Neil Crawford

Rookie - 3 Points (29/04/56 / CHESTER, ENGLAND.)

Sculptures - Poem by Neil Crawford

Spark fresh the rusting motor,
spoke anew the broken wheel,
with neither genesis or nemesis,
an outcome of the mass.

Grip the scrap and forge again,
out of the ash a phoenix rose,
I clipped its wings and called it'pure'
we watched it plunge from silver clouds.


Comments about Sculptures by Neil Crawford

  • Diane Hine (4/21/2012 5:17:00 AM)


    Nature is a little asymmetrical, as should art be. Very good poem. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 21, 2012

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 21, 2012


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