Brass doorknocker
for a house without a door
downward dog
always on point over the same
obvious quarry
flightless rocket
leaded with failure
pendulum made
to mark eternity
one still moment at a time.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Odes to Tools now in print
- Ode to a Socket Wrench
- Ode to a Claw Hammer
- Ode to a Musical Saw
- Ode to a Hand Truck
- Ode to a Shovel
- Ode to a Hatchet
- Ode to Scissors
- Ode to a Bucket
- Ode to Forks
- Ode to a Magnetic Screwdriver
- Ode to a Plumb Bob
- Ode to a House Jack
- Ode to a Measuring Tape
- Ode to Scythes
- Ode to a Plane
- Ode to a Spirit Level
- Ode to a Hoe
- Ode to Tin Snips
- Ode to a Crowbar
- Ode to a Coping Saw
- Ode to a Hive Tool
- Ode to a Compass
- Ode to a Shoehorn
- Ode to a Wire Brush
- Woodrat Podcast 2: Elizabeth Adams and “Odes to Tools”
- New Odes to Tools review by Noel Sloboda
- New review of Odes to Tools
- New review of Odes to Tools by Kathleen Kirk
- Odes to Tools as “living poetry”
- Scythes revisited
I liked this. If I had the time, and I’m sure to find it…I’d make some doggerel out of its silly name.
Check!
Ahhh…one of my favorites. Tool and poem about tools.
Cute. And of course, it’s always at odds with the spirit level….
Thanks for the comments. Quiet regular – if you do, feel free to share the results here!
Very nice imagery, Dave! As a long-time woodworker, I’ve been enjoying this series.
Thanks, Larry – I’m glad these resonate with your own experience of what I suppose we should be calling the secret life of tools.
Although not very quiet and mostly irregular, I too was inspired to do a riff on Plumb Bob’s funny name. By the end of the first 2 lines I knew I was in trouble due to the bi-sexual undertones of the thing. By the time it finished itself (my verse often does that) it had morphed into a slightly more universal metaphor. Maybe I should have then called it “Bi-Polar Bob”.
A WILD PLUMB
Plumb Bob is quite a quirky one
Just swinging either way.
Eventually he tires of both
And finds one place to stay.
Is our Bob just plumb tuckered out
With errant weird behavior?
Does being still help sort him out?
Is quietness his savior?
He seems to find a focal point
To which he should aspire
But middle road and even planes
Quite soon cause him to tire.
Somehow I think our plums of wisdom
Do not fill Bob’s bill.
The straight and narrow rarely
Fits a vacillating will.
But just as he swings out again
To plumb the bounds of space,
Inertia, yawning, drags him back
To measure our dull space.
Hey, that’s great, Joan! Thanks for sharing. I’m glad I didn’t go with the more staid alternate name and title mine “Ode to a Plummet.”
Evidently “plumb bob” is a corruption of the Latinate word for lead, plumbum.
Golly! That’s fascinating info. I might never have become acquainted with ‘Bob’ in that case but Plummet would bring on a whole new set of images..cause really it does plummet straight down all the while hanging safely by it’s tail. However, whatever name you chose to call your poem, it reads as sweet. It would still have those 4 wonderful metaphors ending with “Pendulum made to mark eternity one still moment at a time.”