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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Related quotes
I'm Lost
I'm lost,
In many thoughts.
I'm lost,
In frightening thoughts.
I'm lost,
In sad thoughts.
I'm lost,
In upsetting thoughts.
I'm lost,
In fearful thoughts.
I'm lost,
In many ways.
I'm lost,
In many places.
I'm lost,
In my mind.
I'm lost,
Beacause of you.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Means Of Permit
How can living
be scratched.
By present
writer
of poetic verse?
A poet
of interest
is relic read
from bygone age.
A living poet is
in appearance
a valueless medium
Though avenue
of possibility
to be explored.
Publishing may permit
a means establishing.
Time to expend
on enduring passion.
Wish to express and stress
heightening underlining.
Defining differing themes
in thoughts
like wavering streams.
Health emotions left ragged
shifting eddies in turmoil.
Life wasted in passing time.
In circles rippling screeching nervous energy.
Awaiting awaited
decisive developments
past still reaches
lies sight vibrating happening.
Time seems to pass
and in surreal passing.
Where desire lives
skill will may follow.
Time claimed chained.
Harnessed won.
Not lost awhile. Realized
embodiment escapes dreams.
Carefully navigating
waiting web
strains spent snaring life.
Looking for fabled chance
mystic key
out in labyrinth.
Uncharted byway.
Getting grasping
pouncing upon
creative thought.
Getting
creative
thoughts
down.
Charted on paper.
Soft
dreams
deep
calling.
Time
incorporating
fevered
relaxation.
Time write
wrought to come.
Horizons loom
distantly
past cloud banks
vision.
Place of meeting
whereupon rest
circular
skies.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Was it a dream or a vision
In my lonely thoughts i saw,
A woman of purity and tenderness,
Walking towards me with precision,
Holding my right hand with descretion,
Was it a dream or a vision?
My heart skipped a beat,
My eye skipped a blink,
I lost my concentration,
Her beauty none can describe,
Her modesty i honoured,
Her skin so soft and tender,
Was it you or another,
A dream or vision?
Her lips i reached,
The vanillia of my saliva,
The smell of love was in the air,
The distance knew us not,
Was it you my love,
Was it a dream or a vision
She took me by the hand,
Whispered she loved me,
My ears could not contain,
I shivered with amusement,
The sight of beauty beyond doubt,
Uncovering her destiny to me,
I think it was you my love,
But my thoughts never knew,
Was it a dream or a vision
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Thoughts Mind Soul Echoes
thoughts like children
scatter from our mind
thoughts were part of us?
thoughts came from us?
thoughts live beyond us?
thoughts outlive our lives?
thoughts mind soul echoes
haunting fragments of mind
light shines through prisms
separates into colour bands
thought trails sunset colours
spectrum ribbons thoughts
spiral into keen conceptions
meaning insight discriminates
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Beauty Of Life
Virginity is the beauty of ladies, colour is the beauty of rainbow, tourism is the beauty of country, memories is the beauty of past, brightness is the beauty of stars, happiness is the beauty of mind, vision is the beauty of future.Love, nature, peace are the beauty of Life.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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I Had You
So many visions all in my head,
oh how I wish they were you instead.
'Cause seeing a vision
is just not enough.
I need to feel you
and all the little stuff
that used to make my life worthwhile,
your eyes, your mouth and tempting smile.
And now I'm lost. Can't find my way,
so darn lost. Why couldn't you stay?
It's all so pointless and all so sad
that all I needed is what I had.
I had you. I had you.
There's no one else that will ever do.
You slipped through my fingers
and nothing is right.
Now all I have is your vision in my sight.
I had you.I had you
and now that you're gone
my heart's so sore,
because I had you. I had you.
Nothing now is right anymore.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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.
Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind!
Seeing and hearing,
Is it eye that see?
Is it ear that hear?
Eyes are windows of Mind,
Like are ears, eyes have eyelids, ears remain open!
Seeing is not perceiving,
Light passes through the small camera,
Giving picture of world around,
Yet mind is the processor,
Process the data,
Process the colourful image,
Sometime filling with its own colour!
But it is not vision,
mind sees something itself,
Seeing through the mind without the help of eyes
Neither windows opened,
Nor light from open windows affect!
Mind is that faculty sees something within,
And day by day the vision become clear,
When mind learns it is not the seer,
It sees everything clear,
Clearly presented to the master,
And Self is the master of Mind,
When mind is pure and clear,
Without prejudice and suspense traits,
Self perceives self in its true nature,
Nothing goes bad,
processed food for thought remain good for ever!
one who sees eyes as seer,
He is ignorant,
One who sees mind as a seer,
Knows not,
One whose mind sees the seer is different,
Vision get purified, seer can see through the mind,
Scenes seen by mind with eyes closed,
when perceived by seer,
It becomes vision of life,
And that vision when becomes ambition of life,
Ambition becomes aspiration,
Aspiration transforms into mission,
Mission transmits wisdom and genius of self!
Self becomes master Of mind
Self becomes master Mind,
Master and mind becomes one,
Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Maryann's Lament
Sculpting you in Precognition's Mind
had been my special mental preoccupation
and now
I cannot abide
ever leaving you;
your vision's
become
my sustaining aberration
gleaming it is in Perfection's Glow
and now no one
I fear
will match
its silver tones
its dulcet notes
which have now
captured me;
its vision
cannot
abide
another now
even if I
meet now
its twin.
