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av-willisPoems
In a land beyond the rainbow Stands a dark decrepit wood Where monkeys glide between the branches And witches live, both bad and good There within its tangled branches Lies a path bedecked with gold Leading brave souls who do not blanch On to wonders yet untold Near this path of yellow mortar Stands an ancient half hewn tree Missing wood, about a quarter Standing **** for all to see In this wood there stands a hatchet Once beloved, now fraught with rage Just another rusted gadget Cast by in the wake of age On a gnarled and twisted root Centered in a mushroom ring Stands ***** a metal figure Frozen ever in mid-swing There he stands through frozen winters There he stands through summer's heat There he stands through April showers Standing ever on his feet Once he glowed a gentle pewter Once he moved with solemn grace Lines of rust bedeck his figure Streaking slowly down his face Once he stood a man of flesh A simple hewer of the wood Who held a cabin near the creek And loved a maiden fair and good In the village near the forest There he sought to win her hand A debt of love he'd pay with interest If beside his side she'd stand In the woods he sought the bride price Needed to start their new life In the trees he found the journey Soon to be defined by strife By an elm his axehead sundered Cleaving cruelly through his arm Through the boughs his loud cry thundered To the heavens in alarm To the ground his lost arm plopped Landing softly with a thump To the town the woodsmen hopped Grasping at the ****** stump There he found the village tinker And roused him roughly from his bed Dragging him out to the workshop Leaking out a wake of red There he begged the wizened workman 'Make a new arm from your cans For i marry in a fortnight Let my bride take a whole man' So the old man plied his trade To make a limb of springs and gears Twisting tendons in a braid To move his fingers through the years Now renewed to former vigor The Woodsman went back to his trade Returning to the morning's rigor Back into the ancient glade Little did the doughty hewer Know his axe contained a curse Stricken on unknowing users Causing their limbs to disperse By an oak he lost his left ear By a beech he lost the right Hazel took him down a peg And by a yew he lost his sight Through the week the tinker labored On in a rush to replace Just enough of the woodcutter To accept his bride's embrace On the day his nuptials dawned The woodsman clanged into the square Passing through the crowd with awe On to meet his maiden fair There she stood beneath a trellis Sky blue ribbons through her braids Oh, she was a sight to rellish Worth the trial of the glades There he stood forever altered A shadow of the former man In this form forever haltered To this shell of springs and cans The cutter broke into a dash To wrap his woman in his arms On the cobbles his feet clashed Causing her no small alarm From the altar his bride fled With screams of terror in her wake On the day  he should have wed Became the day his heart did break Suddenly devoid of purpose To the copse the woodsman flees Never ere' again to surface From the shelter of the trees Months went by the woodsman toiled Day and night, no pause to sleep Day and night his kettle boiled Over with the urge to weep Till the sound of April thunder Rumbled in the cutters ears Bringing rain that tore assunder Dams he'd built around his tears So between his swings he wept Of loss and of abandoned trust Trails of tears in his joints crept And hardened slowly into rust Now he stands in frozen duty Saplings rising all around Dreaming of an ancient beauty Long surrendered to the ground Till the day another maid Returns to bathe his limbs in oil On that day he'll leave the glade Moving on to other toils Then the rust begins to part Then the magic starts to slake Then the woodsman finds his heart Then the Tin Man starts to wake
0
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
Tin Man
In a land beyond the rainbow Stands a dark decrepit wood Where monkeys glide between the branches And witches live, both bad and good There within its tangled branches Lies a path bedecked with gold Leading brave souls who do not blanch On to wonders yet untold Near this path of yellow mortar Stands an ancient half hewn tree Missing wood, about a quarter Standing **** for all to see In this wood there stands a hatchet Once beloved, now fraught with rage Just another rusted gadget Cast by in the wake of age On a gnarled and twisted root Centered in a mushroom ring Stands ***** a metal figure Frozen ever in mid-swing There he stands through frozen winters There he stands through summer's heat There he stands through April showers Standing ever on his feet Once he glowed a gentle pewter Once he moved with solemn grace Lines of rust bedeck his figure Streaking slowly down his face Once he stood a man of flesh A simple hewer of the wood Who held a cabin near the creek And loved a maiden fair and good In the village near the forest There he sought to win her hand A debt of love he'd pay with interest If beside his side she'd stand In the woods he sought the bride price Needed to start their new life In the trees he found the journey Soon to be defined by strife By an elm his axehead sundered Cleaving cruelly through his arm Through the boughs his loud cry thundered To the heavens in alarm To the ground his lost arm plopped Landing softly with a thump To the town the woodsmen hopped Grasping at the ****** stump There he found the village tinker And roused him roughly from his bed Dragging him out to the workshop Leaking out a wake of red There he begged the wizened workman 'Make a new arm from your cans For i marry in a fortnight Let my bride take a whole man' So the old man plied his trade To make a limb of springs and gears Twisting tendons in a braid To move his fingers through the years Now renewed to former vigor The Woodsman went back to his trade Returning to the morning's rigor Back into the ancient glade Little did the doughty hewer Know his axe contained a curse Stricken on unknowing users Causing their limbs to disperse By an oak he lost his left ear By a beech he lost the right Hazel took him down a peg And by a yew he lost his sight Through the week the tinker labored On in a rush to replace Just enough of the woodcutter To accept his bride's embrace On the day his nuptials dawned The woodsman clanged into the square Passing through the crowd with awe On to meet his maiden fair There she stood beneath a trellis Sky blue ribbons through her braids Oh, she was a sight to rellish Worth the trial of the glades There he stood forever altered A shadow of the former man In this form forever haltered To this shell of springs and cans The cutter broke into a dash To wrap his woman in his arms On the cobbles his feet clashed Causing her no small alarm From the altar his bride fled With screams of terror in her wake On the day  he should have wed Became the day his heart did break Suddenly devoid of purpose To the copse the woodsman flees Never ere' again to surface From the shelter of the trees Months went by the woodsman toiled Day and night, no pause to sleep Day and night his kettle boiled Over with the urge to weep Till the sound of April thunder Rumbled in the cutters ears Bringing rain that tore assunder Dams he'd built around his tears So between his swings he wept Of loss and of abandoned trust Trails of tears in his joints crept And hardened slowly into rust Now he stands in frozen duty Saplings rising all around Dreaming of an ancient beauty Long surrendered to the ground Till the day another maid Returns to bathe his limbs in oil On that day he'll leave the glade Moving on to other toils Then the rust begins to part Then the magic starts to slake Then the woodsman finds his heart Then the Tin Man starts to wake
Written by
av-willis
American
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
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