Sculpture
A creator is aboard, feelings are strong,
They are sinful, tears run fearing the worst.
The creation is a statue, with one wise eye
And another one to see, so that creations appear.
The sculptor made education real, and so much to know
Appeared before us in a performance.
The creators are splendid at their spectacle,
Proofs are made with violence, predators are loose,
The statue will move, but not move.
A maker seems to sew a stonework even,
With the right chisel, the right skill and doctor.
This created, we all feel well inside,
Just like a living statue, a statue to stare at.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human being's company
they pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptor's chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
the evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
the evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
and what they'll find is just a statue
standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it turned me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human beings company
They pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptors chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
The evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you cant refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
The evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what theyll find is just a statue
Standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Burns Statue
This Statue, I must confess, is magnificent to see,
And I hope will long be appreciated by the people of Dundee;
It has been beautifully made by Sir John Steell,
And I hope the pangs of hunger he will never feel.
This statue is most elegant in its design,
And I hope will defy all weathers for a very long time;
And I hope strangers from afar with admiration will stare
On this beautiful statue of thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr.
Fellow-citizens, this Statue seems most beautiful to the eye,
Which would cause Kings and Queens for such a one to sigh,
And make them feel envious while passing by
In fear of not getting such a beautiful Statue after they die.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God-Worship
Statues in competitions allover the world!
With one higher than the other from country to country;
But this act is god-worship.
22m High Statue in 'Maratea' (Italy) ,
25m High Statue in 'Cusco' (Peru) ,
27m High Statue in 'Dili' (East Timor) ,
28m High Statue in 'Lissabon' (Portugal) ,
30m High Statue in 'Cochabanba' (Bolivia) ,
And 38m High Statue in 'Swiebodzin' (Poland) ,
All in the name of competition around this world;
But this act is god-worship.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Statues Crumble
Still and tall as a statue.
I stand straight with perfect posture
At every event.
Be it a birthday party,
Or a funeral.
And, if it is a funeral, I'm the one
Everyone leans on.
'Tis a heavy weight I lift, every time,
And I don't have much stone left now.
Not sure how many more times I can hold them.
I'm losing my stone to rain and other weather.
It's eroding.
How much longer before I
Crumble to the ground,
Just a heap of dust?
I want to stay strong, but I'm weakening.
If I crumble who can put me back
Together again?
If I crumble when I crumble.
Will I ever be a statue again?
Still and strong, I am a statue.
But statues crumble
poem by Raven Lightner
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The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Gross Communication
Whose tender eyes
Are a sea of blue
My heart
Does not pertain to you
Thy may be the fairest
Thy may be the one
But alas—
My heart
Has made a decision
That’s as good
As done
Your faultless
To all
The irony
being
You know not
How to enthrall
Your flawless
As a statue
made of stone
emotionless and predictable
As a statue
straight as a table
But be not
tomorrow
what you are today
questions you don't know how to anwser
will be raised
Who you
really are
Is a secret
Even to you
There's a statue of Jimmy Stewart in the Hollywood Wax Museum, and the statue talks better than he does.
quote by Dean Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I recommend that the Statue of Liberty be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the west coast.
quote by Viktor E. Frankl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've always had a strong feeling for the Statue of Liberty, because it became the statue of my personal liberty.
quote by David Antin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mermaid (Quatern Poetry)
In the Red Sea, you were my lonely king of salt,
You were my beautiful statue made of basalt.
On the sea shore, dominating the yellow land,
You were my statue representing the king of sand.
Your body was looking as it was tattooed with smalt.
In the Red Sea, you were my lonely king of salt.
At the water high waves' mobile horizon
I was a mermaid, caught in your love's prison.
I swam to the surface, sometimes, to see you.
You were on your ship, at the dawn's purplish blue.
In the Red Sea, you were my lonely king of salt.
I had your beautiful statue, made of basalt.
I paid to get rid off my tail and to become a woman,
Because I wanted you to be my lover and my man.
You disappeared and your wreck was anchored in Galt,
In the Red Sea, you’re my lonely king of salt.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Forming A Sculpture
All-encompassing are the details he assembled,
To form a physical object, like an author forms a book.
The statue was golden, like a golden book,
Towards the sun it stood and anchored.
My light was not that golden and luminous
As this simple affray of light.
The statue was upset, too intolerant of the sun,
Much space was taken by the sculptor.
A sun is a star of the exact nature,
The sculpture was like this single light and lantern.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Statue of Our Queen
PRIDE, selfishness in every line,
And on its face a frown,
It stands, a sceptre in its hand,
And points forever down.
And who will kneel? The unemployed!
Small homage pay, I ween,
The only men who gather ’neath
The Statue of our Queen.
I’d scarcely wonder if the sun,
That rises with good grace,
Should sink and leave the day undone
At sight of such a face.
But no! The day will still have birth
In all its golden sheen,
When antiquarians unearth
The Statue of our Queen.
Then if you’d have us loyal bide
As we have loyal been,
Great Parkes! for love of England, hide
The Statue of our Queen.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.
quote by Michelangelo
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Statue Maker
The death angels came to take a soul,
But the whole game appeared to be foul.
Thirteen alike persons standing in queue,
The real one they wanted, there’s no clue.
Angels confused, whose soul they’ll take;
‘God’ will never forgive, if they mistake.
