The pottery wheel brings the writhing clay to life,
its whirring pulses through the hands, moulding
the sticky gooey mess, growing its potential and
finding its nature through touching, loving and
caressing the dirty lump until it reveals
its hidden glory.
—
Steadily the rhythm grows and a shape is formed,
a vessel glad to be created, as the potter boldly
pulls and pursues the pleasure of sensing their
own power flowing into the clay, carefully seeing
beauty materialising with a sense of pride in
its inner glory.
—
Decorated and fired the fluted vase stands, and
accepts admiration and the echoes of desire
to fulfil its purpose. But, the proud purchaser will
decide. Will it live out its lifeless life overflowing
with tulips, lilies, lupins or empty as Art revealing
its outer glory?
—
What am I?
The vase on show?
The cup to carry water to the thirsty?
The vase overflowing with beautiful flowers?
The squat pot full of plants that poison or pollute?
I know I am cracked broken by the pitfalls of living?
Did I resist the creator as divine love shaped my calling?
Or, will that passion of re-generation in the welcomed Spirit
reveal through my cracks love’s amazing light, glory and grace?
