“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label carving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label carving. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
Masonic
Not angelic, nor demonic,
it was likeness to life,
in a liberated angel
hiding her alabaster feathers
in columns of strata.
A marvelous made thing
it became, a mass to marvel,
an icon only outlined to invoke awe
from the stony faces, whose eyes hollow
pink granite and glisten in
a miraculous crust
that makes a life
out of our dust.
Photo By Smithsonian Institution from United States of Betty Richard, American sculptor B. 1916 [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Perdue
Yet from far away you catch someone's eye like a tiny ripple you feel, eventually. It reminds you about touch and the permeable skin wr...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
Failure is all the rage these days. I have been practicing, and I understand the rage. Someone said that melancholy is tragedy handled well....
