Day adze

in poetry •  24 days ago

Day adze

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poetry by @d-pend
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with pre-script at bottom


view_from_the_porch_by_alimuse 2.jpg


peaceful_old_trees_by_lilyas-daatwvf 3.jpg


Day adze


With a swing of the matchet,
comes whistle of verses.
Instilled into heartwood
hewn by hefting of courage.

Along whorls of grained copses
where jungle-beasts dwell,
inscribing the sawdust:
cymatic ill-knell.

May you stand, sombre sentry
while carve we the frills:
write stone-flights of fancy
to embellish your wills.


reddish 2.jpg


peaceful_old_trees_by_lilyas-daatwvf.jpg


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Poetry by
@d-pend
8/30/18
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Images by

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   1 — "View from the Porch" by Alimuse
[cropped]
   2 — "Peaceful Old Trees" by Lilyas
   3 — "Old Trees and Little Lakes" by Tickclick


red 2.jpg


old_trees_and_little_lakes_by_tickclick-d5ozy13.png


reddish 3.jpgpeaceful_old_trees_by_lilyas-daatwvf 2.jpgrev red 2.jpg


┌|Day adze|┐

┌|  P r e - s c r i p t  |┐
Lifting the mind-adze—
pummeled submission of day upon day,
slats to be riven by perspective,
perpendicular in grid of bright conception.

green 1.jpgrev red 1.jpggreen2.jpg


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What does it take to make a wood furniture?
Do we ever ponder on that? the process? the efforts? the art?
Or do we only enjoy the beauty and confort of the piece?
There is destruction in creation. Do we care as long as we benefit?

The magestic "grained copses
where jungle-beasts dwell" can be reduced to sawdust.
That may paint a sad picture.
But what if that is necessary evil?
What if the carving is needed to refine brutality and savagery?

For centuries of orientalism the "swinging of the matchet" has been justified.

Modernity and civilization keep embellishing their wills while the heartwood keeps whistling the verses of courage and despair.

It certainly takes a mind-adze to break with submission and open spaces through which the light of feedom can finally shine.

There are days that roar in the soul as if cut by a blade that matches a fierce struggle to prevail, to save the faith by force of courage.
It is not easy to face the vicissitudes of day to day without believing in something, kneeling and bound hand and foot feels the higher being that inhabits us when we move our foundations. The strength of our beliefs is the source of power that feeds our spirit. Who watches that we continue dreaming while the shadows swallow our creative essence? Who prevents life from giving itself the luxury of truncating the vision of simplicity as a form of construction of what really matters and of connection with the essential? Who collects the words and communicates them with dreams? Only one person with clarity of criteria and solid spiritual formation. The mood of the poetic voice is intrinsic when there is clear conscience:

write stone-flights of fancy
to embellish your wills.

Thank you for being a member and supporter of the creativebot.
Enjoy your day and stay creative!
Keep Steeming on!! <3

First stanza is totally splendid, I mean I'm still trying to place the figure of speech there, this is madly amazing, wow

These are some amazing and in depth lines with a wonderful message bro @d-pend

Along whorls of grained copses
where jungle-beasts dwell,
inscribing the sawdust:
cymatic ill-knell.

Thank you so much for this amazing poem and I highly appreciate it :)

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Hey bud, glad you found depth in these lines! I appreciate your appreciation ;-)

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If my poetry can take you on a journey, I’m satisfied! Thank you @franciferrer

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Thank you for sharing your art as I heard some time ago The flowers are born after they wither, the stars shine and some day they are extinguished, this land the sun the galaxies and even the same universe will one day be destroyed compared to that the life of a man will not it is more than a blink and a little moment since they are born, they cry, they are struggling, they are hurt, they feel happiness, they hate and love someone, everything in that fleeting moment and then they are embraced by that eternal dream called death, even knowing that it is natural many fear the thread called destiny but when you understand that from the first day you started to breathe you started to die you manage to waltz with the death lady and even give her a kiss in the mouth

nice post,Can I get more posts later?

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You can get literally millions of posts, if you’d like. I recommend those made from oak. They are quite sturdy.

Lovely poetry sir. Carry on.
sometime we have some great something. Thank you for share this great contain

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For this contain you are heftily welcome. As for the yoke, I shall carry it on!

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It's my pleasure to your agree

Sentinels of the forest that have no defense against an enemy that has no heart. The trophy is luxury carving or fantasies for the enjoyment of a tiny.

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great lines with nice pic

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One line of great comment

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how antique the existence of poets and poetry, condemning inequality and praying not to sink into adversity, I found in your poetry

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Antique indeed, the primordial plead for appreciation of the inestimable cosmos!

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