It is well with me only when I have a chisel in my hand.
quote by Michelangelo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Two Deep Silences..
Two deep Silences-
One, of meditative Sculptor
Other, of the Boulder
In timeless penance
Melt in intense passion
Through rhythmic jingles
Of dancing chisel.
A marvellous Beauty
After months of
Labour pains
Is born
Out of its womb!
O! is it the dream
Of damsel rock?
Or, is it Full Moon
Churned out of
Two silences
By sharp clinks
Of cute chisel?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Every experience in life, everything with which we have come in contact in life, is a chisel which has been cutting away at our life statue, molding, modifying, shaping it. We are part of all we have met. Everything we have seen, heard, felt, or thought has had its hand in molding us, shaping us
quote by Orison Swett Marden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unintelligent Design
An hour a day,
sometimes more,
I chipped away
with mallet and chisel
on a block of marble
I found in Carrara
and shipped to New York
on the deck of a trawler.
I offered the marble
to a famous sculptor
who told me he works
in granite only
so I grabbed his beret
and one of his smocks
and said I'd sculpt
the block myself
with whittling skills
picked up as a kid
from a drunken uncle
named Whittling Sid.
Several weeks later,
to my surprise,
I finished the bust
of a chimpanzee
simply by wielding
mallet and chisel
the way I wield
pencil and eraser
when hewing a poem.
Working with marble
or working with words,
a sculptor or poet
proves less is more
by chipping away
until something emerges
upright and walking
with a soul of its own.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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War is a bad chisel with which to curve out tomorrow.
Yourself you shape
Yourself the stone
Yourself the sculptor
Yourself the chisel
Yourself you shape
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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As Forever As You
-------------
I took a hammer, and a chisel iron cold,
And had my dreams engraved on a mountaintop of stone.
But the mountain crumbled my dreams in seas of blue;
There's nothing in this world as forever as you.
I touched the earth with a question in my hand,
I asked two holy men to help me understand.
But the preachers quarreled as to just what I should do;
There's nothing in this world as forever as you.
In these temporary days,
You're my sole and saving grace,
There is nothing in this world as forever as you
song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Them Booted
Boot those blues,
You are too quick to slip on.
Like a pair of comforting shoes.
You choose to wear,
With a careless attitude.
And despairing to keep,
Your relief unreleased.
Clipping coupons may ease,
A setback to fill the void...
Of feeling trapped,
Lifeless.
With happiness scratched,
Off of your top ten list of priorities.
As if sadness is your chore.
Get yourself together.
Protect from stormy weather!
Boot those blues,
You are too quick to slip on.
Like a pair of comforting shoes.
You choose to wear,
With a careless attitude.
And despairing to keep,
Your relief unreleased.
Get yourself together.
Protect from stormy weather!
And chisel obstacles that come to stand in your way.
Don't you let them in your life parade.
Get yourself together.
Protect from stormy weather!
And chisel obstacles that come to stand in your way.
Don't you let them in your life parade.
Get them booted,
Don't let them root.
Get yourself together.
Protect from stormy weather!
And chisel obstacles that come to stand in your way.
Don't you let them in your life parade.
Get them booted,
Don't let them root.
Get them booted,
You can do this if you choose.
Get them booted,
Only you can pick and choose 'your' good news.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Brick Layer
Menacing thoughts invade this good
I thought I was cured.
Guess I missed the double blink,
of deceptions, 'sure'
Pessimist gesture from television,
I thought I changed the channel.
Guess its karma paying a visit,
infecting my precious cable.
Concrete legs and gravel hands,
is this my true reflection?
Sanities chisel above my head,
brick layer bows laughing.
His mixture hidden, outside relief,
a close friend supplies him.
A friend that tends to all his needs,
brick layers defensive.
This house almost completed,
my will grows weak,
brick layer's drive
thrives in me.
Karma on the television,
what else am I to do,
guess I'll watch an episode,
of 'what not to do'
Brick layer fetches his mixture,
from close friend, conscience.
Gives him state of mind in return
to keep me from asking.
In the confines of the basement,
with a television possessed,
I kneel on my concrete knees
and crawl towards the steps.
Beneath unfinished ceiling,
I see an opening.
Sanities chisel dangles,
left unattended.
Pushing myself up,
with heavy, gravel hands,
I grab the chisel brick layer left,
his king now in check.
Listening for a silence above,
holding breath within,
Brick layer is oblivious,
to his chisel breaking skin.
Cracking the concrete and gravel casts,
I stand on weary feet.
Regain my balance and dust my limbs,
of brick layers defeat.
Down the stairs, now at the door,
brick layer is frantic.
Deprived of purpose, and will to constraint,
his motives are desperate.
Laying his bricks in attempts to withhold me,
he knows it's his death.
His chisel, his king
betrays him once more,
and breaks his coward back.
No longer do I live below,
in the basement of mind.
A new occupant, now makes his home
in the basement, confined.
Brick layer can be heard at times,
yelling at the television.
Karma's reruns seem to bother,
any hopes of redemption.
poem by Mathieu Hotte
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War is a poor chisel to carve out tomorrow.
quote by Martin Luther King, Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A disease and its treatment can be a series of humiliations, a chisel for humility.
quote by Laurel Lee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand-Me-Down!
got my hand-me-down boots,
and my hand-me-down jeans.
my broke down hand-me-down hat,
doing hand-me-down things.
my hand-me-down fire,
and my hand-me-down pot.
take a hand-me-down chair,
i'll share what i've got.
got some hand-me-down thoughts,
a couple of hand-me-down songs.
i've got a hand-me-down heart
that wont leave you alone.
we'll talk about hand-me-down freedom,
and hand-me-down truth....
in this hand-me-down world,
it's just me and you!
in this hand-me-down world....
paying hand-me-down dues!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Life is a quarry, out of which we are to mold and chisel and complete a character.
quote by Samuel Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
quote by William C. Bryant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Virtue Vs Evil
Wherever you are wherever you go
I will go with you hand in hand
A faltered state of agony and lust
I will go with you hand in hand
Vying for the amelioration of offspring
I will go with you hand in hand
Injecting an age-long flight from right
I will go with you hand in hand
The endearment of wealth and spendthrift
I will go with you hand in hand
Wherever is the wretched face of human lure
I will go with you hand in hand
The pitfall of human lot has waged a spiritual war
I will go with you hand in hand
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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Chisel Hill
Misty eyes on a misty day
Come across a place like this along your way
You walk straight in to that sweet and tender trap
And you know youre lost and found
And there aint no going back
Spend the rest of your days playing all the hardest games
Just to get back to that place again
And memories oh how they stick to you
You know there aint a thing, not a single thing you can do
On chisel hill
Ive been ten thousand miles from this place and seen it I swear
Ive woke up happy thinking that I was there
Its the place I love, its where I wanna be
And I wont give up until I get to see
A little something in there to call my own
Pass the time of day and head off home
The evening shadows on the dry stone walls
The night draws in and the ale house calls
And happy I will be
When the road goes no further than what I see
When past here its nowhere to go
And I aint gonna give up until I get see
Those angel eyes looking up at me
The prince of peace and time is standing still
On chisel hill
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Woodcarver
the Woodcarver works
in the morning stillness,
with chisel and blade
and an eye for intimate detail...
sunlight sifts through the windows,
time caught, a butterfly in the hand
that's careful not to close...
no extravagant movements...
nothing left undone...
life, a bare bulb, almost
too hot to touch...
the hands of the spirit tell all...
with a gentle blade,
sharp as death, yet allowing...
He unveils your heart
in the stillness of an empty room.
the Woodcarver works...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Hand
only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen
bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...
feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...
the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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