Skip to main content

The Axe





I’m not a violent man – well, I like to think I’m not.

But here was a strange experience, being startled by the realisation that I held such potential in my hand. All I wanted was to buy a new axe to split my logs, the old one’s head having broken from its handle.

Suddenly however, I found myself not just in possession of a lethal weapon, but one that seemed to have its own inclinations. And even worse, the power to influence me.

I wonder how much that’s a characteristic of all weapons?

Well, the poem tells the story, so no need to say any more, except to add that I was further surprised to discover that what I’d written was light-hearted, when the experience was actually quite a heavy one.

Still, all ended happily – my wood pile is high and tidy, no one came to any harm and I remain (I think) non-violent.

 

 

The Axe

 

Down there, as far as you can go...

There they were, in the distant corner

spades and mattocks, scythes and axes –

heavy tools, unused and shining

stood to attention in their racks

waiting for their call to arms.

 

I lifted one to feel its weight –

a Splitting Axe was what I'd come for.

It seemed as though we were acquainted.

I tried some others.  The first felt best –

hanging comfortably from my hand.

I’d made my choice and so set off

 

towards the till, swinging the axe

my new old friend.  Round the end

of Fixtures and Fittings, I bumped into

a baby buggy. Abrupt apologies

to a startled father.  I transferred

the weapon to my other hand.

 

Past Hand Tools, Padlocks, Locks and Chains

Cables, Wires – a near collision –

I strode on, as if driven

by my powerful pendulum –

its weight and lineage telling me

what it had been made to do.

 

How strong its urge, since it had found

an arm to lift and swing it…

Another aisle – Dog Beds and Toys

now full of people, none of whom

had noticed me, working hard

to restrain my axe from taking flight.

 

The choice was mine – if not the power

to hold back an axe evolved to find

the plane of cleavage, splitting open

softer things. I held it awkwardly

behind me. The swinging stopped.

I slipped past Cat Food quietly.

 

One Splitting Axe.  Anything else?

She didn’t even raise her eyes.  I looked back

down the aisles, at all those people –

no severed limbs, no pools of blood –

just a lot of shoppers.  Then went home

with my unused Splitting Axe.

 










 

 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Rake Daddy Rake

  As with lots of good stories, there are many versions. Basically this one's about a pair of Wiltshire yokels raking a pond for kegs of smuggled brandy.  They feigned lunacy when surprised by the excise men, saying that they were trying to rake out the full moon which was reflected in the water.  Their ruse was successful. The officials had no trouble in deciding they were lunatics, so left them to their raking. Interestingly, the Lunacy Act of 1842 defined a lunatic as someone ‘afflicted with a period of fatuity in the period following a full moon’. I suppose any time falls into the category of a 'period following a full moon'.  As for fatuity, that might include all of us on certain occasions, not least since it's not stated how long 'a period' is.  Perhaps then we're all occasionally lunatic... Be all that as it may, on this occasion the lunatics (I've put inverted commas round the word and taken them out several times) outwitted the sober and sane, ...

The Three Hares

  The Three Hares We continue on our way running, running, running around held together tip to tip so I can hear what she can hear as well as her. And the other follows me in front of her – we are joined up by our ears so we follow, lead and follow running, running, running around we continue on our way. Running, running, running around – no cause for worry – what's to come has already been. The future's past – watch us here – we're going nowhere – the last is first and first is last. Our present moment sees us still although we seem to race – running, running, running around we continue. On our way running, running, running around hearing your persistent questions – why do you keep on asking? We cannot tell you any more. May you share your senses and find soft silence at your centre which is so close, while you go on running, running, running around. The turning of the year, with the various thoughts about the past and the future that c...

The Beginning of Time

  Which beginning of time [the Creation] according to our Chronologie, fell upon the entrance of the night preceding the twenty third day of October in the year of the Julian Calendar, 710 [i.e. B.C. 4004].   The Annals of the World (1658), p.1 Archbishop James Usher 1581-1656   Yes, anything, even time itself must start somewhere, somewhen – a beginning at a point in time is not an easy calculation   when nothing was and something is, with so much yet to come. All of which we now know well – us who had our own beginnings.     Time began on the night before the twenty third day of October four thousand and four years BC. Do not ask what may have occurred   in those earlier blackberry days. October's a month of beginnings and ends. The swallows have flown.  The fieldfares are here. My sums are done.  Now to make a new start. I spent some time – time again! – searching for an appropriate picture to precede this poem...