        His payment was your smile
     A craftsman from another age
        Pride in his work his going wage 

     One morn his

Craftsman

With golden hand
Craftsman creates
Arts beyond time.

Jeu, the Living Craftsman

Jumped down to save the battle hardened pearl made from heaven's dazzling greatness 

Evenly spread and crucified the serpent of ocean's darkness 

Uplifted the ships of dazzling light he crafted to be heaven's brightness

The Better Craftsman

He could take what most found, in the time of that
 Particular incumbent fashion, to be lacking in any 
  Pleasing or greatly passionate way,
And, after immersing it into low, blue flame,
 Repeatedly beat upon this quivering mass as 
  If it were but a whitened molten lump when
Drawn from violent, torturing heat

A Wonderful Creator Thus a Masterful Craftsman

God established the color of His children
Yes, we are all of God's children
Well, we are one big extended family across the earth
More than that, we are brothers and sisters, kinfolks to each other
Our skin colors are an evolutionary adaptation and process due to the environmental conditions that we dwell in

Meanwhile, in the Garden of Eden,

Master Craftsman

This broken vessel leaked its bitter bile
from every spider crack of spiraling webs
damaged by a lover of careless means

refurbished by the hands of a master craftsman
who learned his trade in lonely liquid years of blackness
filled with empty bottles of blame

damp darkness dripping from his eyes
he honed his craft through sleepless nights
of reflection to learn the

Fun: A Poor Craftsman Blames His Tools

The cookies were raw, must be the salt,
The oven's a little bit broke,
And the cake didn't rise, flat as a tack,
Must have been a faulty egg yoke,

Maybe the hammer is bent at the head,
Maybe the saw is just blunt,
Maybe I need a new set of tools,
So I can work like a normal adult,

You see, each

A Craftsman Named Handy--

There was a craftsman named Handy
Who used to a craftsman dandy
everyday day he'd make
a craved wooden stakes
and boxes shaped like hearts to hold candies


7/11/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©

The Craftsman

With the skill of many years,

his aged hands move,

movement that years have made,

fast and sure that when young,

were slow and doubtful,

and thought years of practice,

when in each day he does again,

the same moves as always before,

and the same as tomorrows,

and day by day his skills improve,

although each movement may not be better than

the last,

in the

Be a Maker, Not a Taker

Some shout no to corporate welfare
And spit on those who say otherwise.
Tax loopholes seem unfair,
To those who minimize
Their day-to-day and scrutinize
The monthly budget.
The craftsmen yowl this advice,
Be a Maker, Not a Taker.

An artisan lists out what's true and fair;
A list of various jobs and supplies.
To complete his family's share
Of fruited endeavors reprise.
The labor like clockwork

Craftsman Avatar

CRAFTSMAN AVATAR

The source of what we perceive in the physical world
Is a question that exercises the wisest of minds
Nonetheless it seems, as nature is slowly unfurled
There's a pattern and form that speak of creation divine
So it is in the microcosm: this artisan skill
In the mind of the craftsman a new creation takes form
Then materials are

My Father the Craftsman Part I

Death of mother hallowed out silence 
   more painful then  buzzing power tool,
aye never again saw, 
   nor heard industriousness jollity eviced, 
   contrasted when mourning did rule

wrought immediate cessation 
   from his strong lance throwing arms, 
   where artisanal magic did un spool

My Father the Craftsman Part Ii

Suddenly without bedmate and counterpart 
   one month shy of fifty years, no deity could answer
razor sharp emotional pain cut to the quick 
   recollecting ballroom dancer

himself as a handsome youth so graceful and suave, 
   fast as Bill Haley, or comet 
   and lightly afoot in

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