panch0
08-30-2010, 04:56 PM
Stock Removal Guys
He stands there solid, like a mighty tree,
for his stance is wide and balance steady,
his hands like stone as he leans in near,
putting steel to belt without fear.
Sparks fly as a pattern will grow,
he guides the steel to and fro,
a plunge is created as his hands push with stead,
and then down the blade to the tip laying ahead.
Slowly but surely a blade is revealed,
the knife in the steel was neatly concealed,
steel becomes dust as he approaches his goal,
Of making a knife without the use of coal!
-Scott Joseph Ickes
------------------------------------------------------------
For Blade Smiths
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what e'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
--Longfellow
--------------------------------------------------------------------
And whilst he sleeps all through the night,
The embers lose their light,
as he dreams of shapes forged from his mind,
and in iron made in kind,
his dreams are of what his hands can hew,
with his strong arms of sinew.
He wakes each morn with his wife,
and thanks his God for his life,
for every day his dreams become real,
in shapes forged from his red hot steel,
He knows he's blessed with a heart that's lifted,
for with God's spirit he has been gifted.
Scott Joseph Ickes
He stands there solid, like a mighty tree,
for his stance is wide and balance steady,
his hands like stone as he leans in near,
putting steel to belt without fear.
Sparks fly as a pattern will grow,
he guides the steel to and fro,
a plunge is created as his hands push with stead,
and then down the blade to the tip laying ahead.
Slowly but surely a blade is revealed,
the knife in the steel was neatly concealed,
steel becomes dust as he approaches his goal,
Of making a knife without the use of coal!
-Scott Joseph Ickes
------------------------------------------------------------
For Blade Smiths
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what e'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
--Longfellow
--------------------------------------------------------------------
And whilst he sleeps all through the night,
The embers lose their light,
as he dreams of shapes forged from his mind,
and in iron made in kind,
his dreams are of what his hands can hew,
with his strong arms of sinew.
He wakes each morn with his wife,
and thanks his God for his life,
for every day his dreams become real,
in shapes forged from his red hot steel,
He knows he's blessed with a heart that's lifted,
for with God's spirit he has been gifted.
Scott Joseph Ickes