"metalwork" poems
#
*I wander throught the works of art
upon a gorgeous but cool day,
Bewildered by the beauty
(and the price they ask to pay).
Paintings hang in canvas booths
in styles of every kind.
Statues, crafts and metalwork
aesthetically designed
Food and drink and music too
a rousing, festive place.
But oh my friends, the greatest art
was smiles on every face.
So many strangers mingling
with a common goal to share
To wit: a friendly greeting
and goodwill enough to spare.
Indeed, the day was perfect
with weather cool and fine.
But nothing tops a friendly smile
in harmony with mine.*
#
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
Twelve Olympians, to rule as they choose.
Twelve Olympians, we'll start with Zeus.
God of sky, thunder, lightning, law.
Ruled the Olympians with the justice he saw.
Commonly referred to as the Father.
Next is Poseidon, God of Water.
"A tamer of horses and a saviour of ships,"
Said in one of Homer's hymns.
Next is Hera, Queen of the Gods, and of women.
Giving mothers a carriage, and marriage to men.
Next is Demeter, Goddess of Harvest, giving fertility.
Hades captured her daughter, Persephone, and her virginity.
Then there's Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
Lept out of Zeus' head, and earned her throne in the kingdom.
Apollo is next, God of Music, Poetry, Light.
Also capable of bringing plague and plight.
Artemis, Goddess of Moon and Hunt, and Apollo's twin.
Guided mothers through childbirth, a sacred ******
Also, beloved Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.
Lover of Ares, who favored battles and blood.
Only Hephaestus and Aphrodite were wed.
Fire, metalwork, art of sculpture he led.
Also, there's Hermes, a god bringing word.
Among other things, guide to the Underworld.
Finally, there's Hesta, Goddess of the Hearth.
Feeding families and serving the home with warmth.
Twelve Olympians, to rule the sky.
Twelve Olympians, give your memory a try.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Two eyes appeared from under a broadrimmed hat.
They looked around with astonishment.
In a schoolroom, far off in the distance, a boy was
Busy making a wooden bowl.
The teacher unaccustomed to such slowness
Requested a completion date.
“I am not slow thought the boy, just working
Away until I get it right.”
He met the teacher’s gaze with an expression
Of opacity and a sense of bewilderment.
On another day, at a later date, this same boy
Was found in his metalwork class applying
Cylinders of gases to his small creation, quietly,
Hoping for a connection before he was blown
To smithereans. Two blue eyes concentrated as
The jets of flames hissed into space.
Too long the gases flowed.
The master rose, the boy shook and his eyes
Widened.
In a playground, sometime earlier,
A small boy could be seen playing without a coat.
Gossiping women spoke of this unnatural act,
This exception to the fold. The boy stared back
Hearing their words with his eyes.
Decades later when his hair had turned from
Brown to grey but his eyes were still blue
And wide apart, he painted a little ***
Sitting on a pale surface, gazing into nothingness.
This painting took him a long time.
He had to get it right, the tones , the lines,
The connections.
After he finished ‘Little *** he sat down
And stared into the two blue blobs set wide
Apart on its surface and he thought, “this is
Me, the boy, the man, the painter, of wide
Apart, unnameable moments.”
The Beginning.
Love Mary ***
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
Were you given a star at school for good work?
a smiley face, very good or well done was a perk
I took all of these smiley faces into my soul
guaranteed for life to sustain my future role
Remember how art caught you out - I made a mess
and yet disaster was suddenly made good - more or less
now, woodwork led me to a great cutting edge
being allowed to take home my work was a privilege
metalwork taught me that flux was softer than butter
the words that arose within me - if only I could utter
mathematics made me figure things out - nothing I would lack
but when the master saw my red socks - he said: 'Get to the back.'
Then there was English - the best language to swear in,
such great enlightenment and depth will never come again
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
I awoke into
A graveyard of bronze horses
The metalwork entwined with dead roots
Upon their backs were words I could not read
About lonely hands
And a plaque was set into the stone
That I could not remove
With dry leaves blown round my feet
I wondered how I'd returned
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
I stood at the top of the
boy's playground
with Dave. You were
there in the girl's playground
playing skip rope with a
group of other girls.
You see that redhead?
Dave said. I looked
over at you. Yes, I said,
you know her? Heard
of her, he replied, name's
Lizbeth somethingorother,
bit of a goer a kid in her
form class said. I watched
as you skipped as two other
girls turned the rope, your
feet leaving the ground,
your skirt rising as you rose up.
You know her? Dave said.
No, I said, seen her about.
Your red hair flared in the air
as you went up like a bird
in flight. Best avoided,
Dave said, girls are mostly
my Dad said, nothing but teasers.
I nodded then talked of Mr G
in metalwork and the tea caddy
spoon I was making. You looked
over at me and smiled, waved
a hand, I waved back behind
Dave's back, wishing you would
skip again, to see your hair in
flight like a red winged bird.
Dave walked on with me slow
unleashing word on boring word.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
Her name’s Jane I think
said Jupp
standing beside you
in the school hall
as the girl on the school bus
went by with a slow walk
carrying a bag
over her shoulder
and her dark hair
flowing down her back
anyway he added
how are you getting on
with that maths work
chisel face gave us?
You watched
until she disappeared
into a crowd of other
girls and boys
like watching
the sun go down
on a fine summer’s day
and entering
a dull night
huh? Said Jupp
how you coping
with the **** maths?
