This Ole Block
By: Paula Love Clark
Started as a block of stone,
Wood, marble or maybe bronze.
Pure, complete and wholesome whole
With a heart not yet turned to stone.
But life came and chipped a little
Like a newborn baby’s tooth,
Then someone took a hammer
And took and took and took.
Soon there was a sculpture,
And soon my shape had gone
Soon my heart was aching
With a wretched, saddened song.
The monsters came and scratched
Whilst the jealous they all spat
And the purest marble, wood or bronze
Was broken just like that.
\”Dear God! How beauty varies in nature and art. In a woman the flesh must be like marble; in a statue the marble must be like flesh.\”
By: Rania M M Watts, Title Quote: Victor Hugo
there are some days
i imagine what my life
would be as a great artist
like camille claudel
to be the one responsible
for the shape of a statue
the textures of smooth
skin with a shiny surface
that is what i see
when i gaze upon an effigy
head on — i seem to forget
the work and appreciate
the final stage
what no one ever discusses
are the inner components
that must be forged
did you know statues on the inside
look similar to that of the reverse
of a hand cross stitched needlepoint?
when microthreads securely
squeezed together as each stitch
is made — however, on the other side
it\’s a complete and utter discombobulation
no one ever appreciates process
the ability to take a cube of whatever
material and begin to relish
contours and the endless
something delightful on the outside
paired with inner annihilation