WJ:Artifacts

"When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

from Rudyard Kipling's The Conundrum of the Workshops

Poetry: Poems by Claire

Artifacts
The Spickley boys live deep in Marshton's Grove;
they sculpt odd statues out of forest trash.
     They're both as crazy as the full moon's ghost.
The eco-art collectors come in droves,
"Where are the men who sculpt to save the land?"
     The Spickley boys stay deep in Marshton's Grove,
     away from women with their teasing moans
     and old men whispering behind cupped hands:
      They're both as crazy as the full moon's ghost.
Collectors laugh at cryptic stories told
(it's said they'd give their blood for Spickley craft).
     "Those Spickley boys live deep in Marshton's Grove,"
     a townsman nods and points, "You ought not go."
     He watches as they leave, then turns his back,
     They're all as crazy as the full moon's ghost.
The townsfolk close their eyes and close their homes.
They stay behind locked doors; they understand,
     the Spickley boys live deep in Marshton's Grove;
     they're both as crazy as the full moon's ghost.
Copyright © 1994 Claire A. Schaeffer

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