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Pipework to heaven

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scaling inch by inch
slowly, gradually, moving
since I reached the nadir
the only way is up
these helping angel hands
extending beyond their reach
Lord could impeach
them for my mortal sins
kindness sometimes comes
from least unexpected places
soft, smiling, gentle faces
and I am deeply thankful

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77 thoughts on “Pipework to heaven”

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  34. I loved climbing trees as a child…I climbed one just a few years back in Scotland, and looking down I felt totally different. I would love to climb to the top and see the canopy someday, but alas I’m too afraid in my older years! Beautiful tribute to trees. 🙂

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    1. Jami, It is quite fascinating to note that our boldness evaporates with the age, and if anything it has to be the reverse since less of our life is left 😀 I assume if we are not bold when we are young we won’t learn that much 😀

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      1. Yes…fortunately I was bold as a youngster! I just watched a film with Clive Owen called The Boys are Back, and it’s all about how he let’s his son just BE adventurous. All the other parents are like “oh, that’s dangerous!” But his wife (his son’s mother) had just died, and he was going to let his son express himself however possible, to help cope. He discovers life in the process. It’s a beautiful film about seizing the moment!

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  35. great title and great piece. I for one was bold in a sense growing up. but it was with a hard shell on the outside to cover up the sensitive side on the inside. I think I’ve gotten bolder as I’ve gotten older. but it only shows up on paper and not off the paper. I’m not the confrontational spirit off it, it becomes to stressful because there are those that have worked me over the years because they can. it’s one of the reasons why being a forklift operator off the paper hasn’t done anything for me. I always keep hearing those at work that say, and it doesn’t matter if it is for a lady or what I do for a living. they just say, you’ve got to lower your standards. that’s a complacent view and absolutely no dream in that. i’m socially underdeveloped here in America. I don’t play their game as a player. it’s to easy for them to pick me apart.

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    1. Many thanks for sharing some wonderful insight, I think generally people do try drag you down no matter where you are. The most important think to consider in those circumstances is to believe yourself and your version of the truth.

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      1. great input AB. blue-collar life with a hard work ethic where cohorts lean on the guy that doesn’t even belong in it. it just makes me wanna scream. it’s a lonely existence in the collective.

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      2. I believe it is not about the collar colour of your job, a poet is an anomaly in any section of society, most people are unable to relate to what we are upto so they deal with the situation either with ridicule or bafflement 😀

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      3. Agreed. However though I am the sensitive one and when I make stands I am the one that gets backed into a corner. Its like the battered wife syndrome. Except in my case its them pitted against me. Trust me AB I’ve had my plate full most of my adult life by being the uniquely different one. I just want out of the negative environment that I have to deal with on a daily basis. Trust me when I say there are no picnic tables in minus ten degrees in freezers that makes it romantic one least bit. Its no fun being the only guy….haha.

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      4. I hope you turn those experiences into beautiful poetic melancholies and ultimately able to cope with this predicament to make it your strong point.

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      6. Of course I don’t mind offline conversation. Please check your email for this response or any comments left on your posts as they would contain my email address, please feel free to send correspondence.
        Kindest regards, AB

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    1. Hi, thank you for such kind appreciation and I am extremely pleased that my humble work is making you more determined. It is indeed a pleasure to share.

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  37. Thank you for liking “November Skies.” Wonderful poem and photo! 🙂 I do agree we need a little help from above to get through the difficulties of this life. This poem reminds me of a time when I got lost at a busy public place. I was really young (3 or 4 years old), and I got separated from my mother. I was walking around wondering where she was, but I was not really scared. I eventually came upon an old man wearing an old-fashioned derby hat and suit. He talked to me for a moment and handed me a few small oyster crackers to eat. I cannot remember everything he said to me, but he told me to go in a certain direction. I went the way he told me to go, and sure enough I found my mother a short distance away from where the old man was. Many years later, I told my mom about the old man who helped me when I was lost. She asked me, “What man?”

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