Statue

The colors long peeled from your plaster
leave you white like alabaster,
a relic of ages belonging to the past,
as in a hero's stance you once were cast, 
staring blindly with sightless eyes,
and deaf to hundreds of years' cries,
a monument to what humanity lacks -
here - take a sledgehammer and pickaxe.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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Wolf Avatar
October 4, 2026 at 8:42 PM
Do I detect a cheerful skeptic lurking behind these lines? ~ Inspect Oar Gadget
Crandall Avatar
October 5, 2026 at 9:26 AM
Haha, here's a secret, but whatever you do, don't tell anyone. Well, maybe it's obvious, a lot of these "poems" I write, start as a single rhyme, which, in this case was plaster and alabaster, and then, because of some kind of poetic OCD, I have to make it into a poem to exorcise the beast - the beast being plaster/alabaster repeating in my brain like a sledgehammer...or a woodpecker...or a sledgehammer woodpecker. When I write the poem, the rhyme in my head goes away, but the poem itself, while having done its purpose, might not hang together so well.
Smith  Avatar
October 3, 2026 at 9:35 PM
A striking, tightly rhymed octet that lets the statue’s physical deterioration embody historical amnesia and moral failure. The measured couplets build from the stark “alabaster” image to a devastatingly direct final imperative, giving the poem both formal control and real emotional force.
Crandall Avatar
October 4, 2026 at 7:33 PM
Thanks, Alison!
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