Sculpted Poems

In the labyrinth of dreams, where words are sculpted from silence

In the labyrinth of dreams, where words are sculpted from silence,
I often wonder why I don't dare to speak my truth.
How could it be so hard to let the heart flow,
When day by day I play with sounds, with rhymes, with metaphors?
Would it be enough for these words to reach her, to bloom?
I already know I will lose, that I will lose that silent battle,
Which demands her as a prize for my wandering soul.
And in losing, I will crush the last shred of hope,
That fragile glimmer, that false light I hold tightly,
Just so I can keep going, not to stop.
A frail reason for this soul to remain captive
In a tired body, until that moment arrives.
An old song rises from the depths, like an echo of desire,
And I let myself be carried by the flow of thoughts, by waves of melancholy,
Trying to understand why words cannot tip the balance,
Why silence is sometimes heavier than any burden of words.
In this world of shadows and hopes as fragile as butterfly wings,
I seek my balance on the thin thread of unfulfilled desire,
And in every moment, I hope to find the courage to say everything,
To let the heart speak, to sing, to love.

I have sculpted my father's face in the marble of silent dreams

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.

Her eyes are shining spheres, sculpted from the marrow of forgotten stars

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.

Sculpted by the Heavens, Haunted by the Wild

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.

Wind-Sculpted Ideas

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.

God Sculpted and He Erupted

What our God is for
Him we always do adore
Love Him more and more

much love God very
all our sins He does carry
is necessary 

God our pain does bare
His love is beyond compare
With us He shall share

with God was much wealth
He had helped us with our health
forgave all our sins

Bible God had sent
when we read His document
will know what He meant

when God we sculpted
was mad and had erupted
when we made an idol

we knew that His Son
God made Him our only one
great things They had done

sent by dispatcher
God will be a character
is of high stature

for Him had a thirst
for our sins were reimbursed
God is always first

older and older 
sins became big like boulder
bore on each shoulder

-sculpted In False Image-

-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-

Sculpted Galaxy

Galactic sights, streaking in the night
Sky heights, blinking in my sight.

She Sculpted Me

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

Sculpted By Light

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.

Under Sculpted

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
?

Sculpted Vessles

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
?

Sculpted Glory

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)

Sculpted Angel

Alone in my graveyard.
My sculpted angel is waiting for me.
This beautiful creature,
Why does he see me?
Is he trying to speak to me?
Will he lead me to my destiny?
A light from the sky shines upon me.
I am protected by his light,
Tears form at this beautiful sight.
The Angel comes to me,
He takes my hand,
And guides me to the light.
He lifts me up,
He is guiding me,
To the heavens above.
Where I can be with my sculpted angel...

Sculpted Shades of White

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.

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