In fact, the skilled and clever statue maker,
Could carve one’s sculpture, truly similar.
The carver was very confident of his art;
‘Why should not use it for me’, he thought.
He had made twelve statues alike to him,
Virtually, he put his soul, in making them.
Statues were so perfect, looked like alive;
Though breathless but none could realise.
When came to take his soul, angels of death;
He stood amongst those, stopping his breath.
Angels couldn’t identify him; returned in vain.
Reaching the god, full story they explained.
‘Single such person made, records ascertain’,
The angry ‘God’ told, and sent them again.
This time the angels came, a plan prepared;
Watching statues carefully, they murmured-
‘Wav! an excellent work, but done a mistake! ’
Listening such comment, he shook like quake
Stunned statue maker, immediately did react
And surprisingly yelled! , ‘where is the mistake? ’
Where the mistake was, angels understood,
Soul of the great carver, very easily they took.
- S.D.Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Statue of Liberty
the statue of liberty,
it's either black or white
depends on who you are.
it turned quite black
years ago but refurbished
to look brand new, of course
the last thing it should do
is turn black.
the hackneyed mushy
writings about the relief
our ancestors heaved
while reaching america's shores
upon seeing this statue
is a white lie.
the only thing if at all,
the liberty statue
has come to anything is
that it is still trying hard
to stand up for what it is
- to stand tall in the darkest hours
and the broadest daylight.
its torch is marble and never really meant
to illuminate right from wrong.
it wept silent tears over the mockeries
heaped upon him, that it was the first to greet rusty chains, shackles, corpses...
and skin-covered starved and
all human indignities day in and day out
when it was installed.
amid these, the white angels to the
new land claimed for freedom laughed
and perpetrated similar injustices
that fuelled their flight.
america's freedom has always lay
in the hearts of sincere americans - black or white.
our statue needs a real torch and flame
to brighten up those corners of our hearts that we have kept dark.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Glasgow
Beautiful city of Glasgow, with your streets so neat and clean,
Your stateley mansions, and beautiful Green!
Likewise your beautiful bridges across the River Clyde,
And on your bonnie banks I would like to reside.
Chorus --
Then away to the west -- to the beautiful west!
To the fair city of Glasgow that I like the best,
Where the River Clyde rolls on to the sea,
And the lark and the blackbird whistle with glee.
'Tis beautiful to see the ships passing to and fro,
Laden with goods for the high and the low;
So let the beautiful city of Glasgow flourish,
And may the inhabitants always find food their bodies to nourish.
Chorus
The statue of the Prince of Orange is very grand,
Looking terror to the foe, with a truncheon in his hand,
And well mounted on a noble steed, which stands in the Trongate,
And holding up its foreleg, I'm sure it looks first-rate.
Chorus
Then there's the Duke of Wellington's statue in Royal Exchange Square --
It is a beautiful statue I without fear declare,
Besides inspiring and most magnificent to view,
Because he made the French fly at the battle of Waterloo.
Chorus
And as for the statue of Sir Walter Scott that stands in George Square,
It is a handsome statue -- few with it can compare,
And most elegant to be seen,
And close beside it stands the statue of Her Majesty the Queen.
Chorus
And then there's the statue of Robert Burns in George Square,
And the treatment he received when living was very unfair;
Now, when he's dead, Scotland's sons for him do mourn,
But, alas! unto them he can never return.
Chorus
Then as for Kelvin Grove, it is most lovely to be seen
With its beautiful flowers and trees so green,
And a magnificent water-fountain spouting up very high,
Where the people can quench their thirst when they feel dry.
Chorus
Beautiful city of Glasgow, I now conclude my muse,
And to write in praise of thee my pen does not refuse;
And, without fear of contradiction, I will venture to say
You are the second grandest city in Scotland at the present day!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Stone Statue
Hear me
Feel me
Why can't you understand me
My heart is beating
My mind is bleeding
Why can't you hear me
I long to feel a touch
I'm fighting to embrace the warmth
The nectar of life
But yet I am only given strife
Why am I that stone statue
Left alone in a forgotten garden
Gravel tears do I shed
Cracks in my heart and body
They are all I feel
My concrete hands are reaching
My stone eyes are searching
Yet I am alone
The statue of stone
Forgotten amongst lifes cold road...
poem by Janelle Morehart
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Combat Encounter
After he opened the door,
A monster was presented;
It was a statue of stone for them,
But now the statue was real.
They left the room like danger
And was it anger? Or fury of it?
Amusement was complete,
Our hands held swords in
Preparation, ready for combat.
He aired his message as a monster
Of butchers and spells,
Leaving us with plenty,
But not more than life,
For the budding brains of ours
Managed to dispel this wickedness
And we are safe.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Frozen Panties
Panties
delicate as piece
of frozen light
a snowflake
creation come alive
all frills & froth
the merest whisper
of frosted gossamer
provocatively placed
balanced upon the beckoning finger
of a naked lady
(despite it being 20 below zero) .
This brazen bronze
braving this Finnish winter
the incongruity of this
naked statue
and a late night reveller's
drunkenly discarded lingerie
it now as stiff as
the statue
freezing our laughter
upon the air
as we chatter
in cartoon
speech bubbles
down the street
following the tracks
of feet that followed feet
kept warm
with love & vodka
and the love
of laughter.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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