Related quotes: The potter sleeps soundly, for...

The potter sleeps soundly, for no one would steal clay.

Indian proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

Be clay

Don’t be half-hearted about this –
be clay.

You know all about clay –
be clay.

Humble, submissive, reverent –
awaiting the Potter’s hands.

Enjoy that humility, that surrender –
feel already so near God.

Now the wheel begins to turn –
the Potter is here!

Feel His hands – the more you feel them,
the more you know the love in them.

Now you’re being shaped:
turned on the wheel like a dervish turns,

you’re becoming like that tall column of stillness,
rising from the centre of the whirling skirt;

still; in the memory of the Potter’s hands;
you recognise yourself who waited for you.

[leaning on the poems of Hafiz]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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I'm Losing Sleep Again

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not dream
The nightmares I dream

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not cry
When you wake up to reality

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not believe
You have woken up already

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not stop sleepwalking
Take things slow and steady

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not pretend
I'm sleeping soundly, dear friend

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not lament over
Why I’m losing sleep myself

Sleep soundly, dear
And do not leave me
When you wake up to reality

poem by Dyhanara Rios
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Do Not Steal

Do not steal another’s name;
Do not steal your neighbor’s fame;
Do not steal next person’s house;
Do not steal someone’s spouse.

Do not steal one’s money;
Do not steal someone’s honey;
Do not steal other’s labor;
Do not steal things from neighbor.

Do not steal another’s job;
Do not steal from poorer mob;
Do not steal next man’s limelight;
Do not steal another’s might.

Do not steal another’s health;
Do not steal your neighbor’s wealth.
Do not steal next person’s praise;
Do not steal from human race.

poem by John Celes
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In the spirit of Rumi - 29

O Caliphs of the world
who have executed so many saints
for daring to say that ‘I am God within myself’ –

If you yourselves are not God within yourselves,
then who are you to pronounce punishment
upon any other man?

And now, every man who carries
a sword, a dagger, bomb or gun
would think himself a Caliph,
messenger of the Lord…

how wrong they are.

Yet Allah, the great, the merciful beyond our understanding,
allows them to live on after their victims’ death - gives
a little time to know themselves
as the wheel of the potter, Destiny, turns for them,
before they return to Him
as clay to be reshaped in the Potter’s hands
or dry and crumble into dust.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Perfect Adultery

Nature’s game awarded the clay
To the potter’s neighbour
Who desires it not.
The potter finds his clay perchance
And longed to possess it whole, malleable and wet,
And when he does, it will become
A perfect adultery,

To the potter’s house she
Will go, to be molded whole and happy,
The potter is a good man they will say
But, good men though gentle and civil,
In things of love and romance, sometimes,
The animal in man takes over
And when it does, the potter’s act to claim his clay
Will become a perfect adultery,

When a woman young and inexperienced
Is lured into a marriage of baby making
By a man above his prime and manipulative,
When she’s abandoned in a romance of half moon
Per twelve circle,
She will yearn for love young and adventurous like hers’
To escape the boredom and loneliness of a single mother married,
When she abandon herself in a romance of young-full
Lover,
It will become a perfect adultery.

When a man gentle and pure
Falls into the hands of a woman that nags
In a matrimony of distrust,
When he stays away and befriends alcohol
And in his lighter brain finds a woman easy
And seductive,
He will submit to her bareback rough ride,
He will long for this escape at will
And when he does,
It will become a perfect adultery.

When adult-try relationship
Become a game of deceit and suspicion,
When couples seek an escape with another
Seen as compatible and trustful
And religion preaches sin of the flesh,
And nature thinks otherwise,
And the couples do their thing
Because separation is hard to get
And hypertension knocks at the door,
When they close their eyes in a romance
Of anything goes, it will be termed a
Perfect adultery,
Perfect adult-try?
Perfect adult-teen?
Perfect adult-tur?
Perfect adult-thorn
In the flesh?

©May,2010

poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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Can You, A Jar of clay?

How can a lowly piece of clay
Unto the Master Potter say:
'Let me be You for I am me,
Enough to be what I can be.'

Release me from Your Hand Divine,
Alone I stand, my life is mine.
My puny mental capacity
Can plan the course of the galaxy.

I will fix all worldly tangled mess,
Yes I can solve it with success -
Correct the climate, filter sunlight,
Outlive all beings though I'm finite.

I will cure diseases with one click,
Stop all wars, peace is quick.
From heaven pour all currency,
To rid the world of poverty.

In my spare time, piece of cake-
Rapists, murderers I will remake.
All these evils I will remove,
Just make me You, this I will prove.

I need no cross to save mankind,
That is passe and quite unkind.
I will set us up a world consortium,
I will even build my own asylum.

