Best Sculpted Poems
Starlight pierces ebony,
above sculpted shades of white.
And moonbeams soften the scene,
gilding Night with golden light.
Donning a crystalline dress,
Nature's a picture of grace.
And draped in feathery down,
She's frozen in time and place.
Billions of snowflakes gather
on bare branches, where they freeze.
And subtle features get carved
by the breath of a sharp breeze.
The wind does not blow enough
to dislodge the sticky snow.
And the laden branches bend;
bowing impossibly low.
Cold casts its enchanting spell
in the throes of Arctic chill.
And silence imbues magic
to Winter's artistic skill.
Categories:
sculpted, beauty, imagery, nature, winter,
Form:
Quatrain
Life, are you a blessing or a punishment?
I'm trying to understand how I'm
a slave to the sculpted version of me.
A prisoner without chains,
upon a path forged with my own hands,
feeling lifeless, drained from
premeditated premonitions.
I'm burning like a caliginous candle,
melting in waxing weepings -
fatigued from flames of rage and regret.
In this sable epoch,
I'm unable to master my mind,
as bitter temperatures trigger tenebrous tones,
I tremble, feeling tremors from corrosive cysts.
Birds remain mute on somber mornings.
When did I become their nemesis?
I've stopped searching for sunshine from absent friends,
or explaining to impatient selfish souls,
too consumed in their internal thoughts.
Maybe the problem is my restless existence,
not in their lack of empathy.
I've always been sober to sorrow,
but I hunger to drink myself to death.
Irritated by smiling, I'm slowly suffocating,
losing all desire for me to breathe -
unable to escape the angst of air.
My eyes are like tender lanterns,
guiding with damp cautious flickers,
craving crepuscule hues,
but all I see is a solemn moon,
wrapped in a blank black hoodie.
My cathartic conscience feels unconscious,
defeated from colourless pastels.
Feeling dejected and dreary,
drenched from misty icy rain,
I walk towards a ghostly passage of muted feet,
searching for shelter in my clandestine cave.
I awoke hoping for a gold and copper dawn,
but only lethargic gloom greeted my spirit.
As I tumble like leaves blowing in the breeze,
I return to nothingness, haunted by wraiths at dusk.
Categories:
sculpted, angst, pain,
Form:
Free verse
Angels live in heaven, so I heard you all say,
as the pristine celestial beauty they ascend
like the sparkling stars in the far away milky way,
but I know on the mortal earth they often descend.
If you ask me how do I know, I would aver,
I have seen the radiance of my mother’s heart
as bright as adoring shine of a splendorous star,
suffusing me with love even destiny made us apart.
In troubled times when the family was adrift in unrest,
she toiled to settle down secured in a land unknown,
gave a precious gift to my rootless uncertain life, a nest,
from where I spread my wings in the sky and have flown.
I soared high under the caring cover of her weary wings,
my aspirations the wild winds couldn’t blow away.
I live in the shadow of her undying love, memory brings,
for it’s her hands that sculpted me what I am today.
She has left me for her new home a long time ago,
when in dismal night the glistening north star I see,
guiding me to my final destination, I then know,
she is the star, shining with angels in heaven for me.
______________
April 29, 2022
Contest : A Mother's Love, Tributes Of Love For Mother's Day
Sponsored by : BJ Legros Kelley
Categories:
sculpted, analogy, angel, mother, star,
Form:
Rhyme
Galactic sights, streaking in the night
Sky heights, blinking in my sight.
Categories:
sculpted, heaven,
Form:
Crystalline
-sculpted in false image-
Hey, look at me
now I see
I’m more like you,
and less like me
chiseled and shaped
the mold half broke
chipping away at
pieces of my soul
Till I don’t know
Who I am anymore
Figures in a magazine
Prophetic in hope
Used as examples,
As real women choke
Why won’t you just
let me be me?
And see the design
God intended me to be
I am beautifully flawed
Without airbrush aesthetics
Mixed bag of crazy
And genuine intentions -JAZ-
Categories:
sculpted, beauty, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
I see a galactic swirling motif,
a single stitch in the fabric of time.
And I see chaos fuel rhythm and rhyme,
coloring creation in stark relief.
It takes my breath away in disbelief;
a true astrological paradigm.
I see the hidden hand of God at work
in the intricacies and awe of space.
