Thursday, November 17, 2016
The potter's wheel turned around and around,
lassitude becoming pottery
from deep within the ground.
Clay being tamed and pulled
from a wild blue coal:
fierce and swift, to re-worked, reserved,
light over the sea, conserved.
This sentimental molding is making you resent
being rather old-fashioned,
the subtle blue glaze to wet rock rationed.
It was traditional that you take a deep dive
into color's blood,
there were the jewels tones, rather serene linens,
hanging stars in a dark wood.
I am of beauty and all she holds captive,
must I explain this prolific art
of turning 'round and 'round as a thousand earths.
Posted by The Wild Lily Institute at 11:53 AM