I'd have to
lash
you and he
together
in my mind's vision
but I know that will fail
I'll ask how can
flesh and blood
compete with
crystal visions;
how can
human hands
glow
as much
as the hand
of my imaginary
love?
Perfection thus
is life's enemy
if we prefer
the vision of it
to
real live
human beings
and I
older now
am alone with it
drained
only now
realizing
visions
are nice
but will
in the end
leave you alone
with this
now cold
vision;
unsustaining
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ultimate Reality!
All thoughts on vague matters lead nowhere;
Ideas centred to Almighty enlarges vision;
Out of vision pictures of divines are drawn
Lasting for hundreds of years enlightening all!
All personifications of Almighty inspire all
Coupled with faith based on truth atoning!
Exploration to know Almighty has no end
As it is an endless source of pursuit forever!
Visions and epic stories of great poets live
Eternally to enlarge the horizon of thoughts
Leading ever to blissful state to recover all
Lost hopes again to live better to do better!
Individual pursuits of the eternal power fill
Heart, mind and soul with zeal to go ahead
To unravel the mysteries of ages to know
Ultimate Reality and reach it in good stead!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Morning Glory
Written by jay kay and stuart zender
All of my visions were untrue
Till I had a vision of you
And untimely end for all
But it was only then, only then that I saw
Saw the morning glory.
Cant you take me there
Cant you take me there
Away from solloquies of sadness
And prophecies of pain for us all to see
I had a vision in my mind
I had a vision of peace
I had a vision of you
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dedicated to Hesse's Goldmund
The old master sat,
withering like winter’s flowers
as he shrank -
from encroaching onslaught of creeping death.
He had watched many shapes and faces, so held
shimmering vision on virile edge of his mind.
Afterwards thoughts never ceased to plague
in every shape, a certain form repetition of line.
I think matters not what one thought or speaks.
but what we shape with willing hands before time.
So from fetal dream began careful drawing
with loving fingers, clearer its shape defined.
To picture wondrous root of image making; grief transmuted -
seeking to formulate thoughts; the sharper to bind.
Envisaged image was a perfect whole
without flaw, symmetry
sprung from life, from sacrosanct depths,
he held it within his mind.
Then cast it forth like a radiant jewel
many faceted,
even in darkness,
in faintest light it will shine.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Creation of a Single Composition
It has been said, poetry is nothing more that placing
The proper word in its proper place.
How simply stated for the effort of a single composition!
Beneath the primeval of our subconscious mind
Lies the clay-material of all creation,
The strata of spiritual sedimentation,
Laid down before our birth.
From this wet plastic matter comes the substance
Of our imagination, the foundation
For the architecture of our reflections.
Sculpting images by the vocabulary used,
The writer cast, molds and shapes
The verbs and nouns into their final stage
Of fluid acquiescence.
Thus, the poet, by placing each word
Into its proper place, gives power, vision and speech
To every inaimate object;
Translating the infinite invisible,
Into sacred symbols,
From the potter's mind of thought.
(Blank Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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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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Double Vision
Feeling down n dirty, feeling kinda mean
Ive been from one to another extreme
This time I had a good time, aint got time to wait
I wanna stick around till I cant see straight
Fill my eyes with that double vision, no disguise for that double vision
Ooh, when it gets through to me, its always new to me
My double vision gets the best of me
Never do more than I really need
My mind is racing, but my bodys in the lead
Tonights the night, Im gonna push it to the limit
I live all of my years in a single minute
Fill my eyes with that double vision, no disguise for that double vision
Ooh, when it gets through to me, its always new to me
My double vision always seems to get the best of me - the best of me, yeah
Ooh, double vision, I need my double vision
It takes me out of my head, takin me out of my head
I get my double vision, oh, seeing double double
Oh, I have double vision, yeah, Im getting double vision... (to fade)
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poets Lost In Translation
several differing translations
of some masterpiece poems
written by immortal poets
timeless especially esteemed
written in foreign languages
stresses how much poetry
suffers lost in translation
it is the hardest literary
medium to translate due
to the multiple meanings
of some words choice chosen
in the original mother language
the wonderful poetic effects
linking such words achieves
resonates in receptive souls
Is a good translation only
achieved when the translator
is a poet with a mother tongue
knowledge of both languages
in use vibrating admiration?
Is an intimate knowledge
a unique empathic sensitivity
for chosen poet in translation
a prime necessity in translating
feelings emotions ideals writ?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lost and Alone
Lost without love
Lost without family
Lost without friends
Lost without anyone
Lost without memories
Lost without thoughts
Lost without caring
Lost without a heart
Lost without a soul
Lost without feelings
Lost without dreams
Lost without life
Lost without the world
Lost without earth
Lost in my mind
Alone with the devil
Alone to burn in hell
Alone to be remembered
Alone on an island
Alone to be myself
Alone to love myself
Alone to love no one
Alone on earth
Alone in life
Alone with no thoughts
Alone with no love
Alone with no one
Alone with no memories
Alone to think
Alone to know oneself
Alone to find me
poem by Marilee Morley
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I have come to the conviction that if you cannot translate your thoughts into uneducated language, then your thoughts were confused. Power to translate is the test of having really understood one's own meaning. A passage from some theological work for translation into the vernacular ought to be a compulsory paper in every ordination examination.
C.S. Lewis in The Grand Miracle
Submitted by Rebeca Bucur
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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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