The Blacksmith

The Blacksmith toiled on nothing less
Than space within the hour,
His anvil was the nothingness,
His hammer was the power.

He smelted matter long ago
Till darkness dull and bitter
Was brightened by a sudden glow
As light began to glitter.

The hammer struck, an aim so sure
When sparks began to settle
He'd made the stars forever more,
Unending points of metal.

Each muscle is a raw machine
Where furnaces stay hidden,
Those other forges are not seen,
Onlookers are forbidden.

No rest as molten rivers run,
The work is never over;
Not only does he mould each sun,
He welds the supernova.

The Blacksmith even made us too,
Burned iron on hot coals
Then added love and poured it through
The stardust in our souls.


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Will we never get over the past?
Our flags burnt on its mast
need retribution fast?
(and it's quite a blast?)

They were the much worse side
They killed us and they lied.
For honour and for pride -
on with the landslide?

Until death does us part;
May we restore the art
of honest discussion?
Stop the destruction!

All comfy and tuned in?
Lets watch those devils sin.
Look! There's uncle Jack.
Heroes don't come back.

I'll say it one more time.
I'll even make it rhyme.
Thou shalt not ****ing kill.
You people make me ill.

Willow

Weeping as for a lover’s broken pledge,
green tears trail the river’s edge,
caressing waters over summer’s sedge.

Limbs drift, languid in desolate air,
teardrop leaves seep despair,
teasing sunlight into shadow’s lair.

I don't think it's going to happen John A noble poem none the less.


A lovely piece Scottie, it reminded me Ophelia, the painting by John Millais

Thanks. It's upsetting, as was the thread I think I may have seen your good self pop into briefly. Long dead heroes and despots were being dug up to check their faith, or lack of. Or so the cumulative affect seemed to me. Anyway. I'm happier now and thought I'd maybe update the lyrics to an old favourite we know so well :evil-grin:. I'm struggling to get past the first verse though. Perhaps you could help out? It seems to have possibilities.


I'll use 'spoiler tags' more if think some may not want to read. Could just post happy ones. Hmm.

I found Willow really calming scottie. Thanks.

I tried but failed We write in different ways John and I couldn't fit my words to your rhythm.

I wonder if we'll ever get to meet him.


I wish the Blacksmith would make us a magic wand.


Lovely Scottie.

The eternal question Biz

The Blacksmith

Nice one Musty.

Thanks Bigshorts

Sorry but I can't help laughing at the name Bigshorts.

It is a good one

Tumbleweed and Whisky

The tumbleweed was shifting,
The sun was hot and high,
A single cloud was drifting
Across the desert sky.

Ramshackle and outdated
Beyond the railway tracks
A small town was located,
A group of deadbeat shacks.

He’d driven miles to find it,
The car he parked was old,
A trail of dust behind it,
A Buick re-sprayed gold.

The bar was called Nathaniel’s,
He went inside and bought
A bottle of Jack Daniels
Then sat, immersed in thought.

He saw Christ and Bin Laden
Behind his Ray-Ban shades,
Two thousand years can harden
A grudge that never fades.

Defeat had made him tougher,
Now he’d spread human pain
And make dissenters suffer
On Crucifixion Lane.

The jukebox started playing,
Don’t Fear The Reaper rocked,
He strolled out after paying
With new wars to concoct.

A rattlesnake he frightened,
It hissed and changed its path,
The world was unenlightened
But soon would feel his wrath.


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I couldn't stop giggling but it is probably more so because I've got some shorts where the elastic has loosened after washing them, think it might be the spin cycle that did it.

You set the scene perfectly there, I could see the film in my mind's eye................but then I started to flounder and lost my way. Tell me who was he, and why did he choose that particular place? I've pondered and pondered, but nope.

Nice. As if though really. I mean everyone knows the creator was white.


You're getting good at this Musty.

It's like one of those films that you're hoping for a sequel as soon as you've seen it.

I've abandoned any thoughts of writing more to the 'congratulations' rewording. Rhyme bombs sometimes survive the rubble though possibly maybe. I might continue on the 'commandments' theme though. I'm thinking:

2. Don't lie (except in poetry and fiction).

It was in fact the Anti-Christ Biz. 'A trail of dust behind it' was needed for the car arriving and 'find it' was all I could come up with as a rhyme. This implies he needed to find the bar, a bit of a mystery that I was forced to leave in.


Thanks John - I'm glad both you and Biz saw the poem as a film. It was partly inspired by Stephen King's book The Stand, which became a film.

If it's any consolation I've discarded endless poems that didn't come to fruition. It happens a lot to me

I obviously haven't read enough of the Bible, because I can't say I've spent any thoughts on the Anti-Christ; however a quick scan of Wiki told me all I need to know.


...........unless your life depends on it.

Understood.


I prefer the John Lydon view. "An Anti-Christ". Still pretty couched in prophetic terms though.




Or your popularity.

I've just looked that up too. I think I'll just "look on the bright si-ide of life".

To tell the truth I've been avoiding The News lately because I can bear to see the appalling happenings reported but it makes me realize just how fortunate we are.......... for the time being.


Or your job.

Sylvia

You showed me the art of suicide.
Full.
Accomplished.
Your life irrevocably your own.

Not the bullet
in the stomach for you
or pocketful of stones
but the gentle laying down
of your head
and surrender
to the soft whisper of gas
as it wafted
through your loosened hair.

Your body,
folded,
like freshly ironed linen,
lay,
too late to be claimed.

All you left
was your china-white cast,
hollow as a conch

and your words,
full of the roar of the sea.

Such a beautiful poem Scottie. From the name and method of suicide, I'm guessing it's about Sylvia Plath.

Hello Mr Radio

Hello Mr Radio,
Now the day is dawning
Play some sounds to help along
Another humdrum morning.

Let me hear from yesteryear
A pop hit that exploded;
Lazy Sunday, Arnold Layne
Or something ELO did.

Kettle’s boiled, the butter’s spread
On toast and to the glowing
Golden shade of marmalade
The golden music’s flowing.

Goodbye Mr Radio,
I have to obey time
But on waking I'll tune in
To you again come daytime.


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