With Pliers, Saw, Tongs And A Hammer Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

It's not like I am going to straighten,
A molten piece of metal like this bangle,
I wear on my arm. It is truth that I am,
Going to knock sense into this poem,
With pliers, saw, tongs and a hammer.

It has given me a headache that is known,
For it refused first to get thought up.
I had to use the pliers to get in on the page,
For I had to break a fence and twist wire,
This way and that till I could reach it.

As for the saw, I used it to level the,
Tree trunk so that I could reach the leaves,
Of the poem and cut it to size with the
Jagged edge of my saw whose teeth sank,
In and even broke in the process.

The tongs came handy when I had thrown,
It into the fire to mold the molten mess,
And shape it for it was so hot my bare,
Hands could not have done the job.

Now I have hammered it together and,
As you see it has come out in the shape,
Of my own piece of art that reveals the,
Innermost parts of my being and also,
The thoughts of the jeweler in me.

Next time you read a poem don't,
Even begin to think it was easy to get,
It on paper for the medium is deceiving.
It takes pliers, and a hammer and all,
To get to produce a masterpiece.

For poetry is harder than a rock,
Softer than metal in the mold,
Harder than the pith of a tree,
And as solid as the iron hoofs,
Of a horse shoe.