The Carpenter
by Sam M. Phillips

Buzz-saw,
Raw sound in the mist,
Grist in the air muffles,
Stifles a cutting chord,
Hollow gourd banging,
Clanging metal jangling,
Tangling tantalising titbits,
Nothing fits,
The man sits among the movement,
Improvement sought,
Bought pieces of wood,
Stood against the wall,
Tall and imperious,
Mysterious and conscious,
Pompous and powerful,
Flavourful smell sense,
Dense particles everywhere,
No care,
They move,
Remove the empty space,
Traces left,
Bereft of energy,
An elegy scattered on the floor,
A war,
Now done,
Nothing won but new shape,
Scrape the pieces into the bin,
A sin to waste,
Haste takes place,
A race into the obscure,
A lure tempting,
Venting inspiration,
Perspiration gathers on the man’s head,
Dead dust sticks,
Picks a picture,
So sure of something,
Or nothing,
Springing from clinging points,
Anoints the man with art,
Start to see,
A free form expression,
Depression of knitted brow,
Power lost in hardship,
Worship the trade,
It’s made something useful and needed,
A heeded call to labour,
Savour the product,
As conduct drains,
The pains lost,
A cost counted,
Then flouted as it moves,
Proves there’s nothing solid,
A sordid thought,
Sought as each moment dies,
Tries to stay,
But flies away,
A stray particle,
Not the finished article.

***

Did you enjoy this poem? Help the author by becoming a patron here: patreon.com/samphillips

Like the author on facebook: facebook.com/sammorganphillips/