The Potter's Wheel
I've put love on a potter's wheel
Applied it with a sprinkling of words
Shaped terracotta like a goldsmith
Held their bars; their molten innards.
Their bodies' ingots shimmering…
A picture framed around gold-leaf.
Till, like the climbs of a silver moon
They're etched in my own relief.
Sculptured like a melting snow
I've felt their pearls slip back on the necklace
And like a tree of blossom
All is swept into an ocean - verbless
Like a vessel smashed into a million pieces.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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0250 To Indian Poets
'O Lord, I am Your goldsmith on this earth'
sang Sonar, Maharashtra's poet of old,
who hammered out the ingots of pure truth
to poetry, that turns speech into gold;
who sought Yourself within himself to reach,
from heart of gold, that golden mind might shine;
to sing Your praise; and find Your All in each;
reflect your Word; make human thought divine -
yet knew himself but shapeless gold You shaped;
shaped in this life, by grace, as goldsmith born;
graced with the richest substance You create,
to live and speak some gleam of You reborn.
May we be worthy of this golden race
of poets: praise in all things, Your one grace.
(Narahari Sonar - Sonar means goldsmith, which was the family profession - 13th century goldsmith, poet and saint)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver And Gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fall to Earth
The stubborn little Maple leaf
held on when all its fellows fled.
They carpeting the ground beneath
a vast lushscape of gold and red.
Leaf held on through wind and rain,
the last survivor of its race.
Leaf held on past Turkey day
maintaining there its pride of place.
Then Leaf grew lonely, I suppose-
Like the summer's final rose.
Leaf envied then the flakes of snow
Who fluttered past to their repose.
Then, just as winter came to call,
Leaf felt a tug and then a snap.
Flying, tumbling on the winds
Fall to Earth. Fade to black.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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On fairy lit night
On fairy lit night
When the snow shone so bright
And I held you so tight
I felt my love shine through you...
I felt the melting
Of every storm cloud blowing
Away under a summer breeze...
Like a broken healing shard
I felt my love shining in the moonlight
Blooming like a forest orchid
Rocking like a child in his crib
On a fairy lit night
When the snow shone so bright
And I held you so tight
I felt my love shine through you
As we rolled like a snowball
Jointly surrendering to the morning dew
Oh I felt the melting
Of two tear drops melting in mine
And your deep dark warm sparkling eyes...
I felt the gravity as we rolled
In that white midnights snow
To a poets corner only we'll both know.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh roll with me
Like an Egyptian rug under the night
Of a burning sun
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh roll with me
Like a glacier river into a red tropic sun
Where the thunder in our hearts
Has, only just begun to burn and play
Out it's magic song before our eyes.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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In the markets of Maibong
I searched so much
for ornaments of raw gold
in the markets of Maibong,
Gold is only in name
You are lovelier than gold
without ornaments
The goldsmith could not make
a single piece of ornament
to your measure
What kind of goldsmith is he
without ornaments
You are lovelier than gold
The door of the moon in the sky
was open
Secretly I peeped
Orange moon
People say
The moon is lovely
The moon is only in name
You are lovelier than the moon.
Translated by Ajit Barua
poem by Prem Narayan Nath
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Beloved, Let Us Once More Praise The Rain
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,—
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,—
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,—on a hawthorn leaf,—
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Pale and Silver Moon's Blue Silk and Blossom
They bade you softly,
They bade you so -
'Do not go, do not go, '
To the pale and silver moon's blue silk and blossom
They fail you softly
Their words -
They fail you so
- To the pale and silver moon's blue silk and blossom
And in the snow
Yes - in the snow
Where words do pale, but justice do
The silver moon's blue silk and blossom
You trusted through
You trusted through
poem by Michael Reston
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Villeggiature
My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
Your solid self, long leagues away,
Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;
And yet you found this Romeo's way,
And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
I watched the still and dewy lawn,
The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;
I listened to you till the dawn,
And half forgot I did not love you.
Od, dear! what pretty things you said,
What pearls of song you threaded for me!
I did not-till your ghost had fled-
Remember how you always bore me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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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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Sonnet VIII
If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking -- continued about 26
hours later ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,
not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs up through the vines;
if you were not that bread the fragrant moon
kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,
oh, my dearest, I could not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that is --
sand, time, the tree of the rain,
everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all:
in your life I see everything that lives.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Sonnet VIII: If your eyes were not the color of the moon
If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking - continued about 26
hours later ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,
not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs up through the vines;
if you were not that bread the fragrant moon
kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,
oh, my dearest, I could not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that is -
sand, time, the tree of the rain,
everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all:
in your life I see everything that lives.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Molten or metallic marvels
I really truly don't know why
some things under the sun and sky
attract and catch my fancy
Quite queerly they happen to be
hot melting smelting solids
that melt into exquisite liquids.
