Once there was a log
Floating downstream
On a swift-flowing river
Towards a sawmill.
And, on that log,
Perched on a loose patch of bark,
Behind a broken limb,
There was an ant.
The ant didn’t know about the sawmill.
He did not hear the rushing water.
He couldn’t tell the size of the log,
Or perceive the danger he was in.
On that piece of bark, the ant was king,
Ruler of all that he could see.
So, he began to issue orders to the log,
“Go left – now turn right!”
Then, that log entered the sawmill,
And was gone in a pile of boards and dust.
That ant was gone then too.
All that remained was the river.
We all too often think,
“I’m the center of my world”.
We should remember that ant.
Look out farther than your patch of bark.
Categories:
sawmill, allegory, analogy, extended metaphor,
Form: Free verse
Once there was a log
Floating downstream
On a swift-flowing river
Towards a sawmill.
And, on that log,
Perched on a loose patch of bark,
Behind a broken limb,
There was an ant.
The ant didn’t know about the sawmill.
He did not hear the rushing water.
He couldn’t tell the size of the log
Or perceive the danger he was in.
On that piece of bark, the ant was king,
Ruler of all that he could see.
So, he began to issue orders to the log,
“Go left – now turn right!”
Then, that log entered the sawmill
And was gone in a pile of boards and dust.
That ant was gone then too.
All that remained was the river.
We all too often think
“I’m the center of my world”.
We should remember that ant.
Look out farther than your patch of bark.
Categories:
sawmill, animal, perspective, symbolism,
Form: Didactic
Confidence is a choice,
Preponderance of undue ignorance,
Tethered in tandem to wheels of spiny leathery,
Bumpy hairs click back at a finger’s flick.
Rotations earned from itself, but more,
Tread marks lead the way,
Devouring grounds of consummate cortex,
Until tracings are unchallenged by craft.
Back and forth, a sawmill slices,
Though it’s only imagined.
Inside mind and spine seen when,
The body refuses to move again.
Which corridor of counting oneself by the shelf,
Bound leather to me be shown?
Pores of proportions, round algebra,
Confines Gaussian blurs to the grown.
I choose that which nature gifts, the will to change the mind,
Plastic melts and pressure sticks to those whose self is kind.
Categories:
sawmill, age, appreciation, confidence, nice,
Form: Free verse
His knowledge was his untapped wellspring,
After 93 years of learning anew;
He valued knowing something about everything,
From construction & farming, to baseball & screws.
Early in life, a dairy farm taught him,
To think on his feet, with vast common sense;
Learning math at the sawmill, he estimated lumber,
And rebuilt old motors, appliances & fences.
For years he delivered, automobile parts,
To Tar Heel cities & Outer Banks towns;
Till one day, Wayne County rewarded his smarts,
With leadership to run, their buildings and grounds.
A Lion's Club/Odd Fellow—active for decades,
Making differences in the lives of many;
A loyal church member, a Jack of all trades,
Directing great efforts, that helped countless plenty!
Later in life, he started Smith’s Crafts,
With Logs that told Weather--Cow Clocks that told time;
Wrote a book on a bell, he loved to autograph,
Reading local history aloud, literary passion sublime!
His legacy is people, warm and loving,
Celebrating them in visits near and far;
Shelton Eugene Smith, Sr. a one-of-a-kind,
Honored by many, remembered by all!
(In honor & Memory of one of the world’s most fascinating men)
Categories:
sawmill, bereavement, christian, death of
Form: Rhyme
Think of us oft, when you travel afar,
On orders protecting, lives we enjoy;
You and your pals, family superstars,
We miss you every time, you must deploy.
And while you’re away, the kids will move on,
School, sports, church—and nightly prayers for their Dad;
Strong daily living; a life marathon,
Until your return, our love ironclad.
Many folks benefit from your good will,
They honor volunteer service no doubt;
And when you return, back to the sawmill,
Our own return to normal, comes about.
Thank you. We love you. You are our hero.
Our resistance to your service—zero!
August 17, 2018
Categories:
sawmill, america, appreciation, children, dad,
Form: Sonnet
Now An Open Space
Sure had been such a beautiful swan
But pretty soon she will be gone
With feathers which were so white
Now high up heaven this very night.
Return back to us she never will
Swam in pond in front of a sawmill
As water would flow over the wheel
Thoughts and emotions I could feel.
Took pictures of her there in the sun
Frolicking in water having much fun
And was Late last night of yesterday
When she apparently passed away.
Life seems so lonely without her here
And up into dark sky did disappear
Into heaven where new home will be
Result of another pollution fatality.
