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This is a chisel of precise age unknown

With handle smoother than the skin

Of a child. I have sharpened the blade

By rubbing it on stone. Feel its bite.


This is a wood plane given to me

By an old man who had it

From his father. Their spirits guide

My hands. Feel its weight.


This is a machine I bought myself

Under its skin of shiny plastic

Is an electronic brain. It can do

Almost everything. Don't go too close.




David Subacchi

David Subacchi.Welsh PoetryLiverpool poetryLiverpool poets




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David Subacchi

Wed 11th Mar 2015 20:22


It is about the electronic machinery available in workshops to make joints in wood etc. You just input the dimensions and the machine cuts it out for you. Now available in a small workshop not just in the big ones. Wondering where the traditional wood working skills will go longer term?


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Tommy Carroll

Wed 11th Mar 2015 19:42

Hi David, don't be at it, what's the last two lines about then? ;) Tommy

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David Subacchi

Wed 11th Mar 2015 10:38

You can find more of my poetry on line including some videos by simply searching on SUBACCHI POET.

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