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It’s hard to write a poem about a shaper
when one knows most people don’t know what it is.
It is of course a large cast iron object weighing
up to a ton on occasions, but there are little ones too.
It can be described by how it looks or by its mechanical
properties, its constituent components and what
they do. Or it can be described by what it does
and maybe that the best way to proceed.

Some lay person wrote in the comments:
‘This is mesmerising,’ and I guess he’s not a poet,
but he kinda summarised up in three words
what and how I fell in love with this machine.
First of all it’s a stand-alone machine,
no others look like this one, and with a good
paint job it looks regal, yes that the right word
regal. It’s a linear cutting machine, that is, it cuts
metal in a straight line, so one can never confuse
it with a lathe, which generate a cylinder, although
a lathe can cut flat surfaces.

And now I guess I’ve confused most readers,
The B.A. (Hons.) Lit.'s crowd, academics and intellectuals,
people who've never gotten rancid oil on their hands
or brushed up against a greasy rag. Maybe I’ll describe
the cutting action of the thing, how it moves forward
in a swoop and a whoop, but faster on the return stroke
because of Whitworth’s quick return mechanism.
Whitworth was a clever guy, he developed a thread form
too, not a forum thread, but the configuration
of a helical form for bolts and nuts of which there are plenty
in engineering, particularly nuts, but I have transgressed
and friends will say in critique, 'Cut sharply'.

Okay, now I have to cut to the chase, which is what
The machine does in a reciprocating action
which is as the guy says: mesmerising.
The irresistibility of the movement of the cutting
tool in the slideways, anything that impedes will be cut,
the groan of the tool tearing metal, the curl of the swarf
as it peels off the cut, the transition of work done
into heat, the change of colour of the chip
the sound of the feed lever ratcheting the next cut
the softer whoosh as the tool returns post haste
ready to start again, the subdued soothing sounds
of the inner working and one wants to open the door
to view the tens of working parts submerged in a rain
of oil splashing down and upon, smoothing the path
of so many components working in complete unison.
Then, there cannot be any no surprise, every stroke
the same, reciprocating see, whoosh,
and the metal peels, and I am getting paid to do
something I love, and with no effort I just sit
and watch and it, it is so bloody rewarding,
so satisfying, so mesmerisingly relaxing.

Well I cannot say I share the passion but I like the poem

It's like meeting an old friend Ken,
to write about it.
Thanks for input.

While I like the unusual subject, and the poem overall, there are too many details for me to grasp and process at one time....I'm like a one armed juggler with more balls being thrown at me too quickly. Maybe that's my limitation....if it helps, think of Judy's poem about wire cutting....

Yes, reading Judy's Poem was the prompt.
Thanks Bob, you are writing some good poems in the other place.