The Blacksmith a Short Poem


This poem was inspired by a blacksmith I saw working in Utah. The man’s focus was astounding but even though he was so focused he burned his hand and had to stop working on his project, when I came back the next day he was there again though, still working on the project. The poem type is a play, off of the poem “Women Work” by Maya Angelou.

Sadly I don’t have a picture of him and his work, however, this photo I found shows a similar type of setting the blacksmith was in.


I have the axe to get
The wood to chop
The kindle to burn
The coal to cook
The air to pump
The fire to light
The iron to smelt
The gloves to find
The hammers to prep
The cast to mold
I’ve got the crucible to mend
The hot metal to pour
Then the sanders to power
And the metal to be forged.


Hot fire on my face
Sweat, down my brow,
All I feel is heat
No relief found.

Gloves turn to ash
Hands burn in heat,
Rush to the water,
Finally relief.


I stare in the water,
Catching my breath
My body cools
And I’m able to rest.


What a wonderful rest
My legs take a stand
The clock chimes 12
Back to work again.


Blacksmith Photo: (3 August 2008)