The tinkerer and his tool kit
turned a tarnished old key
which wound forgotten wheels
rusted and bound and…
A little oil should do,
a slight smattering of grease
perhaps, is all it will take
to recall the lost…lost…
Now what’s come of my lens?
Ah, yes, you see? Do you see?
There, my lad, it’s right there!
The heart of the matter…
Now, what’s the matter?
I think it can be fixed, lad.
But not today…tomorrow!
Tomorrow it shall be!
A little more rust,
a little more forgetting
a little less vision
and…
Let’s leave it be for now.
Everything is ok.
8/14/16
As a Christmas Gift
Life seemed so great while things were grand
And my poems were loved throughout the land
Everyone understood what each one meant
Which from God had been heaven sent.
Poems were read over and over again
And in lots of languages also spoken
By all tried and true found poems to be
Adequately adjusting to each society.
Current poems recently became well-known
By each child and even if fully grown
Firmly established standard to be set
From first my poems had been met.
Many more for you I saved in store
In future will wonderfully love and adore
Also many spirits my poems may uplift
Calm us down emailed as a Christmas gift.
Sent by James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Was Santa in Air Force, Coast Guard
or Soldier or sailor, tinkerer, toiler
or a tailor. Whoever he or she was,
he or she was probably my mom
and dad. I am willing to bet my
Christmas stockings on it. I might
even look for him in there to.
Buster Brown might be smiling
and beaming.
Young, we started life together but fate forked us separate ways:
Some folks continued while others dropped out at the elementary.
On and on we were done with the competitions of the basic days;
Andrew became a schoolmaster and Aggrey a sly entrepreneur,
Augustine became a man of science treating and mending the sick.
And I became a tottering tinkerer of prose and a weaver of rhymes.
I still wish to know what became of the boys we called Peter and Dick…
Dad,
my name sake,
you taught me so much.
“Tobble” meant fair to middlin’
and you were tobble patient;
you taught me to drive
and spanked me
once.
Smart
the fixer
was intuitive;
“pert near” meant almost
and you pert near built our house.
Mom called you - her tinkerer,
experimental
but truly
safe.
Strong
hearty laugh,
"peak ed" meant sickly
and cancer left you peak ed.
Christmas 1989
you passed the torch on,
peaceful and
sure.
These days I work alone
Tinkering and the like
I find it so interesting
Filling gaps in my life
The screws and sharp metal
Filling a hole?
No, making it bigger
Pouring empty into empty
I suppose
He used to tinker
He made old things new
And new things old
He worked long
And his hands were leather
His eyes sharp like metal
His words moved
He was a leader
He was a fighter
He smoked
Grandpa. . .
He was a patient
He was an experiment
They didn’t get it right
He was a holy man
Loved by people
By god
loved by me
Grandpa
The tinkerer
Basement full of odds and ends
in metal bits and comprehends
Glue and gumption, grease and grit
born from nimble hands of wit
Dimming evening, find him there
in the basement, light of care
winding ribbon through the glass
watching movies from the past
Tiny brushes, sticky paint
Clock strikes one, it's getting late
Dolls in poses, birds in wood
whittled and misunderstood
Nuts and bolts of stainless steel
forming legs and arms so real
Skylights etched from glass in lead
with words he hears inside his head
Beauty that he pours out free
stuck inanimate though they be
All these hobbies free the mind
Tinkerer, you are divine.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.