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The Whittler
by James ZealyWood Shape Shifter
Each slow stroke
Of the small knife razor
Transforms gradually
The shapeless wood block
As young boys awestruck
Listen to stories told
While each chip floats down
Like a sacrament not yet confirmed
Changing images displayed
In the inanimate wood dream
Slowly metamorphosing
Tree form, boys spirits
Each wood sliver takes a direction of its own
Lead by the broad firm carver hands
Into something finite and unique
Ultimately a prize precise
A bird, a scout
A chain link, a council united
A whistle, a values evangelist
A wood crafter, a boy's leader
Homespun passionate chameleon
05/18/2005
Author's Note: Based on my Scout boyhood exec who happened to be a whittler.
Posted on 05/18/2005
Copyright © 2024 James Zealy
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 05/20/05 at 05:03 PM I love the way you spin historic poetry, it is always saturated with a sense of warm memory. |
| Posted by Paganini Jones on 06/08/05 at 07:35 PM There is something very magical about this piece. I think it comes in part from the almost haiku images you give that force us to pause; that and the use of very carefully chosen words like float, awestruck, metamorphois. And that even despite the sometimes clumsy word order that jars eg
"Tranforms miniscule /
The shapeless wood block."
And onwards the metamorphosis goes until we hardly know if it is the wood, the watchers, the whittler or even we who change. |
| Posted by Leonard M Hawkes on 09/12/10 at 05:39 PM This takes me there; as a whittler, I've some how remained a boy. |
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