And I see divinity in its grace
and elegance emerging from the murk.
I see traces of the Lord's handiwork
wherever science and faith interlace.
A truly phantasmagorical sight,
I see a universe sculpted by light.
Categories:
sculpted, 10th grade, beautiful, creation,
Form:
Blank verse
Wrapped in a black satin sheet
Feel him breathing, lying next to me
Smile to myself........
The way he molded me into his masterpiece
My body like clay in his hands
His hands.....sculptures hands
Ruff, strong, pleasing hands
His eyes.....soft chocolate eyes
Looking at me with deep concentration
Held me pinned down
Took in every line and curve of me
I was afraid to breathe
His lips.....kisses that would melt ice
Wet, juicy, body humming kiss
Shaped me to his pleasure
Giving him all that I am
He captured my soul
My hearts beating next to his
Closing my eyes.....lost by my sculptor.
Categories:
sculpted, fantasy, happiness, imagination, loveme,
Form:
Narrative
I wonder what it could be
The glowing merry marble
Curve of my masculine hands and legs
That draws them to me like bees to honey.
I stand here for their eyes to drink up
Like a mirror hanging on the wall
Yet all that they will see is me
Have they no pleasure in their own reflection.
I am the birth of Michelangelo's chisel and hammer
Hours upon hours he spent
Burning the midnight oil for me to stand
As I glow in alabaster-white
There here I stand in sculpted glory
Frozen in time for all man to see
The miracle of the chisel and hammer
Stand here forever in The City of Lilies
(Inspired by Michelangelo's David)
Categories:
sculpted, beauty,
Form:
Personification
Her eyes are shining spheres, sculpted from the marrow of forgotten stars,
Each gaze a window into a universe that pulses in silence,
Charged with the intensity of solar flares dancing on the edge of the horizon,
Yet their warmth is a well-kept mystery, a burn that leaves no trace on the sky of the world,
But just a delicate touch on my soul, an unspoken secret of a silent love.
In the depths of those eyes, untold stories from extinguished times hide,
They flutter like an inner fire that warms my dreams on cold nights,
A secret call that whispers desires that cannot be spoken in words,
And yet, in that silence, I find the echo of an understanding that transcends the light,
A profound connection, like an unseen thread binding two souls beyond time.
On the dark sky of my heart, her eyes shine like beacons of hope,
They guide my steps through the dense fog of doubt, revealing a luminous path,
And in that light, I lose myself and find myself, a traveler of an eternal dream,
For in her eyes, the universe finds its form, and I find my peace,
A dance of lights and shadows, of desires and fulfillments, in a never-ending story.
Categories:
sculpted, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
I have sculpted my father's face in the marble of silent dreams,
and all the vehicles of time, each with its own departure,
I have kept the dungeons as chronicles of oblivion,
and the masks of leaders, shadows of the times, and the teeth of those who tear.
I have embroidered quarrels with women like tapestries of embers,
but most of all, I have captured this night in the hourglass,
as the light drips like old wine on my fingers,
drawings of dust on the walls of the soul,
shadows that dance behind curtains of fire;
I light a rolled dream and laugh like a playful wind,
yes, I have caught everything in the net of time.
The courage of my memory is a silver bird,
flying among the echoes of a lost universe,
but living within me, like a river of whispered stories,
in the murmur of starry nights,
where every detail is a star in the sky of the past,
and every memory is a note from a never-ending symphony.
Categories:
sculpted, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
under sculpted
under
sculpted
greys gray
led me astray
here kitty kitty
manslaughter charges
death beyond loves canal
floating down rivers
of
denial
under sculpted greys
layers before these silk sheets
vocals tone
of
gray
her heart
looks
to
me
this way
calm waves
crash over me
shore lines
captivated
soaked
into
submission
she loves me nots
each petal
from
her
rose
clings to me
scented
from
heaven
her flowers
call
me
near
in this field
it
all
seems clear
my seamstress
my seamstress
my seamstress
patches
my
heart
she stitched me
she stitched
my
heart
now every beat
in
time
with our
new start
never find
us
under sculpted
?
Categories:
sculpted, art,
Form:
Lyric
This is...my last serenade...this is...my last serenade...
This is...my last serenade...this is...my last serenade...
This life...this life is not meant for me...
