Clay, Verse Concrete Options

[Sekhmet]

Clay

A dark, dank,

brackish, fungal smell of

river banks; and dying things

drifting deep; and sleeping in the

restlessly slow undertow. Rotating

down and around, into the ever flowing

river's vastness. Slowing at last to rest.

Forming a bed of dead, red-brown clay,

so silently - awaiting the potter's hand

to take, initiate and fatefully shape it.

Create in his charcoal furnace, what?

A thoroughly ingenious, curvaceous,

and graceful; sublimely wasteful,

giant terracotta pot.

[AMETHYST]

Hi Leo,

Glad to see you. I too have been poetically empty for going on almost 2 years now, with perhaps a couple of not so great poems that had dripped out of me while I was wringing my muse like an old wash rag. A long with some health issues, I've been out for the count. It is only the last couple of week I've even attempted to wet my feet in the critique/poetry pools again.

I just posted a picture thread in Karnak as a prompt to stir some inspiration. If you'd like to give it a look at, and if you come across with a poem just post it there and of course the critique forums are always willing to see more poetry! :)

I will take a longer look at "Clay" and come back with ideas for line breaks, however you've painted a lovely, lovely picture of your subject.

Hugs, Liz