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]

Hiya Leo,

It's been so long and it is wonderfully refreshing to see your poetry again! At first I too, like Snow, was going to make suggestions based on line breaks and realized this forms the subject. So perhaps, some minor additions and substitutions can keep the form full and yet, readjust lines so that they don't end on weak points in the lines.

I will be mulling over the formation and words, then return with hopefully something that might be a help.

However, I applaud the movement of the poem, the word choices that celebrate the subject from its birth at the river banks and the finished product - which is wonderfully seen in the form inwhich your poem takes on, as the river bank earth takes creates the loveliness of a clay vase. Beautifully and profoundly done!

Hugs, Liz