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Steve Page May 16
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
Yasin May 12
I can sculpt your eyes and let it wander through the seven seas.
With poetry
I can sculpt your mouth and watch you breathe
I can grant you a voice sweeter than honey
softer than the wind.
I can sculpt your heart and listen to it beat as if there is a riot within the cages of your ribs.
I can carve freckles on your cheeks and admire it like there is a universe to be studied.
I can carve your blood vessels and unleash my love
let it run freely through your vessels.
I can sculpt your arms where we can sweep the tears off each others faces
I can sculpt your legs where we can both walk through this endless road together.
Ameilia Lewis Apr 22
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
she remains anon Nov 2018
Oh take my heart and sculpt it,
chizzle me into something anew.
But it was God through which I was created
not a simple man like you.
if you like this poem, please check out the others in my “Artists” collection. thanks!!
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
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
I have drank the philters of the oceans
inside the notches of your sculpted bust
chiseled to perfection by my minds notion
immortal beauty to never crumble to dust

Skin of ivory with curves carved by a god
my little ivory girl how my fire burns
breathless, stiff, and lifeless left me aw'd
a singular lonely lover forever yearns

Just one kiss to those stone cold lips
just one before I visit in my dreams
my lips upon yours, hands on hips
how you look while the moon beams

lighting your lovely void face
The lips how they grow so warm!
Your arms how they tightly embrace!
By the gods, a living art form
to forever love in this dark place
Gabriel Bonney Aug 2018
You are made of stone.
As are we all.
We are all sculptures,
sculpted by the world.
But what the world will not tell you is
you are a masterpiece,
sculpted by the Sculptor.
You were made good,
your splendor carved by the Creator,
even before His creation.
The Almighty knew you,
even before a scentence
spoke the world into existance
in an instant.
He knew every chisel, ever groove, every crease,
etched in His image.
The world had convinced you
that you have a heart of stone,
but this is not so.
Though your exterior may be
as rough, inflexible, and ridged
as a rock,
your heart is written in blood
and laps against your rigorous appearances.
Your heart,
my counterpart,
is not made of stone.
It is a roaring sea,
of soul and emotion you have left alone,
and it longs to break free.
haecceity | Latin | (n.) the essence of a particular thing that gives it its unique particularity; the "thing-ness" of a thing--its individuality, specificity, essence of what makes it what it is
Hg Aug 2018
i can
her lips
and the way
they close

i can
her voice
and the way
it moans

i can
her pulse
on a

but i can’t
a heart
that’s made
of stone
Tony Luxton Jul 2018
He sees through it, like
the young tend to do,
a modern stone sculpture
with holes you can see through.

Having recently read
'The Emperir's New Clothes',
he thinks they're at it again,
expensively baffling brains.

He looks through the spy holes
at their puzzled attention,
amused at the bemused,
using their words of pretension.
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