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A face, a form and a surface ready to be scorned. Features, edges, texture, lines- all part of something bright in spite of putting up a fight. Restless, stoic, agitated are words to combine in order to express the world which I call mine.

Sitting, staring or a mere passerby thinks as though I'm a puzzle to entangle and intertwine but rather I am a piece that has paid her lease in order to attain what they call peace.

An art called by hardly any two; strange and displeasing said by a few. Deep down I know I'm remarkable even if the flicker of intensity from my eyes are invisible.
farhan Jul 23
Poets always exist,
Such as rocks
And the statues within.
Bryn Kennell Jul 9
Breath visible
Ice sculpture ephemeral
Fear Inevitable
Beauty Immeasurable
Lucy Houbart Jun 18
Mary Seacole
Black nurse sculpture
Your determination points
To injustice. Your struggle
To serve, be accepted.
Why were you shamed and denied?
This is the broken land where we live.
Your courage, your stride
Takes me to our weakness

To the ache in my chest like a
broken blood vessel.
And trace the lines in my hand
To a bad rotting root.
How many wounds did your hand with compassion soothe?

Behind your certitude
I imagine pain.
Did your hurting
Search out injury and loss?

And as you nursed those violent lacerations,
Patiently waiting whilst the pathway beat its course,
Did you see as if through a veil,
Your own fractured self,
Fusing with your patient’s,
Both your Injuries restore back together
All the way towards their good health?
This poem is inspired by the sculpture by Michael Jennings which is of Mary Seacole which stands outside St Thomas's hospital looking over the river Thames and towards the House of Parliament.
Heavy Hearted Apr 10
Just because every leaf & stem, n all the greenery of foliage-
Twist up to the sun;
Doesn't mean some flowers won't still bloom in shadow.
Don't discredit a blossom in the dark- Though the light hits the leaves,
the truth of each petal
Is privately dispatched,
Through each color- and in each shape

of every lightless rhythm.
Nigdaw Nov 2019
Let me describe the curve;

It is smooth as carved stone
Yet soft and warm
A texture like silk.
From where it begins
You can run your hands down
To describe a perfect pear.

Savouring each caress,
Let your hands feel
A hardened excitement
Electrifying your senses
Infecting the mind
With a passionate madness.

The curve can re-form,
Still described perfectly
Leaving everything in place,
Perspective changes
Enhancing new features
For fingers and tongue to explore.

You can become part of it
Melt into the sculpture.
Steve Page May 2019
It's in the sequence
within the space
on the slow turn
at the touch of the page

it's more than the optic
less than didactic
much more tactile,
less than merely mercantile

it's more immersive,
deeply collaborative
a match that's unconventional
beyond art, words and materials

avoiding any deference,
embracing our difference
flicking 2 fingers
without fear of irreverence

it's greater than the sum
of its many surprising parts
more than what was found in
the inspirational, original art

and whether it's deliberate
or accidently incidental
these are books as art,
beyond the coffee table
From a festival looking at books as pieces of art
Ameilia Lewis Apr 2019
I want to say you have made me who I am
But you were not the sculptor
You were the one with the vision
Pushing the sculptor to create something
Without defects, without faults, perfection
But you pushed too hard
Until the statue cracked under pressure
You did not make the statue
It was the sculptor
It was I who made me who I am
An old fashioned beauty
Staring right into my eyes
Luring me with her humanizing effect
She doesn’t want to blabber
She doesn’t want to be the queen of splendor
She wants to live
Make her presence felt
For eternity

For she is truly a masterpiece
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2018
An oasis in the eyes
Secrets in the mind
Chaos in the soul

Out of the confined mind
Unveiled the truth
Behind the thousand dreams

Blind folded
Told me once

She wants
To see
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Rule of law
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