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The Grindstone
The grindstone spun as fiery sparks were sprayed,
for even iron broke against his force,
and by his edge the blunt became the blade
a king would hold upon his charging horse.
The stone was proud to be of use to kings,
for by his work the grindstone was defined,
and loved the hum that rock on metal sings.
Above all else, the grindstone loved the grind.
The water on the wheel was showered praise
from sweaty blacksmiths blessed to man the pedal,
who found no equal zeal in all their days,
and so they fed him steady meals of metal.
Although his grit could sharpen swords of steel,
there was a force still stronger than the stone,
and to this power all the greats must kneel—
the wear of time that grinds both rock and bone.
The decades spent in shaping pointed spears
made edges dull and grit became effaced;
he failed to fettle even pruning shears,
and so, he was retired and replaced.
The grindstone that had fashioned kingly swords
became an ornamental flower pot;
for time eroded all he labored for,
and all he gave and made the kings forgot.
But he remembered sparks and heard the hum
upon his mighty edges made to sharpen,
before those memories grew black and numb.
Now all that’s left—a stone amid the garden.
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Michael Pietrack is a poet from western Colorado, USA. He is the author of the first epic fable, “Legacy: The Saga Begins,” a novel in verse. He holds a Master’s Degree in Education and a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature and Theatre.
Very enjoyable poem and I particularly liked the line: “Above all else, the grindstone loved the grind.” Most of us don’t, but I guess the grindstone must!
Thank you, James. I realy love this poem. It’s sad that the majority of what we toil for daily will be forgotten in the end—when the grindstone is just a gravestone.
The obsolescence of age – an age-old story in itself. Nicely told, Michael.
Thank you, Paul. I enjoy your writing too.
Great job, Michael. Being a really old dude, seeing ancient, obsolete items from the past often spawns a welcome memory for me, too, and Evan found you a dandy image. 🙂
Father Time is undefeated, and even the toughest dudes get ground down.
The images in your grindstone poem made me reflect back to my days on the farm when we had one back in the 1950’s. I particularly like how you brought it to life with your excellent anthropomorphic words that depicted sharp memories we all have of our past along with the hard work and dedication we once had now deteriorating as we age. Outstanding work.
Thank you, Roy. It’s meaningful to me that you enjoyed it.
Hi Michael
You taught me something in this poem. I did not know it was kosher to mix masculine and feminine endings within the same poem because it seems like it throws the meter off.
You are an established poet so now I know it’s OK
I like this poem. It was very descriptive of the grindstone. Not being a blacksmith and being ignorant to physical labor.(haha), I did not know the history nor do I know what it was replaced by.
I liked the flow of this poem and the very descriptive imagery within
Don’t use me as a benchmark of what is right or wrong, good or bad. I’m still learning and unfamiliar of many written and unwritten rules.
I love the use of “to fettle” in the fifth quatrain. It means to finish the surface of something by polishing or abrading.
Thank you. I try to avoid the use of words that others will have to look up. I favor common speech, which can make my work seem less sophisticated, at times. But “failed to fettle” just sounded so good, I couldn’t resist!
This is fun and interesting; even though I have used them all my life and I own several nice ones, it would have never occurred to me to anthropomorphize a grindstone. I also love that “Above all else, the grindstone loved the grind.” I’ll remember that the next time I get my slow-turning, big white Arkansas stone wet for some blade grinding.
At times I feel like a grindstone, worn down, but every day I get back up and grind again.
I love it, Michael, especially your tender and poignant description of the end of the grindstone’s life. Also, “the steady meals of metal.”
Thank you, I love that line too. It’s the nerdiest thing, but when I selected “steady” and put it next to “meals,” I was giddy over the double “ea”.
“Made to sharpen,” but ground to grit by time. A fabulous poem of personification, Michael, with sharp economy of word and line. You’ve easily called your commentors to reflect on aging, and on the failure of others’ remembrance to value their past deeds. I like the little memories you allow the grindstone himself: sparks, and the hum of motion he seems still to feel at his edges. The piece is lighthearted enough to let him end his useful life as a garden ornament, which is a good means of conclusion–though a sad one to persons thinking of themselves. Good management of message and tone!
It’s such a joy to be understood.
I love your work, so this praise carries double weight.