Make me You, I bet You will see
My little view is not blasphemy.
One more thing, God, can you tell?
For my info, is there a hell?

Then the Master Potter set
That jar of clay from earth's closet,
Released it from His Mighty Hand,
It broke to pieces, ground to sand.

Now just a sort of mild direction,
To jars of clay with like ambition-
Humbly think before you say,
You will run the world, can you...
a clay?

..................................... ..................................
August 10,2008
Philippines

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The day has come

Potter moulds clay;
A day would come
For the clay to mould man.
Man mould nature;
The day has come
For the nature to mould man.
26.03.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Stone

The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....

poem by Apurva Jain
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Serenade from “The Spanish Student”

STARS of the summer night!
Far in yon azure deeps,
Hide, hide your golden light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

Moon of the summer night!
Far down yon western steeps,
Sink, sink in silver light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

Wind of the summer night!
Where yonder woodbine creeps,
Fold, fold thy pinions light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

Dreams of the summer night!
Tell her, her lover keeps
Watch! while in slumbers light
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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While The City Sleeps

What goes on behind closed doors, private wounds, open sores
Youre your own worst enemy and cheap thrills bring you to your knees
Its thumbs down for someone you know, and its easy come and easy go
Chorus:
Burn your bridges, take what you can get
Go for the throat cause you paid your debt
Livin well is the best revenge, so give em hell
While the city sleeps - its all there in black and white
While the city sleeps - through the eye of the needle, gotta thread your life
While the city sleeps - while the city sleeps
Its a hit or miss, an eye for an eye, live for today, and dont ask why
For better or worse, you bought and sold
They love you while youre hot and leave you when youre cold
Chorus
While the city sleeps - yeah, better run for your life
Take your troubles to the night
While the city sleeps - yeah, beggars, thieves and losers, theres no relief
While the city sleeps - theres no relief, while the city sleeps
While the city sleeps - yeah
Chorus
While the city sleeps - while the city sleeps
While the city sleeps - while the city sleeps
While the city sleeps - yeah, theres no relief
While the city sleeps

song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Water Seeking Its Own Level

oh the waters have wisdom
for they always know how to seek
their own level

they do not mind
what name is given to this
mountain
or this plain
or that creek

they all know them all
and they travel
and sleep soundly on their beds soundly
without any murmur
or complaint

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Matthew 9: 36 - 38, an application

you have seen the crowd in zimbabwe,
in myanmar
and in other places

you will have compassion
the helpless harassed like sheep without shepherd
the violence raping
innocence
and the silence after the burts of guns
so devouring
haunting

to a world that sleeps
soundly at night and wakes up in the morning
and goes on and on
without feeling anything

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Clay Upon The Wheel

The poet, like the potter,
takes the raw clay of thoughts
and shapes them
through the mind of his loving you.

The beauty of these fragments
without having to expend the energy
to try to express
the image envisioned.

Through the medium
of paper or clay
for personal solitaire,
or the benevolence of other eyes.

Each colour and weave
their thoughts in different patterns
seeing different visions
momentarily lost in their multiple meanings.

At the outset is vision
our struggles to seize or translate it
sully the brightness
in giving it flesh, the vision is muddied, lost.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Chattahoochee River

The Chattahoochee River is muddy and deep,
Rolls restless in her bed, and never sleeps.

She churns, whirls, and sometimes creeps,
But the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.

She cascades, crashes, her falls are steep,
So the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.

A child, in innocence, in her water leaps,
Unaware, the Chattahoochee never sleeps.

She snatches him down, his little body to keep,
Cause the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.

He struggles for his life, so tender and meek.
Oh! the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.

She steals his breath, while caressing his cheeks.
Careless Chattahoochee River just never sleeps.

poem by Willie Wilburn Walker
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Life giving kiss from God

'Let us make man in our image, ' the angels heard God say
and watched in silence as He fashioned man from the clay.
Kneeling down God gathered all of the dust into a mound
and like a potter formed the shape of Adam on the ground.

Lovingly knitting the atoms of man together there
He moulded the first man with such tender loving care.
Then wonder of all wonders the Almighty's lips met his
and that man of clay became a living soul by God's kiss.

The same life giving kiss that God gave to Adam that day
God has still extended to the whole of mankind today.
For justice and mercy kissed on that Cross at Calvary
when the Son of God laid down His life for both you and me.

poem by Royston
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The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Prime Of Your Life

In the prime of your life you went to the grave,
Because you were robbed off by the remainder of your years!
And the pine trees and the acacia trees beard your witness,
But you were gone too soon like how a potter treads the down clay.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The potter and the dancer

A potter made pots,
which are there after the potter has worked.
A dancer did dance,
which is not there after the dancer has worked.
God is a dancer,
Who dances from where things vibrate.
God isn't a potter
To create things and be away from it.
13.07.2012