Cold black bars of fences and gates
wrought with skill - an artist creates
with joy and iron, knowledge and heat;
brightness forged until complete.
He hammers out and draws by power
curling vines and lily flower.
By man's muscle and angel's mind
are utility and art combined.
Author notes
For my grandfather, Hugo Tenhunen, 1902-1964
In a list
A contest entry
- Filigree by Pamela A Lamppa.
1750 points, ended December 17, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think.
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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Such a strong piece and what an honor for your grandfather. I loved the direction you took with this prompt. You place delicate beauty in the arms of steel.
Could there be a better match?
Thank you for such a fine entry to this contest. I loved your complex use of rhyme and mature thoughts. A refreshing pleasure. Best of luck in the judging. ~Pamela
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Thank you for the contest, Pamela, or I would not have found the inspiration for this poem.
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Written on your BIRTHDAY?
Happy Birthday Love. I hope your day was special and that the new year will bring you evergreen songs of soul.
One Hundred Roses!
Love
Myra -
Beautifully crafted ...
and wrought from iron and muscle power, comes the strong images of delicate flowers ... ! And your words recreated the moments of art.
Well done, Friend. Your dedication was much enjoyed.
Love
Myra
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Thank you sweetie!
This is the contrast of the iron hand in the velvet glove and steel magnolias - strong beauty. This is an ideal, isn't it?
Many blessings and good wishes for Christmas.
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And the apple falls...
...not very from the tree. As mentioned below , this is a beautiful dedication and I can now see where your art comes from - forging filligreed lines in iron black ink, beautiful flowers whose utility are to touch the open heart and tantalize the mind's eye.
Best wishes in the contest and holiday wishes to you and yours.
Rahad
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Thank you Rahad, that is potent and lovely praise. Thank you for your constant appreciation.
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And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And watch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
There are still some blacksmiths around, and a forge is one of the most exciting and creative places to be. Lovely poem.
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I regret that I was too young when my grandfather died to have been permitted inside the forge, and I hardly knew him as a blacksmith. He was a kind man and he enjoyed his grandchildren. Thank you for your beautiful rhyme, it gives me nostalgia for what I never knew.
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Perfect, both as dedication, and as poem.
Alas, it is a lost art, not done anymore.
I suspect there are are smiles in heaven,
being remembered as he so richly deserved!
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PS Later
Two attempts to include clappers failed, but the points were deleted into the great big pixel-bucket in the sky. I owe you some. -
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Thank you Terry. There are still horses shod, and some artisan work, but in general, the art is replaced by mass-production. It gave me some tears to recall early memories, he was a kind man.
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I love this! The rhyme and meter is wonderful, it’s original and really got me to thinking. I seem to think there is a name for an artist that works with iron besides Blacksmith but for the life of me I can’t think of what it is.
Love,
Amera♥
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Thanks Amera, I'm happy you like this. The name is artist-blacksmith, I looked it up. Whatever you are making, it is still iron.
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