Sinistra Dextra – dVerse Poetics

IMG_1569

I ache to press my fingers into her flesh,

insert them under her skin and grab

fistfuls of the yellow fat cells pulsating beneath.

My nerve-endings tingle with anticipation –

I imagine blood, sinews and cartilage slithering over my hands.

Some call her voluptuous

She has been labelled curvaceous in her time –

her complexion has been admired,

compliments have been made about her chestnut hair

and how it gleams like conkers in the autumn sun.

Most people skirt around that single-syllabled utterance – fat.

It is as if the very word itself is a crime,

as if it should be expunged from the dictionary.

I do not criticise,

do not imagine barbs where none exist.

No, I rejoice in her size,

after all, I am an artist,

an admirer of the human form in all its variations.

My only sorrow is, that in common with them all,

she cannot be moulded.

She is not clay.

I am saddened that she too, will not outlive my attentions.

Perhaps, in the future, there will be such a survivor.

All I want is for each of them to be a little bit better than they already are.

Is that too much too ask?


 

Tonight on dVerse Poetics, Lillian is inviting us to write with a sculpture, or sculptor in mind. Have a conversation with your sculpture, give us your back story, turn and turn again, tell the story from whatever angle you choose, be the sculpture coming to life or the model being used as inspiration. What a wonderful idea, Lillian!

Hmm… my sculptor is a little (a lot!) sinister. I don’t know where he came from, all I know is, I wouldn’t want to be one of his models!

I hope you enjoy (if you can bear it!). I’m sure other entries will be much more light-hearted than mine, so please, do head on over to the dVerse pub, ask the friendly barkeep to pour you a cold one, and get reading (and why not take part?)!

37 thoughts on “Sinistra Dextra – dVerse Poetics

  1. Oh my!!!! Oh my!!!!! This is quite amazing — this artist delves into his work indeed. But I’m also taken with the idea of curves and largesse — isn’t it interesting that medieval artists comprehended beauty in just this way? Sadly, today’s media values stick-thin so much that photoshopping is done as a matter of fact — I think I prefer the medieval view of beauty — although perhaps not this artist! πŸ™‚ Very well done!

    1. Thank you so much, Lillian, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I agree, the medieval view of beauty is much more accepting of women that aren’t sticks (and yes, I am more Reubenesque than today’s view deems acceptable). This sculptor wouldn’t be my choice though πŸ˜‰

  2. I really went to the dark side with this macabre piece, where the sculptor is actually both an artist & a killer, focusing on plus size women. I keyed into the line /I imagine blood, sine,& cartilage slithering over my hands./.

  3. Definitely would not want to be a model for this sculptor’s artistry. But really enjoyed the perspective that you took up and did so well with…wonderful!

  4. Oh my, the poem itself is curvaceous! I felt the darkness of the sculptor in the words:
    ‘My only sorrow is, that in common with them all,
    she cannot be moulded.
    She is not clay.’
    I’d love to know what happened to ‘them all’.

  5. Love sculpture and quickly
    arrive at inspiration in this
    prompt.. seeing the visual
    iMage bEfore the text
    of poetry.. and the
    first thing that
    caught mY
    eYe is what
    Looks like
    an architecture
    tool.. that one that
    makes sacred geometry
    and even helps build
    the pyramids so
    this became
    a rather
    husky
    male for
    me with thick
    South American… perhaps..
    Mayan hair.. maybe now an ode
    to historical masonry2.. but anyway..
    i never thought of a heavy woman at
    first as those hands look like mason hands
    to me.. but sure.. my Grandmother who picked
    cotton to raise her sisters.. looked very much like
    that too.. breaking gender barriers wearing pants..
    selling car parts during World War II.. Rosie the
    Riveter and all of that.. wHere statued pre-
    conceived notions of gender fall to
    duSt oF what
    is necessary
    whatever it may
    be to thrive alive.
    anyway.. it’s what’s
    inside that counts.. i
    didn’t love my Grandma
    any less for her man size
    hands that were even bigger
    than mine.. she at 80 and me
    at 23.. i wondered when i would
    get as big and strong as grandma..
    and yeah.. sure.. iT finAlly happened
    for me too.. at 53.. slow bloomers and all..
    and truly the greaTest strength i gained was
    what she had inside.. in struggle for survival..
    tuFF Love realized by me FinAlly iN 50’s Strong..:)

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