Chainsaw Sculpture

He took the chainsaw

Lopped off the inappropriate.

Sad to lose the tree

From the front yard.

Years as the green retreat

For birds, their antics and song.

But with the aging and decay

It was now the woodpile

Or something strangely beautiful.

Unusually small buzzing implement

Big strokes first

For the required dimensions, shape.

Neighbours wondered at the event.

Odd spacing at the trunk

Became a bent leg

As if resting.

Upward right angled limb

Becoming arm cocked

And wiping off brow’s sweat.

Features of the trunk converted

Into jack shirt, jeans, wide belt

And face of chiseled features.

With a gentle smile

Precise detail in that face.

Man of work, taking needed rest.

Reminder of former times and ways.

A real shovel held upright

In the other hand.

All this in a three day transformation.

Sort of like Easter Hope.

And destined to last.

image shows one of the many carvings in Orangeville ON

Consider another poem:


Different kinds of wood
Small blocks only
Fractional inches thick
Some light, some dark
Some harder than others
Glued together
Under clamp pressure
And a glued base plate
Time passes…
Cometh the lathe
And the clamping
The spinning
The varieties of chisel
Cutting rough
And cutting fine
Making noise
Or hardly heard
First the outside contours
For general appearance
But eventually face on
For the inner, working
Part of the vessel
Craftsman knows His job
Wood submits
But strangely all working
Together for good
A beautiful piece created
Every step necessary
In the delightful
Age-old process
Of shaping a saint.
Every cut with love.
And Sovereign vision.

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