Take for instance heated liquid gold
molten glass or molten brass
and to watch magma 'neath the earth's fold
Ooh I love just about any melting mass.
With similar bizarre ecstasy and fascination
do I always watch onscreen molten lava
Gliding in serpentine turns, oblivious of my admiration
Ah, I just love all that golden molten mass
Sometimes I even have such an eccentric craving
to watch just any solid beauty melting smelting
that I satisfy this craving by simply imagining
the honey to be some liquid fire gold
in a crystal clear jar and liken it to
a metallic gold syrup in the furnace burning
As if it were stagnant mini-lava
right before me glowing!
As for other mesmeric things
that I find real eye-catching
are those which everybody else finds ravishing.
And they are in all shine
dazzling diamond dust
Magical celestial stardust
Glittery terrestrial gold dust
in mankind's metallic materialistic lust.!
But I, I am allergic to dust. ;)
poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
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The leaf in the wind
The leaf in the wind
Missed the tree
The tree it was in
That made it be
It fell to the porch
A child held it
And gave it a stroke
Then gently left it
The wind came again
And took it to the sky
Then the sky rained
And it fell to lie
The things on the ground
Kept pushing it away
The wind had an angry sound
It wanted it in its way
So the wind blew
And picked up the leaf
And held it through
Earth’s grief and relief
No tree would claim
The young leaf left
Touched by time
Time itself had left
poem by Ragy Sandid
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Have They None Of Their Words?
have been lookin'
for words, they, those who love
the words, those that assume the
silver color of the river
and the golden sheen of the moon,
many, many
they look for your words, their hearts
thirst, their minds drowning and
their souls wanting to rise from the
ruins of their bodies, many, many,
are looking for you,
for you are so kind as the tree giving fruits
for light as the cloud shaping its faces
for you are as wide in patience as the ocean
green as the grass, coolness as refreshing as the
river, many, many shall look for you
for you have ears of the corn
and wings of the winds,
for you have their emotions and then you
put them in place
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melting Snow
Melting snow runs down from high peaks, into creeks,
over flowing waters, carry off layers of the forest floor,
nutrients, twigs, leafs and insects are all swept clean,
little creeks bulge into violent streams, and mighty rivers
churning, tumbling, and roaring down waves, into the ocean's mouth.
Melting snow on the forest floor uncovers chains of small islands,
spreading under pines and oaks and elms, low lands and high lands,
contrasting, the dark colored ground against the white melting snow,
the season of change calls to awaken the forest floor,
with a splash of melting snow, and a degree of heat,
natures cycle is complete.
poem by Michael Andrew
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Gathered Pearls
Pearls
gathered
from the
ocean.
Restored
so
beautifully.
Strung
on a
necklace.
Hang
so
patiently.
Soon
became
saddened.
Missing
their
home
away.
Tears
silently
flowing.
Nerves
began
to fray.
Pearls
gathered
from the
ocean.
Memories
of
yesterday.
poem by Heather Burns
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Carrickfergus
I wished I had you in carrickfergus,
Only for nights in ballygrand,
I would swim over the deepest ocean,
The deepest ocean to be by your side.
But the sea is wide and I cant swim over
And neither have I wings to fly.
I wish I could find me a handy boatman
To ferry me over to my love and die.
My childhood days bring back sad reflections
Of happy days so long ago.
My boyhood friends and my own relations.
Have all passed on like the melting snow.
So Ill spend my days in endless roving,
Soft is the grass and my bed is free.
Oh to be home now in carrickfergus,
On the long road down to the salty sea.
And in kilkenny it is reported
On marble stone there as black as ink,
With gold and silver I did support her
But Ill sing no more now till I get a drink.
Im drunk today and Im rarely sober,
A handsome rover from town to town.
Oh but I am sick now and my days are numbered
Come all ye young men and lay me down.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A mime in an abandon playhouse
I am home again Mom!
Your poor little vagabond,
After a strenuous adventure.
I bought you some rare black pearls.
A gypsy woman sold in the port of Casablanca.
She read the mind too and forced me to go back home soon.
And to whom I show this loose-leaf travelogue?
Because Mom you are already departed leaving me in a solitary inn.
I replace the black pearls into your missing necklace
Which I found in the back graveyard while searching your tomb.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Silver Birch
O SILVER one, O silver one,
Above the valley of the Bane:
O stem with snow-water agleam,
And glistening limbs, and trails of pearl.
The sun has sent a slanting kiss:
Red fire and gold, his arrows burn:
Now that he aims a shaft at thee,
Red fire and gold to silver turn!
When I am spent with the ways of men.
I'll wash my hands in melting snow:
And live with thee among the oaks,
And watch the river swirl below.
But I must ever be travelling
From sea to sea, from shoal to shoal:
Farewell ! O still and beautiful,
I would thy valley were my goal!
poem by Herbert Asquith
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