Lately my poems
hide in
impenetrable
marble blocks.
I wear out my eyes
and my hands
trying to force
a shape.
I need a poem made of clay,
that falls before me in a great lump,
and yields to gentle pressure
into the shape
I have in mind
without waste
or dust
or blood.
© Laura Seale, 2018
| American sculptor Doris Caesar in her studio Photo from Wikimedia Commons |
4 comments:
Excellent - you shaped this one just fine!
Yes, wouldn't that be wonderful! :) Love the poem!
Wonderful imagery!
Oh how I can be in this poem too Laura. Thank you.
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