Wooden Handle Kind of Day
It was a wooden handle kind of day
A day that backs and hands despise
Callouses staved off the worst
While tender hands suffered dearly
Raw redness a constant reminder
Until the first of many blisters formed
The softest spots their first targets
Gloves offered little protection
Hard working hands not immune
An irritating delay but not a reprieve
Wooden handles show no favorites
The long hoe favors the shoulder
While the shovel tightens the neck
And the rake bemoans the back
Disciplined weeds refuse to yield
Tap roots anchored like rebar
As if to dare the ambitious gardener
Dig deeper if you have the time
Another ache, another pain
Sweat drips mercilessly below
Moisture on the damp wooden handle
The spade slices deep, but not too deep
Lever, lift, deposit, and repeat
Over and over unless you meet a stone
A worthy adversary of any size
A boot or different point of purchase
Perspiration flows like a river
Hoe in the row, that’s the way to go
Cut a trough for some water to flow
Up, down, up, down, repeating sound
Can’t let these weeds go to seed
Definitely something no garden needs
Wheel barrow handles also wood
As are axe, sickle, and scythe
Nothing electric brought out to play
It’s a wooden handle kind of day
Dirt packed under broken fingernails
Scratches, blood, insect bites
All reminders later tonight
Gentle breeze, sun far past center sky
The clods all smooth for another few days
Bodies stretch to see the progress made
Aches and pains and lemonade
No escape from the wooden handle day
Additional Reading
R.J. Schwartz is an American Poet and Author.
His complete works on The Creative Exiles Website can be found here
The Gypsy Thread is a huge collection of his original work
Ralph also writes on HubPages
- So Many Words - January 1, 2025
- The Loving Peace of Christmas Noise - December 20, 2024
- A Light To Guide Us Through The Storm - November 15, 2024







Oh my gosh! Well do I remember those wooden handle type days. My husband was not a gardener, he loved to mow and trim the lawns, but, gardening was my responsibility. I was young, slender and strong in those days, plus I had two little kids who helped out with their little plastic garden sets. I love your poem, Ralph. It just smoothly glides right along and a joy to read. Thanks for the memories – even the nights when I was so sore and scratched it took a long time to find a comfortable position to sleep. Well done on the poem as always.
Well done on the book advertisement, too.
I felt every drop of sweat, and every ache and pain. Very well described. I’m glad it’s in a poem and not what I’m doing right now.
That’s great Ralph, and I relate, those muscles and bones don’t respond like they used to. The gardeners lament, but there is no other work that brings us closer to nature and what it must have been to eek out an existence in times gone by. Some great lines and imagery my friend. Great work.
Wooden handle type of days are a quite common thing around here. Although we have chainsaws, hedge trimmers etc….sometimes you need to just use the axe, shovel, and hoe and other wooden handle tools. very good verse, Ralph.