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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Related quotes
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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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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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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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.
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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Certain As Can Be
Friend, as certain as anything can be, my life is set for eternity,
Not only in eternity will I stand, but presently I'm in God's hand,
Inscribed in the palm of my Lord, my life, by God isn't ignored,
It's fashioned daily by God's will, as His purpose He shall fulfill.
While God's the Potter I'm the clay, which He molds day to day,
Forming my life, per His desire, at times through a flood or fire,
For God's Purpose, not for mine, through every season of time,
Achieving purpose only God can, within the lives of mortal men.
Through it all God grants peace, as His presence doesn't cease,
Peace beyond what I understand, as God holds me in His hand,
Unfolding His Plan in my life, as I follow The Lord, Jesus Christ,
As God molds this lump of clay, around His purpose every day.
He works in ways I can't explain, so who am I to ever complain?
God, my Maker and The Creator, and He is my Lord and Savior,
Who came to be God's sacrifice, so that I could live in Paradise,
Not just to live upon this earth, but in a mansion of eternal worth.
Uncertainty here we're sure to see, but that pales next to eternity,
Where everything will be secure, and this my friend, forevermore,
A security we can't comprehend, from this place that has an end,
But this security we're assured, by Jesus Christ, the Eternal Lord.
(Copyright ©03/2012)
The Broken Pitcher
Accursed be the hour of that sad day
The careless potter put his hand to thee,
And dared to fashion out of common clay
So pure a shape as thou didst seem to me.
An idle boy, when vintage was begun,
I passed and saw thy beauty for my sin,
And poured unheedingly till it was done
The red wine of my love's first gathering in.
And thou, ah! thou didst look at me and smile
To see me give with such ungrudging hand,
As taking all to thy dear heart, the while
It only fell upon the thirsty sand.
Sad pitcher, thou wast broken at the well,
Ere yet the shepherd's lip had tasted thine.
A god had lost in thee his hydromel,
As I have wasted my poor wealth of wine.
Yet, wherefore wast thou made so fair a thing?
Or why of clay, whose fabric rightly were
Of finest gold, new--fashioned for a king,
And framed by some divine artificer?
I will not curse thee, thou poor shape of clay,
That thou art other than thou seemed to be,
Yet I will break thee, that no passer may
Unthinking break another heart on thee.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Give me the grain as the pot roll down
sweat that sweeten the wheat, touches the tongue that
sweeten the grain, brings flesh as it boils the potter hot in
the lapped hand it stops
shape and turn into some direction, whether soft or hard
too sharp to touch, comes the most beautiful mold as it
form the most splendid return the eyes have seen
as little fingers linger folded the clay in the water soak
it display; waste no bits and pieces, paste what ever it
may see, putting in the ground for making it dry in the
air it say goodbye
here is my flexible hand and softly touches your whist
line for you to feel the shape you want me to be, roll my
side, to up and down, as the wheat stand in the ground
waiting for you to calm down
pour me down for me to give the ground as you will have
the grains, in you’re sweetening tongue you found.....
poem by Antonio Liao
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About Our Family
my sister is asking me
why we cannot be
for once
united for a certain cause
why we cannot make
a single stand on
a certain issue
why we can't live
in harmony with
each other
all five of us like one
solid and
loving family
i am not a fool to
think that this world
is and will always be
in harmony with
one another
countries living in peace
without any one
oppressing another
or feeling that way
i tell her that this is just
the reality of
heaven and earth
of clay and sand
of stones and
dust
that the influx of change
will always be
there and that the feet
of humanity always tiptoe
to keep a
certain balance
to eternity
not content with that
i showed her my hand
with five fingers
of different sizes
always never
the same
and cannot point to
one unified
direction
she is always loquacious
and discontented
but
i do not
really want to be bothered again
now i like
my mouth
shut.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Potter
Your whole body has
a fullness or a gentleness destined for me.
When I move my hand up
I find in each place a dove
that was seeking me, as
if they had, love, made you of clay
for my own potter's hands.
Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing parts of me like the hollow
of a thirsty earth
from which they broke off
a form,
and together
we are complete like a single river,
like a single grain of sand.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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A Child Like Clay
A child like clay is pliable
Guidance molds him with each day
With right values, he grows up able
To live his life and not go astray.
A child like clay adapts the form
He bends and follows as one leads
To what is true he will conform
Absorbing the wisdom that he needs.
A child like clay when left alone
Hardens up warped and marred,
To doing wrong he is always prone,
His life is a mess, he ends up scarred.
A child like clay when hardened wrong
Will need a thorough brokenness
A crushing from which he will be strong
A new creation, born from forgiveness
-
'Stern discipline awaits him who leaves the path,
he who hates correction will die.'
Proverbs 15: 10
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
February 2010
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Superman
you've been on my mind and I don't think I have the time
to listen to your voice
I've heard it all before, it's been seeping through the floor
shut behind closed doors
but I can see right through you now
the beneficial lies are told to keep us with closed eyes
shading what's in store
I guess it's up to me to find the luck and turn the key
and open up these doors but I can see right through you now....
