Thread: Poem about hand tool woodworking

Oft when wood I'm shaving
It starts my mind a'raving
My tools turn into weapons
My mental health needs saving

The nurses use their tazers
Out comes the canvas blazers
I'm locked in close confinement
To restore my mental phases

A few days in isolation
Or an observation station
Restores my mental balance
I'll be back before the bench

Note; This poem was written by a woodworker in a catatonic state while in close confinement. No II (inherent intelligence) was used.

Doggie (the past is never gone)

A poem written by catatonic human is much more poetic than one written by a sober AI

With selenium schlick & doggie doggerel, this place is becoming an unsafe work environment!

I think I'll vote for Doggie's "raw realism" over the AI blandness - it comes across as a bit well, artificial (pun intended)....

I still get a chuckle out of the lines Doggie penned to celebrate the router plane Luke & I cooperated on a few years back:

"Bored with sand, silt and clay.
Rock hound wood-worked to pass his day.
All went well for a time
But his routing tool was not sublime
His trial of truth was soon cast loose
In favour of a crones old tooth
This alternate tool was no mere crock
It was designed and built by a doggy doc
But this tool too failed the test
Despite the oracle from the West
So Rock hound went back to his roots
Him and Dog doc in cahoots
Clastics, carbonates, evaporates and chemical
Pathology, tissues diagnosis and medical
The result, an adjustable routing plane
So Rock hound got his groove again" ....


Cheers,