‘Stones’ by George MacBeth
Stones that are chiselled by the niggling rain,
Dislodged by blast, or twisted in the grain,
Sometimes attain a chaos of pure form,
The core of marble in the whirling storm.
Thus Chance may show where famous secrets hid,
The key to Sculpture in the conic lid,
The rhythmic metre of the pyramid.
March 11, 1953
You may also like
white horse
[inspired by White Horse Hill in Folkestone, Kent] on the hill with the wind in my face: the
Temporalities
i. The Louvre, Paris and we are gilded spires opaque pearlescent rounds smooth skimmed s
Crawling Order
forget about hands and knees– his chest is on the ground. he is flattening himself like sourdough
