for T
If I could, I would make this a palpable thing,
weigh and shape yearning like clay
wheeled into fantastic forms, hollowed by hands
and glazed with promises only you hear.
Something this big resists firing
but withstands heat.
Try it, and you will find love
cracked on the surface
but unbreaking in its substance.
Strength is not always motion.
Sometimes it is shown
only in holding together.
I once made pottery and clay sculptures. This poem really works. It gets the hands in the wet clay again.
Thanks, Alice. I love working with clay. Have not done much of it.
Beautiful! Thank you.
Thank you, Georgia!
very nicely done
Thanks, Celestine!
I love this, especially your take on strength.
Thank you so much–really appreciate that.
“Strength is not always motion.
Sometimes it is shown
only in holding together.” – Your words have beautiful substance !!!
GS, thank you!
Indeed, the textures of love are hardly consistent. Sometimes they give one an impression of brilliant endurance, of unwavering commitment. And other times, the cracks appear, and if you run your finger over them, you fear the brittle sound beneath your flesh. Fear is a terrible thing to endure. In love. If I close my eyes and reach out my hands, there is nothing to feel. And the textures in my mind–the fabric so amorously woven–feels worn. Frayed. Sometimes, Susan, I tell myself that it is time to leave. To seek a greater sense of belonging. And something that will hold together.
Ah, George, I identify. Right now in the midst of trying to prove something unprovable. How is it done?
How? If only I knew, Susan. Something you believe? Something you know to be true? Sometimes it is difficult enough convincing myself. Convincing others? I began listening to NPR again this week. I go through these cycles–wanting to know what is going on in the world around me–learning enough to feel depressed–going back to my music until I feel so out of touch that I go back to the radio again. And one of the most persistent thoughts that plagues during these radio times of mine, soaking in all the anguish of the world and the tragic commitment to violence that mankind seems to possess–how can they not know? How can so many people just not know? … Which invariably makes me question myself.
Oh, George, please don’t question yourself. You are full of exquisite sensitivity and incredible depth of perception.
Thank you, Susan. You have a nurturing soul, you know.
Thanks, George–as do you.
I really like this idea Susan. It has real potential for an extended thought piece. Please work it for yourself.>KB
KB, I think you’re right. All this coming from an offhand comment from a travelling guy, looking for substance in e-mail. I do like the idea of taking this further.
Weigh and shape yearning like clay… like.
Nelle, thank you!
Being immobile and bedridden for 27 yrs I’ve come to value that of holding together is sometimes a miracle ~ BEAUTIFUL dear Susan ~Deb
Deb, thanks so very much!
How do I love thee…
let me count the ways…..
1… 2… 3… joking!…
When I reach the end of something unknowable
that seems to have escaped,
feeling as though there is no place
for my love to possess.
Though so close she is and unattainable
in my amount of confidence in such lofty things.
So much water under such a small bridge
it is a wonder it remains.
This unseen current must rest someplace.
Buried it hides.
Blamed and blaming. Hurt and hurting.
A double edged sword that cuts bone, marrow, sinew,
and things not tangible.
It wanders, that current and wonders.
But a seed was planted in eternity so long ago,
and that water has found that little seed.
Always there, the seed and now there is growth.
There is no blame.
No shame.
Why has the water waited so long?
There is a season for growth.
A purpose.
Why?
New birth.
Thank you for being the reason that makes the current flow once again.
T
Oh, you! You know I love this.
Your poetry just gets better and better, Susan.
Victoria, thank you so much!
Thanks so much, Victoria. Going to expand on this one further.
Beautiful — made me think of this:
“Thirty spokes converge upon a single hub;
It is on the hole in the center that the use of the cart hinges;
We make a vessel from a lump of clay;
It is the empty space within the vessel that makes it useful;
We make doors and windows for a room;
But it is the empty spaces that make the room livable;
Thus, while the tangible has advantages;
It is the intangible that makes it useful.”
― Tao Te Ching
Johnny–thank so much! What a beautiful thing you’ve shared here.
Beautiful! I kept scrolling to continue reading,alas it ended too soon.Expand please.
Victor–my friend KB has encouraged me to do the same and am almost done with expanding it. So glad you like this.
Here you go–expanded. http://susandanielspoetry.com/2013/02/22/clay-take-2/
Reading CLAY over and over.This is deep.One of my favourites yet.
Wow, thanks again!
This definitely resonates with me, Susan. I like thinking that sometimes love is the existence of anything in the first place; that love begins with the coming together of anything at all.
Oh, so well said! More coming on this one–KB and Victor have inspired me to expand this one.
Please do.
Expanded a bit. http://susandanielspoetry.com/2013/02/22/clay-take-2/