It's Still Life

The Axe in the Cedar Block

Dad chopped wood
every day,
until he couldn’t.

One day,
he just walked away
from his axe.

Left it

in a block of cedar,

sunk deeper
than his tremor.

And there it stayed.
For years.

None of us strong enough
to free it.

Eventually
the blade rusted,
angry-red,

and the wooden handle fell off.

Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.