Listen to the Wood

Listen to the Wood

I must first have a plan
I try telling myself
As I reach for some Basswood

High up on the shelf.

My chisels are sharpened.
The woods' in my vise.
Some say wood can talk.
I try listening twice.

All I hear is silence
Not one single word
So I give it a second
And then maybe a third.

I try picking it up
Turn it round in my hands
And then I start looking
Through my filed away plans.

It's a half hour later
And I haven't a clue
So I google for pictures
But its now half past two.

So I get up and stretch
And I then sit back down
My sleeve catches a chisel
I curse, stomp and frown.

So I pick up the chisel
Hold it up to the light
Realized I've chipped it
Understanding my plight.

So first to the grinder
Keeping the bevel flat
I waste some more metal
The noise scaring the cat.

Then on to the honing
Of the new bevel I've ground
I get the blade gleaming
With some german compound.

Its now after three
Tool hasn't touched wood
I'd like to start carving
And I would if I could.

But my mind is a blank
And my wood is a mute
Taken a vow a silence
And I'm not finding it cute.

So I yell at the Basswood
"Damn, what will you be,
your just useless splinters
Spit out by a tree".

Well the wood didn't like it
Not one little bit.
Boy, it started talking.
I thought it never would quit.

And a half hour later
It was still going strong
It was yelling at me
Telling me I was so wrong.

It called me a sorry carver
And insulted me good
I never dreamed of the fury
That hid in the wood.

So I picked it up gently
And tried to make it my friend
But it started screaming
And this just had to end.

Into the woodstove
The basswood went flying
Sending up embers
Which had gently been dying.

A few moments later
The wood engulfed in flames
No I wasn't sorry
It had called me bad names.

And let that be a lesson
To all the rest of my wood
You better start talking
Or I'll fix you good.

Since that fateful day
Cooperations been key
The wood carves itself
As it now listens to me.

by Maura Macaluso