The Poetry of Porcelain

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By Silver Spun Sand

Mon, 20 Jul 2015
  • 13571 reads
37 comments
 
He could tell by its style...the shade
of the clay – trace its origin, its artist...
What was its purpose; to hold sugar,
or tea – rosewater or jam.  
 
The bad chip on its rim – dropped
from careless hands, painstakingly repaired – 
given back its dignity, and a semblance
of its former glory. 
 
To him, its imperfections made it 
more perfect; cerulean blue glaze...a moriage 
enamel dragon in gold paint, encircling
 swirling clouds.  
 
Held to the light, a small child’s face
at the very base, impressed 
in lithophane.  
 
She says she’s going to bed...
labels him ‘ an obsessive’.
It didn’t used to be the case.
 
He’d met her at art school
in the days when Potter’s Pink
and Indian Red coursed through
her veins – 
 
her life’s blood. But
she’d changed.  Hardly picked up
a brush anymore, except
to paint her nails. 
 
He watches her sleeping.
Peas in a pod, they’d been;
presently though, they went
their separate ways, had done for years, 
 
all the same, theirs – a  decent marriage; 
like pillars of a temple – separate, and yet
with one common good. 
 
Her skin, milk white as the finest
Limoges ...with his fingers traces 
the silvered web of stretch-marks 
which she loathed,  
 
yet they spoke with more eloquence 
than words, of the wonders of life,
and the miracle of birth.
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Philosophy
Love

Comments

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hi there, catherine...  Many thanks for your thoughtful words.  Much appreciatedsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

They're not just things, though. Can't think that! Unscientifically speaking, surely physical things hold on to aspects of personality, keep memory traces inside their physical structure, echoes of times past, a resonance of something you can't pin down but the touches of hands that made or handled or wore them? This piece conveyed that to me and affirmed my belief a little more. I've always adored 'things' - a microwave, some tiny clothes, a china teapot because they were used by my lost ones. A marvellous piece and deserving of its recognition.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Couldn't agree with you more about those physical things holding on to aspects of personality...So pleased this piece spoke to you and prompted such a reply as yours.  Your thoughts, as ever, priceless.

Tina

 

Submitted by catherine poarch on

Sorry, by things - I meant all the people/events/feelings that connected, not actual objects. I like how one thing leads into another with writing and makes something new. As a confessed squirrel and eclectic though I have very little that isn't of sentimental value, so I know what you mean!

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hello again, catherine.  I got your drift, as they say, entirely.  We use the word 'things' these days in a myriad of meanings and connotations.  Love the description of yourself as a confessed, eclectic squirre'.  Another priceless comment I shall treasuresmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by celticman on

Imperfections a good starting and finishing point. Reminded me a bit of Leonard Cohen's Anthem 'Forget your perfect offering/ There's a crack in everythng. /That's how the light gets in.' I liked this and worthy winner of poem of the week. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

You reference one of my favourite poems, celtic.  'Forget your perfect offering'...;me, to a 'T'.

 

 

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