Long Craftsmen Poems
Long Craftsmen Poems. Below are the most popular long Craftsmen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Craftsmen poems by poem length and keyword.
In times to come, heavy as steel that freezes stories yet untold,
The sky wraps itself in ash of thoughts yearning to be confined.
Silent streets converge towards a doubtful, mechanical horizon,
Where the sobriety of hope seems so chillingly sheer.
Man – a fiber vibrating between his hot, obsessive technology,
Seeks through the digital shadow, a sign, like the leaf searching for the sun.
A lost voice seems to slide between our relentless keystrokes,
Voice of a writer, a poet, burning brightly as a flame in the night.
Times will come when we'll yearn to understand,
The moment when eco-souls traversed by stars glimpse into being.
To see, through the storm frightened by our society, other paths,
And from the labyrinth of technology, to rise with wings versed in free dawns.
Poets will be asked to remember freedom,
Wordsmiths rowing against the current, redeeming the moment from fear.
Realities broader than these dark corners of precipitous walls,
Painting on the vault of the world landscapes of thought that might bring us a drop of hope.
Like the memory of water in a thirsty desert,
The poet, a sum of words, opens his soul at the gate of dawn.
Imagining worlds where freedom is not just a word, but breath and pulse,
Where the future is not darkness, but the sunny glade growing at the root of stars.
Oh, may those craftsmen of words come, filigreeing on paper uncut essences,
To write that better reality, with their memory unfettered,
Cherubim of imagination flying over unknown horizons,
To remind us, when darkness descends, that every star has a path, and every dream the right to have wings.
Let them come, to quench our thirst with oases of boundless stories,
In a future as bold as the uncharted seas,
Where the human ship navigates with the oar of poetry toward saved worlds,
To give us trust, to remind us that we can live, in liberty.
Our differences are like the pieces of a puzzle called life.
Are two beings of any species perfectly the same?
Could the resemblance of a thing be its exactness too?
Isn't each creature a mini-universe in itself?
Each, by way of life, seems as though caged in a common zoo.
Like lions in dominance; the camouflage of a tiger;
Restless enthusiasm of monkeys; calmness of cattle;
Like birds of the air, with aspirations to fly higher
Each moment of our daily existence is a battle.
Though, like dolphins, we care, like crabs, we pull each other's legs.
Like good craftsmen, we construct; like bad ones, we destruct
In solving puzzles, we put in the same box all our eggs.
With strangers the keys to our own homes, we gladly entrust
From birth until the end of life, this puzzle continues.
In peacefully passing through this puzzle lies life's perfect muse.
I want to say I’m sorry - your present looks like that.
It wasn’t kicked by UPS or pummeled with a bat
The master wrappers I prefer, simply aren’t around
A slow economy got them or the covid cut them down.
My boys at Neiman Marcus, I miss those guys so much
and the girls Bergdorf Goodman had such a subtle touch
the lacy Le Bon Marché ribbons, are what set their work apart
no matter where you placed those gifts, they always looked like art
I miss those tasteful craftsmen, but instead of being depressed
I watched some Youtube lessons - and I tried my very best
but the present came out so miserably, I thought I should confess
The gnarled hands of woodworkers know the pain
a grip that's crippled from years of constant work
to grasp or carry a momentous strain
this problem is a continuous irk
Nothing can be done but take it in stride
it's a pain from a lifetime that's chosen
there's no complaint, no regrets, only pride
though at times, all the fingers are frozen
They lock firmly in place, become stiff and rigid
as the hands of old craftsmen are calloused
they're earned from hardwoods tightly fitted
made perfect so the work can be purchased
hands of a furniture maker are hard
they're worn and bent, sometimes gnarled and scarred
I want to attach stuff to the ceiling of my house.
The house is full, the walls are saturated. The ceiling is blah.
All white, boring, basic, not quite clean, but bland.
The tables are cluttered, no one has decorated their house more.
Any thing I ever truly liked is on a wall somewhere.
If you gave me something and it is not on a wall, I did not like it.
At all. Even a bit.
The only room in my house I have not touched is my husband’s bathroom.
I have not really touched his office either, but he has confiscated all of other
People’s paintings because we paid for them and only liked them for thirty
Years and put them up there himself, nose to nose, butt to butt.
There is one measly solitary picture in his bathroom, plain, a bit of green.
Wordless.
Plain black frame.
Not my style.
I cannot even go in there.
I am looking at the ceiling fans in the livingroom right now.
If I puncture little holes in the ends of the ceiling fans, I might be able to hang something.
Water guns or match books or barrettes or salt and pepper shakers or something.
I know better than to try to attach stuff to the ceiling
Made of flimsy ceiling tile.
We barely escaped a lawsuit once
When 42 of them fell down, missing an
Insurance man by a couple of inches.
Wasn’t that awkward too, as he had just insured this little beauty.
They are supposedly up better now with better wires.
But with craftsmen being sneaky these days,
Do you really trust that?
Moving along. The cupboard knobs in the kitchen look insanely blah.
An old pal of mine standing nigh seven feet tall,
Basks in regal splendor against the wall.
He's well over one hundred and fifty years old.
Could he speak, Oh! The tales to be told!
That old friend that in my home doth dwell,
Is a stately grandfather clock with open well.
Made when craftsmen took pride in their guild,
'Twas crafted from sturdy German oak to build.
The hours are tolled with sonorous tone.
He's seen so many events now bygone.
Holidays, births, deaths, family mirth,
And even several wars upon this earth!
Every so often I oil his wheels and gears.
After all, he's getting along in years!
I need my old friend for succor and ease.
For that reason him I shall ever appease!
