Poet at the Wheel
“I'll throw a poem”. The clay,
cut from the earth in elastic slabs,
beneath my feet incognito
to tread a higher existence.
Polar attraction. We make do,
with sedimentary action until the earth yields
a finer particle to weigh and wedge.
I extrude the shape all nature aspires to and drive it down again,
slip fingered, thumb ridged parings, off centred
and the whole thing spins out of control like a mad dervish.
Cheese wire and flick
of the wrists clears the wheel
for the next attempt.
A second clod is kneaded.
Thump and lift,
and wedge again.
like a drunk
on the wheel to reel another
Its form rises within the wings of my hand, twin encouraged
I press my will, imprint it. Drawn, compressed,
raised and razed and sponged and my foot lifts off the pedal.
I made this.
“I think it's perfect”, I say.
wire in hand, splits my poem piece,
out its heart and says, “you're right,
it was, now throw another just the same”.
This is where I'm at - writing everyday in the must-be-nuts-to-keep-doing-this way that I do, all the time reminding myself to write better and find a more creative way to fall. It is humbling, and necessary.
My thanks to everyone who has offered guidance and advice - I appreciate it - even when it stings - and I do put it all into practice.
My son is two*; I'm struggling to find blogging time but I am still reading and visiting blogs and, most importantly for me, I am still protecting my writing time. Poetry for the last few months. Several per day some days (four today), always trying to find the perfect metaphor; the this-is-how-I-see-this-share-my-view-point way; did anyone else even notice that?; and other forms of autopsy with gentler tools.
Merry Christmas to those who believe and/or celebrate (including those hypocritical atheists such as myself who keep the tree and the pressies and say it's for the kids blah, blah but really we love the rituals!) Happy holidays to everyone else.
*For those of you who have experience of toddler boys - you know they should come with pads and crash helmets! I salute you! For those who have no experience of them, I laugh, I cry, I pity, I envy you.
PS apologies for my apostrophe sin - tis the season. It's the least abhorrent of my recent typing errors...tell you that one later....thanks, t'other Rachel.