All Greek to me
you said
carrying the image
of the girl off with you
as Jupp and you
made your way
along the corridor
to double metalwork
and this metalwork
Jupp moaned
it really ****** me off
what do I care
about making
a frigging tea caddy spoon?
And passing by
a print on the wall
of some Manet dame
you thought
how you’d love
to have a print
of the girl
to carry about
or have pinned
to your bedroom wall
at home
huh? Said Jupp
what’s with spoons?
I’ve no idea
you said
all part
of the brainwash
I guess
and did the girl
move you?
you asked inside
oh yes
oh yes
oh yes.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
I HATE IT.
I HATE THIS.
I HATE HIM WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THE WAY IN WHICH WICKED IS BAD.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE PREFORMATIVITY.
I HATE MOST THAT I WRITE THIS.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT MY ICONS ARE DEAD.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I’M BEGGING FOR MORE.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I HAVE TO CHOOSE.
I HATE, FOR WHAT I WAS DESTINED IS TAINTED.
I HATE IT. I HARE THIS.
I HATE THEM WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I CAN’T GO BACK. BACK TO THE ZYGOTE, TO THE GRECIAN AGE, TO A LAND WITHOUT EARS.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE HER WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I DON’T WANT TO BE WICKED.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE XIR WHO I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT STEEPED IN PAIN I AM SUPPOSED TO TRANSFORM.
TO SHINE BRIGHT. TO DROWN AND SURVIVE.
I rise in wrath, sadness, regret. Balletic and vile, dipped in warmth. Lifeless, like milk teeth. Tar, sits vast beneath my feet.
I am all. All the ways that it hurts plus the beauty. Padded shoulders, green and purple.
I will never be complete.
Dancing beings underneath the evening stars, stretched out ionosphere, elastic, ecstatic. Paused yet stillmoving.
I am black, pointed. Free, stillinchains. A dripping matriarch. A reflection transcendent, moss-filled and fed up. Afraid.
Stylish metalwork, animation and formlessness.Wilted and strong. Lilac, xir name.
Protect these ribs from that strain.
The thoughts unexplained.
Protect the clothes never worn. And the freedom forgotten.
Protect me.
For I still hope to be forgotten.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC
I never saw you today
in the playground
through the playground fence
you said as you boarded
the school bus
I was at the other end
Jane said with other girls
playing skip rope
o I wondered
where you were
you said
she sat
by the window
and you sat
next to her
well they asked me
to play and I didn't
want to say no
she said
who were you with?
West mostly
he came back
from lunch early
and we played cards
by the metalwork rooms
not betting were you?
she asked
no
you said
if we had been
I'd have lost
as it was
I only lost cards
not money
o I see
she said
there was a fine quality
to her voice
and her words
were like a kind of music
you noticed her hands
in her lap
one laying on top
of the other
the fingernails
cut neat and pink
you wanted to hold them
but didn't want
the other kids
in the bus
to see
so you just looked
at the hands and fingers
as she talked
of some butterfly
she'd seen
in her garden
and her father
had told her
what it was
and how beautiful
it was
the colours
and the way it flew
and how it was all
a part of God's plan
and creation
but you were only
half listening
you noticed
gazing at her profile
how fine her lips were
when she spoke
how they moved
how her tongue
moved like some dancer
how her eyes
opened wide
at certain words
as if some inner explosion
had brought them to life
and they blazed
like a new world
being born
and you lost
the meaning
of her words
they were as music playing
in another sphere
you sitting there
gazing like a soul
lost at sea
at a far off ship
going a different way
and any S.O.S
you may send
was lost
in the air of the day.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
'We apologise for any inconvenience caused'
the day paused.
my train wasn't coming on time this time
but it never came on time last time either and they never apologised then.
They treat me as livestock
ram me into old rolling stock
and my head's on the block
every day.
Intelligence?
it's artificial and we're
prawns for the picking
or pawns being kicked
into castles.
an inconvenience caused
angry times I have paused
but
my conscience would not allow me
to
****
We've all felt like doing it
with a Saturday night special
or with the zip gun we made
In the metalwork class.
We might as well shove that gun up our ***
it's pointless
we're impotent
the train's in this moment and
we
do not have the controls
My head hurts
it aches with the
winds blowing in
my skin turns to parchment
and I become part of that
moment
until I have gone
and who will
apologise
then?
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Nichols and I
had a fight
in the greenhouse
the first day.
It began
with a push
and shove
by the potted plants.
Then turned
into fists
and neck holds.
Only some kid saying
Groats is coming
that we moved apart
red faced
and sweating
and gazed
at each other.
Get you playtime
Nichols said.
Anytime
Squat-face
I replied.
Next day
he passed me
into class
and said nothing
not even
a shove or elbow
(which I would
have returned
with a blow).
Then walking
to the metalwork room
he said
what part of London
you from?
Southwark
in South London
I said
eyeing him
(not wanting to say
the Elephant and Castle
in case he thought
I was taking the ****
Is it near
the Tower of London?
he asked.
Quite near
I went to school nearby
I replied.
He nodded
and said
sorry about yesterday
guess I was a bit rash
never met
a Londoner afore.
No probs
I replied.
We went into
the metalwork class
sort of friends
and that's how
this poem ends.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC