Because everything exists and because even welders have a softer side, here is a collection of welding related poetry. Enjoy! (If you're brave enough, share your own poetry in the comments below.)
"The Welder's Weld" by Sonia Balcer
Wherefore must I wear a mask when
I hold in my hand, the pen
wherewith I write poetry with fire?
How I long to discover the secrets that are hidden
in the theater before me;
to behold the movement of tiny, metal
particles, as they waltz and interlock
in a world within a world;
as they pirouette between the boundaries set
by the fire which frees them to move.
Oh, Lord in heaven! Why are not human eyes made
to see this wonder directly?
Must I always hold this dark glass before me?
Hark! He causes my heart, to see the mystery!
The metals are assaulted, by electric energy,
carried by heaving, heavy wires. In a molten flash,
I see the crystals breaking, and sighing;
the silent order of the solid surface, giving way
to rushing, hotly-radiant tides
that crash together like waves at a beach.
It swirls before me, an intricate dance
which I cannot see, but yet feel inside.
I delight to caress the molten piece
in my heart.
It is inside of me, and I am inside of it.
I slowly feel over and underneath
the hot liquid surfaces.
I move into its every contour, and through
the whole of it.
Bodies of metal, which once were separate;
the boundaries are fading.
It swirls and whirlpools within me-
It is all blurred now, caught
Into a quickly-freezing body of what once
was separate, but now is together, a single piece.
"Welding Wonders" by Robert T Kapla
Two pieces of metal made one.
Doing this job can be fun.
Spending the day outside in the sun.
Able to look down and see everyone.
A wonder it can even be done.
Electricity, jumping threw air.
Heat, difficult to bare.
Try, If you dare.
But, Take great care.
About, what you wear.
Sparks…. Like a meteor shower.
Beauty…. Like a perfect flower.
Watching … for hour upon hour.
Hypnotized … by the raw power.
Awestruck….. How high the buildings tower.
"At Work" by phatalvision
Sweat stings the eyes as we toil all day.
It's hard to imagine what we do for pay.
We hammer out products that are used worldwide,
Pouring our hearts into the steel with pride.
Welders squeeze triggers on wire fed guns,
Shooting hot bullets as molten blood runs.
Welding arcs flash white in eyes that are red,
Hammers keep playing a chorus in our head.
Blue tongued torches lick at the steel,
After taking a taste, they devour their meal.
Metal screams as grinders' teeth bite.
Orange sparks shoot up in fireworks of light.
Smoke uncoils and strikes at our eye,
Struggling to resist vents to the sky.
Searing sparks leap, looking for flesh,
While laboring lungs look for air that's fresh.
Eyes grow weary as skin grows tough.
Calluses reproduce, there's never enough.
Sometimes the steel has a mind of its own.
When it finally yields, it starts to moan.
The product draws life from the men who create it.
Although it's our livelihood, at times, we hate it.
The factory is a graveyard of dead dreams and desires,
All killed by the heat of molten steel's fires.
Retirement is nothing more than a dream.
The hope that it promises fades when it's seen.
But who among us dare raise his voice?
We are all here by our own choice.
So we continue to work, for work we must,
As we toil and moil in the dust and rust.
The whistle blows. The next shift has begun.
We emerge like cavemen squinting in the sun.
We pound on the iron for eight hours or ten,
Then come back the next day and do it again.
We trudge ever onward, the work never ends.
Our only reward is what Friday sends.