I'm troubled, troubled so desperately
I need help, I cannot deny it
I need help, please, point me to where I can find it
My life is a mess; me, I'm a consistent wreck
Keeping my composure isn't my fate, I've only learned to be Leona
myself, yes, my name is Leona; nice to meet you but unfortunately goodbye
I am so ready to leave this dreadful world
my noose is prepared, the note written; but I lack the heart to do it
I can't seem to overcome these persistent roadblocks
these terrible things torturing thee
I just succumb to the mockery, the tyranny, the thievary
of the people who claim my life is a horrible mistake
ever since I gained the ability to communicate
Why couldn't I have been born a mute, a shut in
then I wouldn't be subjected to
creating my friends in sculpted words in various stories
Ironically, they are the ones who know the depth of me
although I can't escape the notion of betrayal lurking boundlessly
I loathe the merriment others receive in tearing me down
ripping my heart out disgracefully
leaving lonely, stinging tears running down my cheek
causing intense grief and months of depression
no progression, rest or relaxation
Sometimes I look myself in the mirror; stare and study the reflection
wishing to be the person in the mirror
laying inside it's own glass world, forever in peace, forever happy
bothered by no one, nothing except for me
gracing its presence just to talk, come to conclusions
Am I insane; ask the padded walls I reside away from
maybe, probably but I'm hoping not
I need help, please find help
gather a search party to find me
I'm lost in the chaos of a minuscule world
and if I, if I endure one more blasphemous day...
there's the cliff......and I am standing on the very edge
Categories:
sculpted, art, bullying, conflict, depression,
Form:
Narrative
sculpted vessels
tear in me
tear in me
tear
in
me
sculpted vessels
what crown
of
my
love
sculpted
dreaming me
listening to me
what has awoken
my love
what
has
awoken in me
that eyes could see my soul
my soul is lines with thoughts
all painted in rainbows colours
from
you
what line has
ever been
drawn in love
that my words
want more
just to feel you
that any combination of words i could ever align
would draw you closer to me
from what bones would i have to peel my flesh
to touch you to feel you to taste you
that my mind could be drawn in that line between love
that line in love
if there be any line in love
let it be a line i can walk on
a line i can dream on
draw me a line
once again
draw me a line
show me anything
prove to me there is or is not a line
what are my words to you
what are my words to me
it all starts here
now
an
future
or
an
sculpted
vessels histoy
?
Categories:
sculpted, art,
Form:
Lyric
Born of stone and scripture, a chiseled child,
Shaped by shadows, where duty smiled.
A father's fist, a granite line,
Molded expectations, a design divine.
Mother, a tempest, wind in her hair,
Bipolar whispers, a haunting flare.
Her moods, like lightning, crackled and surged,
Leaving scars in shadows, unspoken, unpurged.
Within this fortress, my spirit confined,
By laws celestial, a heart defined.
But beneath the surface, where secrets hide,
A yearning for freedom, a restless tide.
Will the sculptor's hammer cease its cruel art?
Or will I break free, tear the canvas apart?
From Heaven's chisel, and storms untold,
A soul may emerge, brave and bold.
So I stand at the crossroads, where shadows contend,
Will Heaven reclaim me, or will I transcend?
With one whispered promise, one defiant spark,
I'll forge my own path, leave a rebel's mark.
Born of the Heavens, haunted by the wild,
The chiseled child rises, a spirit reconciled.
Categories:
sculpted, heaven,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: November 03, 2023
________________________________________
Ambrosia-colored slants shine and gaze within.
With delight, watch the white embers spin.
Sifting through waves of serenity and quiet.
That rustling across the heavens is reliant.
In this outpouring of glorious radiance,
I believe we all require authentic shadiness.
A place where the soul may rest in peace.
We pray every night; carnage must cease.
This unchanging mood is shared by nature.
Greeting everything with eager prayer
Holding every bit of grass, heating each stone.
With a dazzling embrace and a beaming tone.
The velocity of the world ceased to blur.
Whispers of eager voices rustle and spur
Drafts of leading vitality reach the soul.
The era we are in currently is rich and full.
Dreams drift in the air akin to wisps of wind.
The depths of inner reach are being blind.
Silent cries blend with an aesthetic melody.
As rising goals meet broad esoteric parody.
Categories:
sculpted, analogy, appreciation, character, wind,
Form:
Rhyme