Galatea (Remove filter)
Inward Reasons
`
On a hand-hewn pedestal
imagination coalesced;
on milk-white face alight
eyes sparkle with a liquid flame.
Some build ivory towers,
these hands raw from driven labour,
on scratched cheeks a stricken eye
ransoms a sculpted orphan dream.
Across time and Middle Sea
another calloused hand chiselled;
laughter on a pine-white...
Wednesday 30th March 2011 9:53 am

Recent Comments
John Coopey on TACKY AND TATTY
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on The shape of a man
2 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Close Call with Fate
5 hours ago
David RL Moore on The shape of a man
11 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on It Wasn't Me
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on TACKY AND TATTY
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on a widow's lament in an age of no flowers"
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Close Call with Fate
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Weekly WalkaboutsVerse, E.G., Poem 199 of 230: BEDE’S WORLD - WINTER 2002/3
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Bottle palm
13 hours ago