the hands of the artist

the middle finger of my right

hand

   grows a tree

white tap roots skitter

down

   interweaving with my veins

branches protude 

fingerlings swimming upward-

   against gravity

northbound -

    this is homeward drive

where mollusks are plenty    

my body is listening

   leap

capture the raging

   tides swelling within-   

this warm clay

coarsely molds friction & fire

   with flights of fancy

to sculpture -

wings are not required 

   the fruiting is art

   

Artist Credit:   Anastassia Zamaraeva

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Poetics - 2024 Poets Leaping hosted by Lisa Fox.  Thanks for your comments and visits.

   

Sculptured conversations

sky,
chisel my face
incomplete, as if part of me
is out there, screaming to be found
under the tangles and mayhem of city's life 

wind, 
bear me down
among the wildgrass & wheat field
peel away my gilded fancy words & tarnish
my crown of perfect life & complete answers

clouds,
teach me 
grains of vulnerability, humility
the grateful sway of your seasons, wisp of breath
that comes with fragile moments,  never to return 


as i lay 
down my mask,
cast my name to the lake
teach me to run again freely
& never fear facing the man I am

Photo by pixabay.com 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:   Chisel me a conversation : Hosted by Lillian ~  We are invited to have a conversation with the artist or becoming the sculpture itself.