Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Monday, April 6, 2015

Aubade

Dreams of rocks and blocks and bricks
are broken by my aching back
but using some gymnastic tricks
out of bed with a creak, a crack.

Fingers' numbness is replaced
with sharpened pains of flexing them
the cement stings from skin's waste
it's time to do it all again.

The morning sun shows yesterday's
block still freshly placed and struck
Inspection of the joints and ways,
the arch is rising from the muck.

That first bag of mortar ripped
and dumped into the mixer
that first bucket of water tipped
and mixed is my elixir.

To overcome my whole inertia
and pick up block, and set 'em straight
will the paycheck reimburse ya?
When passion for building is my fate?

The work itself is not just all
that is its own just reward
it is, alas - just a wall
built by me, my just accord.




Thursday, April 12, 2012

Tragedy unfolds


The tsunami hit and what a mess
the Japanese were not ready
to consider or address
the nuclear reactor was unsteady.

From unsteady to uncooled
from uncooled to exploding
those engineers had been fooled
by their models now imploding.

Build a dome! Masonry containment
robotically assembled
stopping hot rain meant
more than it resembled.

But we are GE and Westinghouse!
And glorious honorable TEPCO!
A giant doesn’t listen to a mouse
we listen to our own reps, so:

Take a hike with your solution.
We have no need for containment
Do not fear nuke pollution
We know best, we’ll use a main tent.


Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Pilgrimage to Mecca

For me, as a masonry designer
my Mecca and my pilgrimage
was indeed one of the finer
trips I took of a curious age.

To Alpena, Michigan
and Besser Headquarters
is all I could ever wish again
to see them take their orders.

Their excellent concrete block machines
in over a hundred countries
producing block ‘round the clock it seems
mixers, makers and sundries.

Provided by this one great company
for concrete manufacturing
their own equipment will trump any
the history from which they spring!

In the basement of their museum
I snuck down to the old machine
when I knew they couldn’t see ‘em,
I played with levers seldom seen.

What intrigued me the very most
was the odd, weird, and eerie sensation
by the machine stood Besser’s ghost:
offering me faint congratulation.