He's seen the birth of a new millennium,
And with each arc of his ponderous pendulum,
Is a reminder never to squander time away,
But to live a productive life each passing day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Walking through this southern gate
You’ll be travelling back in time
Where Emperor’s once ruled this place
You’ve crossed the meridian line
Welcome to the Forbidden City
Full of heavenly rooms
From Ming Dynasty to Qing
Now a beautiful palace museum
A million people built this place
Craftsmen came from every state
Built this palace with artistic design
This complex will surely make you smile
So much skill in architecture
Full of wisdom and ancient treasure
Beautiful murals on the walls
With hidden dragons in secret halls
The floor was laid with golden bricks
Religious symbols placed in it
Reflecting lots of philosophical things
Studied throughout their Dynasties
Surrounded by a deep wide moat
This City almost seems to float
The Imperial palace of Beijing
Built with such intricacy
It’s the largest palace in the world
Chinese culture with history as well
A national treasure of antiquity
This wooden structure stands magnificently
With endless halls and endless turns
Now the splendour of this palace serves
A Dragon’s throne in golden colours
This wonderful palace is like no other
It’s a City within a City
Divided by north and south
With inner and outer courts
Where 24 Emperors were crowned
Walk around the imperial gardens
They are so exquisite to see
Imagine the Empress and her children
Talking simple philosophy
And the legend of those four towers
Was a timeless masterpiece
The story of an old carpenter
Saw the builders on their knees
Won’t you buy a grasshopper?
From my stunning cage
Builders looked in astonishment
Never forget the wisdom of that sage
You’ll need permission if you want to leave
The Emperor rules with supremacy
In the heavenly hall of purity
Don’t forget to bow and courtesy
The Emperor and Empress already know your needs
Just be wise and speak carefully
Using good manners always please
And be prepared to get down on your knees
A World Heritage Site
© Copyright KC. Leake
21st October 2017
All Rights Reserved
Written: March 28, 2024 For Constance La France Contest
Quote: (The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.) Marcel Proust
__________________________________
Slumber unwinds within crinkled cellophane,
Enigmatic visions come to life and sustain.
Geometrical shapes skin to pyramids, expand,
Cruising fairies sing through shimmering sand.
Hey, Captain! Ferry sails across any hurdle,
A searing streak splits the sky as a starved squirrel.
A prize is won, dock shuts, and crowds cheer,
At night, memories of you come back so near.
Delicate spiderwebs hang as stars in the sky,
Mozart hands waltz ivory piano keys sigh.
Galaxy emits a lambent, milky-white light,
Tapestry Highways sails by my a quilted sight.
A cosmic queen embarks on a cynosure journey,
Slicing over a glistening ocean during night mercy.
Colorful pathways in the sky are formed by sea swirls,
Mermaids glide fluffy waves of glistening pearls.
Behold a sturdy sail, a tough and bold ship, oh heart!
As bleak as the gnomes at dawn, it's time to depart!
On deck, the skipper is fierce and red-dripping,
Meanwhile, my soul lingers in frigid buds snipping.
Captain! Rise and hear chimes; to you, a flag raised,
You gained fights and flights, and doves amazed.
The ship has sailed safely and fulfilled its voyage,
He gulped distance, sea, time, and buoyage.
It was a time of jubilation and feelings of love,
During spell hour, they shone brightly from above.
Dived in the chaotic bliss of love, this waned,
In a misty past, the spirit soared and stained.
Rivers rush down slopes, and peaks loom tall,
Rafters ride via waterfalls as bridges never fall.
Deer graze in fields, and craftsmen, work away,
Sweets and meals sizzle on burner, made to stay.
Chili, pasta, beans, and maize are all we need,
The Alpine guy eats grits, Angus, and meat, indeed.
Riders hold on tight with flying manes and fish dives,
West Virginia alpine star twinkles and jives.
Tales many, O pearl, about your formation have I heard,
Some unbelievable, some doubtable, all luring, yet,
In their cautiousness, your soul, the oysters lovingly gird,
As a child in a mother's womb merrily you get set...!
It is true, for months, within your mother's womb you did starve,
Your birth, to the world of lakes, and oceans, is a delight,
Master craftsmen, as other gems, need not cut you or carve,
Midst precious gems, yet, in the global peddle, you shine bright...!
Crowns of kings and queens and gods and goddesses you adorn,
Profound purity of foam-like gold-whiteness in you ooze;
As though the cosmos and the constellations are reborn,
Dust of the sun and the moon and the stars, in you, transfuse...!
None can renounce their enchantment to you, which is boundless,
Your existence, yet, like pure divine presence, is soundless...!!!
RE-INVENTING THE WHEEL
The universe rhymes with poetry of motion
Ecstasy expressed in lyrical expansion
Where nothing stays stubbornly static
For the laws of motion aren’t erratic.
The rhythm of life is poetry in motion
Trudges on time with triple acceleration
Toils to take timid living on fast trajectory
On revolving wheel, a revolution in human history.
Carts and chariots chained to churning wheels
Got liberated morphing into modern automobiles
Clever craftsmen made them carriage of desire
An art in motion, supersonic speed they aspire.
A famous fundamental physical factor called friction
Imparts an important impediment on vehicular motion
On the week wheels that turn tortured by the ground
They haven’t yet taken vehicle across barrier of sound.
Modern life is moving fast like planet rushing in orbit
Time has come now to design a deft vehicle for it
That would face no constraint of any speed limit
A new era of motion would dawn on concept of transit.
This I would like to achieve by re-inventing the wheel
That would turn on ground but the touch would be virtual
The frictionless vehicle would attain the speed of light
Make space-time travel to the past a delayed delight.
February 9, 2018.