"clays" poems
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
4.4k
*The terracotta shines in the westerly sun
when the man and the woman
fly on the temple courtyard
on the wings of time.*
She touches the sculptured kiss
He stares at the ample breast
She blushes at the frozen mount
He awes at the curve and crest
She feels a longing to be his
He wishes seizing her for a kiss.
*Shadows grow long on the burnt clays,
time to go separate ways.*
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
O sister
when did you become
the perfect treatise
on love and
the sacred painted face?
When did your words
divide the day
from my night?
It was ninety yesterdays ago
when first your verse
startled my eyes
speaking a language
native to this ground
speaking with grace
with love
and with a defined determination
sweetened by the red clays
of your home
The soul of the prairie
holds you in its embrace
the long vista
the tornado
the tempest
all compete for your attention
And here I stand
at the back of the line
humble
one hand in my pocket
one holding an urgent postcard
It simply says
Keep this in
your hand
it is for you.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Come on, you say to me,
help to **** the soil dry of
deep, muddy clays made by
colonial lullabies and
forgo your selfish thoughts
of suicide in favor of a
dark grey summer salad coupled with
a nuclear fish fry.
Unleash a cosmic sigh, I
bleed to breed my human seeds and
cultivate forests of ***** while
pulling up deliciously
edible weeds who sing
laughing limericks we
care not to listen to and
languishing warnings we
care not to heed.
Me and you, baby, let's
build a box made of
ticky-tacky in the back of
some skeletal, suburban
cul-de-sac, crafted over a
cesspool vat of human feces,
spicy DDT and industrial-grade
mercury.
Apathy towards the life source
breeds apathy towards corporate force
breeds disgust, killing the serpent and
reclaiming the horse, tossing the
apple, preparing for the worst.
Pile up pounds of gold and
crowns to assign money a meaning
and postmark letters filled with
plastics and post-its with
"PARADISE IN THE REACH OF ALL MEN"
scrawled in felt-tipped pen to
peoples perched on the edge
of the planet, to whom
time gave rhymes from learning to
lay their ears down in the
dirt and succumbing to the
the devil wearing a blood-stained,
starched, white shirt.
Dilute the base of me with
an acidic you, quick, pollute
the river so salmon scurry
downstream and the arduous algae
dries up, screaming.
I wonder if the taker can
become the giver.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
pumice
peat
mulch
humus
leaf mold
clod
loam: a rich, friable soil containing a relatively equal mixture of sand and silt and a somewhat smaller proportion of clay.
marl: Geology. a friable earthy deposit consisting of clay and calcium carbonate, used especially as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.
argil: clay, especially potter's clay.
bole:
noun
1.
any of a variety of soft, unctuous clays of various colors, used as pigments.
2.
a medium red-brown color made from such clay.
clutch
kaolin
loess: a loamy deposit formed by wind, usually yellowish and calcareous, common in the Mississippi Valley and in Europe and Asia.
slip
till: a stiff clay, a glacial drift of clay, sand, gravel, and boulders
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
*memories, sentiments, anguishes, exultations,
You dissolve them all...
Unceasing aeonian amorphous flow
you are,
You efface every life once for all..
Kings and Queens crumpled before you,
You stand grandiloquent and tall..
You took beloved ones, some ended in flames and some in clays,
You left us with a void in heart,
and dragged us into a pitfall..
You become a friend and a foe,
an opportunity takes it all..
No one surmounted you, none master did,
You mastered them all..
You are the Time, The Invincible Time,
That is what we all waul* ...
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
Let us burn a lamp of knowledge
for those who are egoist and small,
Small neither in age nor in wage,
But potted & brittle clays those,
who are miles away from the God.
The God who is omnipresent & omniscient,
but, innocent like a nascent child,
In the divinely stretched and limitless sky,
Like an aloof but flying & singing kite.
We are most often fools,
But he is always wise,
He lives close to us
But, unseen and unrealized.
Away from the God, I mean those
who are confined to self & supercilious in this zoo.
The zoo not only of birds and animals
But which comprises all i.e.he, she, me & you.
Let us,
Share our cognizance with them also,
if not the whole then, just a little mole,
As it may facilitate them in achieving MOKSHA( salvation from physical existence)
a long cherised life- goal.
Methinks, then,
It would be the beginning of a new era,
All around people blissful & stout,
The whole world whirling in mirth,
and nothing to be worried about.
Mukesh Kataria
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
there's green all throughout
the silver droplets,
coiling about the warmth
of powder-blues and roaring magentas.
there's green all throughout
the golden threads,
winding around the jubilee
of cream-whites and vibrant citrines.
there's green all throughout
the copper clays,
swirling between the renewal
of xantic petals and extatic lilacs.
