Tuesday, 16 July 2013

Archaic sculpteur




Archaic sculpteur

O’ Monsieur, I’m the molten clay in thy hand
For swirling curved long fingers doth shape
Thou art the master and amigo to my loose sand
Ephemerally yet neatly, thy flair kiss my nape
Then comes Mademoiselle, a mistress of far-land
A smile etched on her pale face, she’d fake
Wink of her green eyes, nibble on thine errand
 Thieving attention, alas! Farthest it take
Fashioning me hath not been a dream of thine
I, half-sculptured, of a wet queasy quagmire
Lie on ground, wrought flawlessly into a shrine
For thine embrace to her, hath lent me to fire!









11 comments:

  1. language is pretty sweet on the ears n soft on the eyes..

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    1. Pleasure to see you here..thanks dear :)

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  2. oo la la...such passion in this...the amigo of the sand of me...love how you pair this with art too...love is an art that makes much of us...smiles.

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    1. Definitely Brian, love in itself as beautiful and awe-worthy as any piece of art, carrying a poignant tale to be narrated for years to come..

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  3. You keep growing with every poem ... words come so naturally to you nowadays ... always a pleasure to read you :-)

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    1. So so so glad to hear these words from you...Thanks a lot :)

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  4. perfect!!

    I, half-sculptured, of a wet queasy quagmire
    Lie on ground, wrought flawlessly into a shrine

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