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
well you've been on my mind and I don't think I have the time
to listen to your voice
I've heard it all before, it's been seeping through the floor
shut behind closed doors
but I can see right through you now
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
I don't want to follow
you can't make me follow
I don't want to follow
you cant make me follow now
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
ah yeah I'm superman
a three-piece suit and master plan
here I come to save the day
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Clay Woman
Clay woman, baked too long
Stone cold, deep red, stand
Clay woman, heat too high,
Brittle with the remnant demand
Too long in the kiln
Not set at bake but sear
Scorched beauty remains,
But not a breath be near
Can't breathe too hard,
Clay woman may turn to dust
Can't look too long
For clay woman may combust,
And above all else,
Do not touch her heart,
Her back will break,
Her wounds will smart,
Clay woman, baked too long
All hope and joy abstains,
Clay woman, heat too high
Can my tears salvage my remains?
poem by Eowyn Aurora
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A Clay Vessel
The Lord has taken a vessel like me, and shaped it for an eternity.
An empty, cracked vessel like this, He has filled with Eternal Bliss.
All my sin, Christ has set apart, as God began a work in my heart.
He cleansed me first of all my sin, then He started a change within.
I am molded by God’s loving hand, in ways I may not understand.
God’s the potter and I’m the clay, to be molded in His perfect way.
Who am I to even think or say, in suggesting to God a better way?
For God lifted me out of the mire, to shape my life per His desire.
We are created for God’s pleasure, as part of His Eternal treasure.
We are given a New Life to glorify, Jesus Christ, who lives on high.
We’re here to serve The Living God, on this temporal earth we trod.
Friend, in this life, I can not ill afford, to question the will of my Lord.
God has my life under His control, along with every other living soul.
I’m just a tiny part of God’s plan, to bring His Salvation to every man.
And I am blessed as God uses me, in pointing other men to eternity.
To the cross of His Son Jesus Christ, the eternal author of every life.
God knows the plans He has for me, sure plans for future prosperity.
It may not seem to be of worth, compared to the values of this earth.
But as a part of God’s pleasure, He’s storing for me eternal treasure.
So one thing that I can surely say; I am so blessed to be God’s Clay.
You Really Wouldn't Want Me That Way
I know I'm far from perfect,too set in my ways for my own good
And there's other things about me you think you'd like to change if you just could
I could let you shape me,mold me like a potter's piece of clay
But you really wouldn't want me that way
It's a crazy world we live in and it keeps on getting tougher all the time
You say you wish I wouldn't let life's troubles weigh so heavy on my mind
When things are wrong I guess that I could smile pretending everything's okay
But you really wouldn't want me that way
I'm just the man I've always been,I don't know how to be nobody else
And a man can only change so much till he becomes a shadow of himself
I never could be happy if I were just your puppet on a string,yes I could change
But you really wouldn't want me that way
Now don't misunderstand me,I want to be a man that makes you proud
I ain't ashamed to show how much I love you every way that I know how
I can make concessions but don't ask me to bend until I break
'Cause you really wouldn't want me that way
Don't ask me tomorrow to become someone I wasn't yesterday
'Cause you really wouldn't want me that way
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Heaven’s Our Goal
Oh, never mind if you’re just a cipher,
In things of earthly mould and clay domain;
Your origin’s from clay- well decipher!
Your soul off sin, you always must regain.
And like a Phoenix, you must rise from dust,
Tho’ dead by sin, a mountain-load in weight;
For, victory with the devil is a must,
And love of God will arrange for souls freight.
How can one live in luxury on earth,
And be a saint all life at the same time?
How can one attain Heaven without birth,
Or do misdeeds, yet make one’s life sublime?
What if you gain the world but lose your soul?
For Salvation to each one is prime goal.
6-28-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
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The Master Spoke.
Why is the world here today?
The Master Spoke.
Why are we sinners, like sheep gone astray?
The Master Spoke.
Why all this toil, no comfort of Eden,
Since man didn't obey?
The Master Spoke.
Why work the dust of the ground, from whence we came,
And eat 'By the sweat of our brow? '
The Master Spoke.
Why do we, naturally,
Posess the desire to before,
God, want to worship and adore?
The Master Spoke.
Why is Jesus glorified,
And why, for sinners, did he die?
The Master Spoke.
Why shall God return again,
To take away Isreal, His bride?
Why me, a sinner, justified?
The Master Spoke.
Why will there be Revelations, wars,
And roomers of wars,
Nearing the End Times?
The Master Spoke.
Why is God an eternal Being,
But the world shall be no more?
The Master Spoke.
Why is it, that when a man speaks,
His words blow away
As kernals of grain,
And yet, when God speaks, his Word is as rock,
Forever to remain?
The Master Spoke -
'Heaven and Earth shall pass away,
But my words shall never pass away.'
Why do these things occur,
And as it were,
The penalty of sin man did not have to pay?
The Master Spoke -
'For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only Son,
That whoever believes in him
Shall not perish,
But have the gift of eternal life.
Why?
The Master Spoke.
'Go now! Help the needy,
And the weak!
Save hearts that are broken! '
Hurry, now!
The Master has Spoken.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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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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