Soon no swans will be on earth anymore
And now each time when I open my door
Recent reality I finally will have to face
Pond and sawmill are now an open space.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Soldier
Categories:
sawmill, sad,
Form: Couplet
one family
five children..
rabid dog bites dad
death angel visits
widow left to fend...
children's life hard
one pat of butter
slipped through four fluffy biscuits..
poverty
child works picking peas
goes to the field everyday...
fabric bought for dress
My mother's father was bitten by a rabid dog
the doctor order shots for him and told him
do not get out and get hot just take it easy.
He went to move the sawmill and was taken
ill with the disease..He died leaving my mother's
mother to rear five children ages 6 months to
12 years on her own..Life was hard..This was in
1905..She said that she would not marry and
have another man over her and her children.
Categories:
sawmill, family, life,
Form: Haiku
With parties abounding
Why stay home alone
Your Mon and your Father
Can’t see that you’ve grown
No talent or accent
Are you really quite plain
No thunder or lightning
Just a 13 year rain
The pressure to join in
It’s really intense
Obtain the right symbols
On any pretense
No flash zoom or dazzle
You’ll not make the grade
Until you’re prepared
For the great masquerade
Trade referent for symbol
And true wealth for cash
Make failures flamboyant
And cultivate dash
Just live for the moment
It’s all that you’ll get
Don’t think back or ponder
You’ll only regret
That what you must lay down
Exceeds what you’ll be
Just wood in a sawmill
Not a lush growing tree
Categories:
sawmill, growing up, high school,
Form: Light Verse
alone now. swaying
shadow on the ground too crooked
for the sawmill
Categories:
sawmill, nature, sad,
Form: Haiku
all my life i have wanted to be a
papermill mechanic in minnosota.
i would write short stories on pieces
of sawdust as they flew through the air.
my grandfathers diligence would be for
all to see, my broken and bare knuckels
bleeding openly.
mumbling under my breath the holy scirptures
as i passed by vacant spaces.
the sunlight would reveal depressions
in a pool of diesel on the concrete floor.
and for a few minutes between the spinning
of the calloused blades and the tearing of
skin and roots someone would turn thier
head and see the mercy seat at noon.
a motion of the hand would be given
and all the norwegian sons would
gather together to sit on a couple of bent
metal folding chairs round a table
in the breakroom.
only i would be left to stack a few ply sheets
in a far off corner maybe saving one to
write the great american 21st century novel.
Categories:
sawmill,
Form: I do not know?
Love is an all encompassing emotion
Love matters can cause quite a commotion
Jump into the bed with oils, after bath - lotion
Put the lover's leap into the heated motion
Love will grow my avacado seed on the sill
Love can be quiet walks, in the night so still
Lovers can be loud, like the grind of a sawmill
When you leave the hotel, be sure to pay bill
God's love is and matters to me
Without Him, I would not me be
Parents are lovers, making baby
Without God wouldn't come to be
For now you see love matters
Like rain on a pavement spatters
It pours down from Madhatters
And Alice, wonderment lathers
Like a baptism, showing God
Our soul will rise after our bod
Is gone to Heaven. Spare a rod
Love a child, as does our God
Categories:
sawmill, faith, lovelove,
Form: Rhyme
Why did our fathers’ fence fell
And the fortunes of our motherland thrown into the well?
-Like a veteran midwife with the history of abortions
We have failed to hatch the golden eggs of our pride and passions.
Why did our laws turn flaws
And charlatans made our charters grow claws?
-Like the bright beam of utopia before reality
Light have failed to go beyond the dark cobweb of our fantasy
Why did our lands turn islands
And the gloomy cloud shielded the truth of reality from our minds?
-Like a plagiarized poem before a forensic expert
Our political spies cannot fathom the faulty tone in our country’s concert.
Why did our sages’ pages fade?
And our green garden grows too thick for the saintly spade?
-Like the termite that is sentenced to die in sawmill
Corruption has glued itself to our land and blown up our bill.
Time! I say time will tell,
One day the snail will not be shielded by its shell
-Like the shadow behind the man that leaves his shelter ,
The belittled bush meat will hunt and catch the hunter.
Categories:
sawmill, depression, inspirational, passion, political,
Form: Verse
My father’s timber array arrived on an
overloaded Diamond Reo flatbed.
It dumped oak scraps, leafless dead-woods,
inspiring last metamorphosis to
warming fires come winter’s weather.
Empty, truck leaves then heaves
into a scrubby alley
squeezing by barely.
With its narrow fit made
it disappearing through a backyard gate
into a cloud of its own making
belched from two shaking
upright tailpipes.
Bark cull, coppice slats, saw food pilled
to near roof high. This sawmill refuge awaits
stacking sequent, once cross-sawed
and set to a suitable size for stove fodder.
I am father's volunteer; I am the master stacker
of wand-wood. With my bow-saw in hand,
I look not on labor of hours nor days, but eternities.
In the eyes of evolution's lies I see ancient youths,
countless fellows of ten-years-old like me
and leap with them to the task of cave dwellers.
Categories:
sawmill, life, work,
Form: Free verse