creative writing / Poetry / Uncategorized

Wood Working

He takes the lumber

lays it out

meticulous metal square

measuring, marking

It has been his trade

a lifetime

moving slowly now

eyes masked over

still the walls stand

the timbers hold

the nails are driven

lines on his hands

run like a forest

of dotted trees

woodwork crafted

dignity and quality

the world has now lost

wearing a trade symbol

on his shoulder

delving into the

essence of work

taking a mound

of lackluster lumber

creating it into

something

pride mixes with sawdust

and scatters before him

standing there in that

sun speckled moment

paying homage to those

who taught him well

the rebuilding of old houses

the mending of souls

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14 thoughts on “Wood Working

  1. Nice to appreciate such an old craft and one of the few where there is still a lot of handy work involved. My husband’s grandfather was a carpenter and he built the house they lived in for many years. I know there was a time when the family was going to lose the house and my husband was heartbroken but I think his uncle managed to salvage it.

    • Oh that’s a neat story, hopefully they managed to keep it. Yes the time-honored craftsmanship is much different than today when a bunch of workers get together and put an apartment complex up in two weeks with rather shabby results. I am a big fan of old houses, my house was built in 1930 but looks more like 1920 (probably because people in this area are at least 10 years behind the rest of the country, lol).

  2. Such skill and dedication in many of those old crafts – and many of those skills are passed down through the generations. Through your poem, I can picture him working away at the lackluster lumber and the pride he feels when something wonderful emerges.

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