Ode to Workmen

Stay a while, and divine 

Meaning from the wreckage of

These disjointed lines.

Words are the tools of

Dreamers such as I

That would hold back 

A tide with a paper-thin dam

That bursts and floods 

The page with debris and

The bodies of black letters.

There are those that 

Speak louder than I,

With rough hands that bend 

Metal and the world to their will.

They raise roofs that hang in midair

Like Babylon’s gardens,

Carve paths for lovers’ feet

From mountain top to riverside,

Nail stars to the skies before they

Lay down in their bed of 

Humble dreams 

Forgotten by the clever,

Ignored by the wise.

Reviews

[Lorry]

We never do quite remember the folk worth remembering, in a world where celebrity means only being known for something, no matter how trivial.
I think where you are is the best place to be. Knowing there is more to know, without the arrogance of believing your own hype.
I hope to get there someday.

[andrew mitchell]

A lovely piece of writing, a pleasure to read, love the imagery.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Laz, the quality of your writing exudes with a high degree of skill and expertise. How fortunate I am to have come across this, tonight.