#ceramic
we started with just clay when we met
as time went on we would not forget
we went to shaping and molding
something we both would be holding
we took a break to let it dry
time went on, our love did not die
we put our sculpture into the heat
planning to make something more concrete
we add splashes of our memories and strokes of paint
it's coming together to be charmingly quaint
we once more go on to seal it in fire
our creation of love that we admire
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 12:30 AM UTC
Porcelain cracks
My heart is made of plastic
Earth will quake
Glass will shatter
Ceramic vases and statues falling to the ground and breaking apart
China plates will smash
Pieces scattering zillions of different directions
But me
Body will remain strong and unscathed
While others try gluing themselves back together in vain
Holding head in place until the shaking is through so the screws holding it on don't rattle loose
And I am not sure when this transformation occurred
It used to break often
After one too many beatings it evolved into this cold lump in my chest
Safe and sound regardless of who tries to destroy it
Dec 11, 2020
Dec 11, 2020 at 9:35 AM UTC
I run to my ceramic throne,
I feel it coming I groan.
I take my seat,
Try to ****
To no avail,
I feel terrible.
I push more and more,
My face red, my bum sore.
One last push,one last try,
A deep breath, a loud cry,
"Who let the dogs out, woof woof,
Out you come, you goof,
Something dropped,
It worked,
Heard a large plop.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
sometimes i wish
i could
dip my hand into ceramic
let the gloss crash
like a
tidal wave of utter cold
seeping into
my skin
but then i pause and realize
statues can't move
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
My arms stretched around her.
She rose like a flower.
Blossoming to life.
Her lips a bud.
Flourished full.
I a reddish ceramic.
A reminder that we are grounded.
She filled where I felt most empty.
On certain days she would dance in my arms.
Painting my cheeks rose red.
Creating foundation we both can grow.
Her trust being the ultimate gift.
Arms wide open she dug deeper.
Without soil, water or sun.
I'd stunt her growth.
Our self love being reason to how we feed each other.
Blooming the petals of what became ideal.
I gave without fear that the vase would break.
Butterflies loom over her head.
Watching her grow was the most important thing
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
The echo of your soft sound
muted,
there are cars around
Textured surface, I can feel it now
the valleys rise while the soil forms mounds
and here you are now.
Colder than ever but only from warmth
Kiln of my love
for I have found.
My masterpiece
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
I miss the feeling of clay under my hands
A spinning wheel, my foot on the pedal.
The rough silver plate always sands
Down the skin on my hand but I don't mind
I can build vessels out of the earth
Pulling cups and bowls up from the ground
In this instant, my hands are worth
A thousand vases glazed in gold
I dip them in thick buckets of color
And place the ceramic uncertainties in the furnace
We both come alive in fire
And emerge even stronger than before
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC