I’m a tool, a toy, a mechanical device. I’m sometimes used only once or twice. My uses are plenty, many and more. I collect them and show them, I’m told I’m a bore. Remembering their names is quite the chore.

A deer that dances beyond the planes. Serving tea and coffee from outer space.

The peak of a mountain, the hight of a wave, top of of a rooster's head. I am used as an ornament, to adorn a soldier's helmet, often colored in red.

My first four are a male name, one of the four more famous writers from the Christian faith. My last two are a common conjunction in Latin. Or a famous Spielberg movie from the early eighties. All together, I’m where you could buy fish, or stocks, or produce.

The final stage before it’s dark Some older ones still barely glow But touch me and I’ll leave my mark A painful welt with smudge bestowed