The Ironworker Oh The machinery The grinding smooth…

The Ironworker

Oh! The machinery!

The grinding, smooth

Repetitive siren song which

Entices us from home Hearths glow!

Oh! The chimera cast by cash

& glory, to caress the ribs &

Sinew of this Birthing Nation!

The electric tension of Work

& Play, shocked into a

Primordial compendium

Of Structure & Forest,

Bridges & Tides.

Oh! The ache:  acted out,

Purloined from sea to

Shining sea—Hearts rent

Without our wanderings;

Lost goals & hapless endings,

Borderless landings.

Oh! The strife, hammered out

Of the belching forge of technology,

Cast erect into a fabric of


Acropolis, wrestled straight

From ore pits: quarried,

Smelted & hoisted to

Heights of grandeur; Pasted

Against an angry sky,

Jealous of its leaving.

Oh, the Grief! & War borne

Resolve – Ignited by

Fanatic airborne messengers

Of Doom….

Interrupted girder & Fellowmen

Plummeting from Towers to

A Manhattan more plain!

Oh! The twilight,

When memory of agony,

Dimmed by the respite

Of swelled chest and

Relaxed hand, rules.

Anonymous in the

Shadows of monoliths,

Basking in a thankless

Retirement: fulfilled from

Sole to soul…

Shines a gleaming smile,

A glinted gaze—

A confident, brave & secure

Proud Man.

John W. Rickard, IW 272/16


2/10/’05; edit 2/11/’10

© 2/11/’10


2 thoughts on “The Ironworker Oh The machinery The grinding smooth…

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