"woodworking" poems
Writing,
Drawing and painting.
Woodworking,
Welding and making.
Circuitry,
Electronics and more.
Pneumatic, mechanic, IC chips galore.
***** in the veins,
skewed and torn.
Hangovers battled, and seemingly won...
...as the body grows numb...
...limbs waking in hazy hum.
Roll another,
Tobacco makes its mark—
Lungs defiled,
Body failing,
Cherries burn brightest in the dark.
Lets call some lucky,
That they knew from the start,
Yet I continued hoping,
He would come back and restart.
The years draw on,
The day the pickup drove away,
I screamed for him,
Did he hear? check the review mirror and then accelerate?
Children of my own, a wife, and a home.
5150,
It's waiting....
It's ready, patiently prone.
Context needed,
Needed for concepts to churn
Listen closely.
A decibel past a whisper —
A Truth heard from the urn.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
I've been thinking about our hug you left me with yesterday,
The one that convulsed my shoulder muscles and made my ribs cry just a little,
But a good cry, like the happy tears after holding a new puppy.
You said in that way,
As you have made a habit of
With sarcasm and sincerity,
"You'll always be my sweetheart",
And then you said that you won't call me your sweetheart in public.
That makes me so angry,
And you think I'm joking,
But I'm not.
Because I can't stop thinking about how those hugs and "sweethearts" are dwindling,
How each time you leave for a winter in the southern states
I cringe at the thought that I may never greet you for Easter next year.
And every time we find you asleep,
Open mouthed on the couch
We only panic for a second as to whether you will wake up this time.
You stand like a family monument,
So unique in composition,
With your structured titanium back and chiseled limestone arms that threw me playfully and carried me as your cowgirl,
And transformed our red, wooden house to sophisticated tan siding when I was too young to remember,
With your skin so dark from perma-tan I thought you were black when I was 6,
With your infinite woodworking skills and artistic envisions with architecture
That crafted dollhouses and swing sets for me at 8,
With your callused hands beyond remission and your ever bruising fingernails that paddled us down the Ausable at 13,
With your steel toed boots sewn into your feet that allowed me to dance on them till I was 15,
With your artificial heart valve and five open heart surgeries.
Once I thought it was instrumental, magical, the watch nestled under your ribs.
But now every time I get that gut squeezing hug as a goodbye I can hear that valve faintly tick,
And I pretend it's not your clock,
Trembling with each diastolic and Systolic murmur,
Gears cracking and eroding inside your kindled muscles,
Struggling to keep up with its more natural brothers inside that engulfing muscle,
That which reminds your family of
Your selfless and infinitely giving persona.
But it only reminds me that your days of rock polishing
And dentured smiles are ending rapidly.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
A careful cut, it is the stuff,
Of which our world is made,
Utility and art are fused,
The noblest of the trades,
A sturdy chair of solid wood,
Yet sturdier the heart,
Passion, vision, faithful work,
The noblest of the arts.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 8:12 PM UTC
I will go anywhere, everywhere with you
We will dance on every beat you want
We will ride above the waves on every beaches
We will climb every summit of any mountain
We will sleep under every star above
We will walk on every street of different countries
We will play any games you like
And I am willing to pretend to be a loser
We will cook and eat anything we want
I will eat anything you baked
We will make anything from scratch
I will do the woodworking and you will do the girly stuffs
We will work as one together
I will listen to all the stories you have
On every movie character
And all the things you are dreaming of
I will carry you around the house
Throw you in bed, and give tight hugs
I’ll wipe all your tears
Listen to your problems
Listen through whatever ***** happened in your office
Give you chocolates and ice cream as a reward
I will try not to stop doing what we had on our wedding day
And I will be with you till my last breath
I will still love to go everywhere with you
Even my knees are already aching
Please be patient for I walk slow
I will still love to dance with you
Please be patient for I am left-legged on both
I will still love to eat every food you cook
Even if my tongue starts to taste awful
I will still love to listen to all your stories
To all the TV dramas and every book you read
Just be patient if I asked you to repeat it again
Soon I will got problems with my hearing and memory
Sorry if I cannot fix the broken fences anymore
And sorry if I cannot able to carry you around the house once more
All I can do is to not stop loving you
Like the day I met you
Soon, we can’t do anymore what we had to do before
But my heart won’t stop loving you like the way it does before
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
Come sit a while in my little, wood shack;
- I'll stoke the fire up, bright an' high, for you
- an' I'll cook you a, fit for royalty, snack :
- *"Aye - pine needle tea an' a rabbit stew,
- course' - only if this all sounds good ta' you!*"
- - - -
I'll place a black wolves' hide upon your back
- to ensure your bones don't feel the brisk draft
- which blows through the small, wood wall's cracks;
- nay - woodworking was not ever my craft!
- - - -
So - still - the blustery breeze blows, on, in;
- but - we drink, we eat, we talk & we laugh,
- an' we lose all track o' the time that's passed.
- - - -
Eventually we don't notice the breeze blowing in
- for - we've become two bits o' stardust rubbing skin.
- - - -
T'will be this act which causes Giddy ta' grin
- an' inspire his glowing heart ta' scribble out hymns.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
What drew you to this job?
Truthfully, survival
I lie and say
I’ve always been passionate about textiles
Like the pretentious clothing this company creates
My answer is carefully tailored to appeal to my market audience
Yesterday I was passionate about data entry
Tomorrow I’ll be passionate about customer retention and management
I’ve learnt to lick the boot that pins me down in place
What does your dream job look like?
I don’t bother telling them that I no longer dream of labour
I recite the appropriate buzzwords
Sense of progression
Work-life balance
Meaningful connections
Bile rises in my throat
What do you hope to achieve in life?
My father wasted away his best years in a job that landed him in hospital
A heart attack and redundancy payout all the thanks he got
All so he could eventually retire and do what he actually loved; woodworking
He’d never been able to make a career of it
He couldn’t find a ‘market’ for it
Maybe it was because he never learnt to market himself, to sell himself
Not in that sense
Instead he sold himself
He sold his body to a timber mill
Maybe he thought it would be temporary
But then he had to give up his woodworking
Because working the wood at the mill left him exhausted
He had to sell his soul for decades until the system finally let him be
I want something different than what the system offers
But there is no alternative to the system
It offers me 50 flavours of consumption
32 different shades of participation
But no option not to consume
Not to participate
I no longer have lofty ideals
When I was young I wanted to be a famous writer
I wanted to travel and see the world
Now I just want to exist
But even my very existence comes at a cost
To merely exist I am still expected to participate
To consume and be consumed
Sell myself to whoever will pay
for what little I have to offer
Thank you for your time
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
we danced around each other all night long
mamboing and tripping in circles,
taking bites out of each other’s throats
metallic, malleable, ready
we mingled like fire on skin
you whisper of your woodworking days and
I could see you now:
new shavings flittering off the palms
those stronghold hands
dust carelessly pooling around your collar
holding finished product to light
I wish to step into this scene,
to carve breast into back and
hold the beatings of your chest
as your lips
brush mine with color
I strain awake.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC