Sculpture

[BobBradshaw]

Sculpture


My chisels and rasps unclothe your form.
As failing light anoints your cooling body,
I slump into a chair, pour shots of whiskey
as an antidote to my anger.

Wagging my cigarette, as if scolding, I ask
"Why must we make the same mistakes?
Do you harbor a grudge?
I'm not Donatello or Rodin
but when the dust settles you will thank me.

Trust me, and I'll give you the dreamy appeal
of a Spanish guitar. Fight me and I'll
jackhammer your impudence.
It won't be me who breaks first."


note: thanks to Dale for his help on this poem

[FranktheFrank]

I like the idea of a drunken angry sculptor rantng at
his impervious lump of rock. Not like us poets at all.

Did you know the process some used Bob, make a figure from
clay and fire it so it becomes fixed, i.e. it won't sag or warp.
Then place in a bath of liquid, remove the iquid an inch at
a time then chisel away at the rock, 3 dimensional imaging.

[Billy]

I like this well enough. It doesn't have your usual striking images that I've come to expect in your poems. One of your images can make a poem great.

[BobBradshaw]

Billy, you're way too generous...but I appreciate it.

Frank, thx for the info....

[Kenneth2816]

I like the concept. As if one is addressing unreachable parts of oneself.