The Cleaver of Devil’s Kitchen
They name me Cleaver, though I am no hand,
but the patient edge of centuries,
a blade honed by the Southern swell,
by wind that tastes of iron and kelp.
I split the dolerite as kin are split —
not in malice, but in the slow necessity
of tide and time,
each fracture a journal of what was kept,
and what was carried away.
Below, the broth seethes —
foam thick as ghost‑milk,
steam rising in the blowhole’s gasp,
as if the earth itself were cooking
its old, unspoken griefs.
I have swallowed anchors,
and the names tied to them;
I have heard the rope‑burnt prayers
of those who dangled over my mouth
to glimpse the churn,
and felt their shadows
slip into my keeping.
Yet I am also a joiner —
my spray salts the air
that drifts inland to the gum‑roots,
where descendants breathe it in,
unaware they are tasting
the same brine
that once sealed their forebears’ lips.
Stand at my rim, and I will
show you the ledger’s two columns:
one for the living,
one for the gone —
and between them,
the thin, wet line
where I keep the knife.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 5th, 2025 05:20
- Comment from author about the poem: This was something brewing from 2014 and a little push from Tittu’s poems, more so yesterday’s posting: “Bird’s Eye View” wherein the Devil’s Den has brought this to the light.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Kevin Hulme
Offline)
Comments5
Truly magnificent! This poem takes me to the rock cliffs of where my beach house stands, the steaming breakers against the pot's sides and cracks that hold part of the broth. I can smell the salted air and hear the boiling. So full of allegory the metaphor bubbles with possibilities in this stew of the sea. It breaths with life and death the cycle of life churning in this froth from where all life began and returns. Simply lovely and a fave
It was truly an exciting personification. Thanks Soren🕊️🙏🏻
Most welcome
🤩
Funny place to chop up meat, or whatever he's chopping up - on a cliff edge! lol.
The Adrenalin improves the flavour perhaps🤪
Wow! Dear poet and friend, this is immense. The Cleaver speaks with the patience of centuries...stone, tide, grief, and inheritance cut sharp. Tittu is blushing over here...all chuffed up, as our friend Nev would put it. Seriously, though, I’m floored by the depth here…and honored that Bird’s Eye View and it's location, Devil's Den, played even a small part in stirring this to the surface. Beautifully done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ And as I said to you on a different thread, sounds like my kind of place!
We visited there in 2014 and the sheer, raw power and the palpable air of mystery was so intense.
Is that in Tazmania? Where is that exactly? I notice there are number of locations with that or similar names. I can only imagine how powerful that is to witness.
Yes, Tasmania. Pleasant drives and stunning scenery over there!
Enjoyable Poem . A fave.
Hey Kevin, glad that this can be enjoyed. Most thankful to you🕊️🙏🏻
Wonderful word and scenarios soren, I could visualise them all.
Andy
Thanks muchly, Andy. 🕊️🙏🏻
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