My shed is equipped with tools and power,

My secret, personal hickory tower.

I’m there more than unconscious in bed,

Creating with my hands is my mental bread.

Converting branches into spatulas and spoons,

Stumps into chairs with inlays of moons.

I listen to the wood, it tells me what to do,

Or at least gives me an opaque, grainy clue.

Sometimes simple, like a spatula from birch,

Or a bit harder, an oaken observatory perch.

This last project, though, it got me confused,

When racking my brain, I think it got bruised.

A car you can drive? Excuse me P. O. Wood?

Shouldn’t it be metal? I think it should.

But it couldn’t hurt, and I like the work,

Now I have a car but I’m going berserk.

I have to decide on how to name the bloody thing.

Woodillac? R.M.S. Teak-tanic. The Oax-wing?


Sawdust in the air

I was sawing some planks into pieces today, and this started playing in my head to the tune of Walking in the air, composed by Howard Blake.


Sawdust in the air

Floating in the clear, blue sky

My lungs are full of it, as well as are my eyes


I already lost my sight

And it burns like hell, it’s true

The sky, it now looks brown, for me not perfect blue


The fungi and the mold

Have found their brand new home in me

Took over everything, from forehead to my knee


I cough blood in the night and I scratch my eyes

My throat is dry, my sheets are red, a wonderful surprise


Sawdust in the air

My head feels so very light

The noises far away, the lamps always so bright


The doctors say, it’s too late, what happens now, we know

I don’t believe, this is real, it can’t be my time yet to go


Sawdust in the air

Floating in the clear, blue sky

Like the sawdust did for me, the clouds are passing by

Lionel Hammer

I bet lions would make great carpenters if you could get them to concentrate.


Lionel hammer is a carpenter and he’s mostly made of lion.

When he does his carpentry, he measures every ion.

Lionel doesn’t need a saw or a carpenter’s knife.

He has his claws so apical, he has used them his whole life.

Any image intricate, any shape or form,

Lionel does it quick and well, and well above the norm.

Hammer is all he requires, and perhaps some nails.

Seeing one, you would agree, gods live in his works’ details.

The kids like Lionel quite a bit, the sawdust in his mane.

It makes him fuzzier than before when he uses a plane.

He uses his tail to hold the planks however he requires

Or like a tool belt on his back, it can hold a pair of pliers.

Lionel has a special day for his friends and closest kin.

A little show for everyone to make them gasp and grin.

He has a tree that he’s picked out and cut off every branch,

Peeled the bark and left it up somewhere on his ranch.

The crowd comes round the chosen tree, Lionel takes off his vest

He climbs up and finds the top the tree hugging his chest.

He dances down with his claws while scratching all the way.

Shaping wood and making art with a splinter spray.

At first it took some hours for him to finish the whole log,

Nowadays it take three winks, it’s not even a slog.

When he’s done, they have a pole with a stunning scene:

It’s the sea with coral reefs, a shark and a sardine.

The log is felled and given to whoever most desires,

As long as it’s used for something else than feeding blazes, fires.

Lionel thinks it’s just great fun, the fruit is also pretty.

He dons his vest and walks back home while humming a short ditty.