Soon, I will journey to the middle of the moon,
There, I will proudly place a memento with flair,
Fine sculpture shaped for reduced-gravity design,
One like proud Lady Liberty, facing the sun.
Like a bright beacon blazing in starkness, a spike,
Soaring melodies of beauty gently pouring,
From a breath of fresh air deaf to bees’ noisy hum,
Bold, elegant masterpiece dipped in crocks of gold.
Steady for the frozen silence of moon’s eddy,
That unyielding oak that confines winds to the mat.
Carved to freeze time, for history not to be starved,
Set in stone, clothed in a bright future free from threat—
Sweet treasure that no storm will ever dare unseat.
Write me a poem about the light
About how strong you are despite
The challenges you face in life
When balances don’t seem right
Sing me a song about your hopes
How you cheer even when broke
No tears in beer nothing used like dope
Except music near as an antidote
Paint me a picture with your heart
Light and airy with glee and spark
That could light the way in dark
Despite a day when life’s no park
Build me a sculpture full of desire
With your very own passion and fire
That’ll shine on in time in mind’s higher
Making one think and dream inspired
Throw me a kiss in the white wind
For it I’d live in a little silver sin
The kind that is always forgiven
In heart in mind in earth in heaven
Be optimistic in what you do
For I believe in me and I believe in you
I am a writer,
A crafter of sculptures
Showing off ability in creativity.
Beyond experiences of my own,
Beyond feelings of my own.
I take a stroll in journeys of others,
And pave routes in imagination.
I fill gabs yet to be discovered,
And open doors yet to be walked in.
I bleed pain through ink in hand
And Keep my journal thriving in scripted thoughts
I give life to thoughts in shapes unknown
I am a writer,
And I am artistic.
I paint pictures felt with a full heart,
And then again mend a broken heart.
I am like a magician,
I am bound to make the world dance to the beat of my drum.
This is talent wrapped in a golden foil
Between the trees
a waterfall
of
light,
a stillness
bright with bubbling springs
and birdsong.
Here you stumbled
on
that
strange intensity
by which
the tongue-tied earth
is made articulate.
First published in Landfall, New Zealand
BRONZE SCULPTURE
tactile
with style
What do you reckon Venus of Milos was doing when she was fully limbed?
Was she thinking
Deep thoughts
Holding the apple
Measuring the gravity
Of her life?
Was she, like Aphrodite,
Poised with a shield
About to march off
Into a battle
Confidence writ on her face?
Was she a Muse
Putting on her work clothes
Getting ready to go
Inspire some artist
To create works of beauty?
Was she Sappho
The Poetess
reaching out for her pen
to finally complete
one of her poems?
Was she spinning a wheel
To make a tapestry of Dreams
Or to weave time
Winding and unwinding
Moments lost and found?
Was she playing a Lyre
Singing timeless songs
Of loss and triumphs
Great loves and heartbreaks
And exciting adventures?
Or, dear reader,
Was she just a woman
Like you and me
Trying to go about her life
The best she can?
Grandma’s face on a paper mache’ dog
What could be better? Nothing she thought.
Her overfed dog looks a bit like a stuffed hog.
We could not believe what the sculpture brought.
Behind grandma’s back we laughed our petootsies off.
In front of her face tears ran, as we tried not to cough.
It was the craziest thing I had ever seen, no contest.
She left it to me, for I was the one who lied the best.
ubiquitous
tactile
happenings
forever
traced
in
form
of
moods
in
waiting
engagingly
radiant
expansive&
eerily beautiful
unforgettable
haunting presence
in
representation
morphed
into
patterned
people
places
images
depicted
thought
pauses
gathered
in
the
readymade
created
or found
I need to see her again
Before what’s left of her is erased
Reduced to a pile of memory dust
scattered among the ashes
Of a long gone day
Let my pencil be a sculptor
Pulling my fingers as it will
To chip away blank paper
Carving away line after line
Graphite emerging,
Revealing the perfect words
Stringing them together
Bringing to life all my favorite details
Black and white buffed to color and skin
And sound
And sight
And smell
Until it has revealed my love
And polished a perfect sculpture
Rising off the page
In perfect articulation
So I can have her again
Before she’s gone forever
Oh moon, be calm as you fade away from sight.
Beat shaped in my heart, and the pulse is harder.
Nature! Your artistic scenes outdo all heights.
Venus smiled as the Moon blinked in her harbor.
Stars made a pledge to upkeep the night sky bright.
Ah, jealous moon, recall daffodils ardor.
Shades splash in sapphire, arc's dazzling Edenic.
Grace nature, your brushwork is bright and scenic.
Written: October 06, 2022
Sculptures were made
not only to be admired with the eyes.
They were made to be touched.
Feel its texture.
Experience them with your:
eyes closed,
Up and down,
From the surface to every little corner.
The most precious sculpture
that we can you experience;
it is the human body.
Feel your own body.
Massage your lover's body.
Find what makes it tremble,
How certain parts react.
its electricity, make it vibrate.
Use all the senses.
The skin is one of the greatest senses.
Knowing your own body.
It is also knowing your soul and mind.
Your body is your temple.
It is a precious instrument.
Have never thought steel could be pretty
Today in the contrast of the baby blue sky she was beautiful
I wondered at her creators, her designers, her builders
Were they honored with such a sky?
Have never thought steel could be beautiful
Today I was astounded and awed by Toronto’s steel
Her strength is unprecedented; I feel safe and loved
She has brought steel into a new dimension.
Have never realized until now what an architect can do.
This building must have been constructed by a team.
Maybe angels and spirit guides along with engineers.
This is a heavenly site on earth for sure.
THE SCULPTURE
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
He framed her face with charm of bright Moon light
His painful passion brought pearly luster
glistening on her wide eyes in delight.
Superfine cut by chisel with skilled stroke
designed curves of body on perfection.
On each point emerald emotion broke.
Elegant statue stood on completion.
Sculptor desired the statue as his wife.
His yearning tingled on earnest prayer.
How could the statue be blessed by life!
Her eyes blinked, she smiled at her creator.
Statue turned Galatia in rapture.
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
05/18/22
Orphan sonnet
Contest by Emile Pinet
Pouring over night, as stunning
As the stars all dreamy and bright
My liquid truth, unhurried
Mystifies, inspires and delights
In lavender hues, so vibrant
Like laughter crushing the silence
In love vibrating through the hereafter
Serenity soothing sorrows with solace
Cool clear waters in silhouettes of prayer
Praising the One who made them
With hope for a lasting grace and faith
That sounds like gentle waves caressing gray
Whispering love through the moments
Breathing assurance into the heart
A stunning example of kindness flowing
From a tangerine dawn to a scarlet dusk
Waters wind their way from the mountains
To the shores of sallow sandy beaches
Caressing each thought with a sincerity
That leaves the soul feeling completely whole
The Shape of Water Poetry Contest
Sponsored by craig cornish
June 12, 2021
in their own culture
We saw a turkey vulture
what a weird sculpture
called them on cell phone
were alive at home alone
what we expected
history of church
should be checked out when you can
you will want to know
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