there's green all throughout
the joyous weeping
of spring.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 12:03 PM UTC
*Compatible of two clays mixing in a bowl
Starts His work of sculpture
Until He reaches its perfection
Carving His new creation
Giving it a life through His work
Contributing a new change every year
Calling it a Birthday
Never a step back from His goal
By creating new changes
In His art of sculpture
Not just changes of celebrations
Stepping in of good deeds
Turns you more beautiful
Gifting you wonderful birthdays
Making you feel the best creation of His work*
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
I am a failure and a fraud, I have yet to live up to my imagination, to be the courageous child that can laugh at god and play with the devil, I have spent more time doing less when I should have been doing more, I can smell the autumn winds and see the darkening grey skies of what little years I have before me, so quickly it has gone, the minutes and hours and days and months and years and moments, small flashes of inspiration crushed under waves of the indifference of tomorrow's, love has always been there but not always tended to, lost and found, burned to ash and risen to flame, cowardly ignored and foolishly rushed into and still it is there always in reach of being out of reach, I am not particular good at any one thing, I have not studied as I should have, I have not been practiced or well disciplined, yet I pretend and continue to lie, with pencils and lines and pens and words and clays and shapes, I have no idea what I am doing yet I find I do it anyway, sometimes at least, not as often as needed though, my future sits on my desk and in my sketch pads and it is right there in front of me and yet somehow I manage to ignore it and just go through the motions of living, hoping for what... I don't know... I do not fear death but I do hope that she is far enough away that I will figure out how to live with failure and how to be a good fraud and how to use my imagination to the best of its abilities and mostly how to be a courageous child
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
Let me open the door for you he insists, a kindness born
from misunderstandings of power and luxuries, like this,
Grab the handle and pull hard toward me. Standing dumb like a
stone easter-islanded headed fool, voice will out me, crackle of
Fury, but instead Why Thank You, honeys, sashays. Inside there’s
push off, rub off, get off, quick little deaths. Pebbles in my shoe.
No, that’s not how it goes. It goes like this:
Step out of time, skin suit fold carefully on the bed or the shore of
a river and now test the waters with toe stubbed broken.
Gentle there soft, marsh daubed clays, inanimate reeds brown, hollowed,
Place one gently between tongue and cheek. Sink into the river, tilt head
Breath through reed.
Can you imagine every day iterate? Repetition? Repeat the old rage?
Practice a minuet or tackle the sonnet form, line by line?
How does one get to Carnegie Hall? This too has become play, become fodder, become the one I am becoming.
Undone and I wish to step away, from the curb and push, push me under. A car, or truck or bus. Taxi me ferried to the farther shore. wait there.
Under my arm a fiddle case. Fumble the latch open and beautiful!
The gasp the wish the harm in lusting for want. Want and rage merry friends take hold and shove. I asked to be shoved and I am shoven. Small tiny violin plays angsty melody for me, pour moi, pourbois.
I will play for tips. I will play for your half of half uneaten sandwiches. Want and rage and rhyme. Meter has it in for me.
Half beats and internal lusts, magnetic poles attracting and repellent. I watch. My goal was to extract myself.
My goal was to be serene and write.
In the best case scenario:
Tonight’s sky lusted with Comae Berenices entwines two perspectives
that converge then diverge, with one asking how may I help you seemingly sincere and yet there is the price tag of submission, and the other accepts that rejecting this kind offer will precipitate another cascade of stars wishing them frantic, de-glowing each, as they fall from the clouds. May Day May Day May Day.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
You twist below earths casing with unease.
Ravens caw awakens you once more with
such rasp of unholy calling.
Skeletonised featureless humanity with broken
casket worn by years of gluttonous worms and
maggots frenzy.
Weighted down with soiled crust, you excavate
within your grave, driven by the glorious call of that
murderous brood, pecking demandingly above with
such Tomb Stone drumming.
Appealing for their master to return.
Upon the midnight hour such clawing bone appears
through earthen clays that fall beside thee.
Back once more to their righteous hiding place.
The clock slowly ticking for such a time when
freedom will be your reckoning.
Eventually to bare such sight as no man would
invite to call.
Resting wearily after such rite you ****** your
caller from its lair and feast on sullen flesh and
blood as around you feathers floating around
you in surprised cascading chase.
Not the most captivating meal but such will sustain
you until sinew repairs itself and ****** meat once
more returns to bone.
Plenty is the time when metamorphoses completes
for more appetising morsel.
Awakening complete it is time to delve into this new time.
A future where you are once more free to feed on
living flesh.
Once more to be Master is your calling.
Off you go into the night, off you go to have your
way and feast till Devilled hearts content.
Into nights shadows do you stride.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
*
Placing my little fingers
on your sharp edges,
I shall shape you again;
Turning my iron keys
on your closed locks,
I shall open you again;
Stretching my brushes
on your smooth curves,
I shall paint you again;
Mixing my new clays
on your shining cheeks,
I shall mould you again;
Sitting on your soft feathers
I shall lay my eggs again,
Smashing on your hard rocks,
I shall beat and break you again;
Biting on your open breasts
I shall drink you again;
Surrendering my
mind;
body;
I shall be purified
and
tomorrow
I will become
your own
saint !
*
________________________________________________________________________________
**
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email
[email protected]
05.02.13 @ 1015 hours
**
_________________________________________________________________________
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
A bartered dark
of full shone armours
gallowed brooks in
shins of alder
trod the clays of stilted copse
that crest the low slung chestnut rides
To inglenooks of scuttled hamlets
strung in river- maiden's hair ,
a haven for the last ascendant
flinted from the steeping turf.
A subtle art of arcane movement
starboard cupped
in stone- pocked pewter
sparks the grailed pain
of foxes harrowed
in that sudden wood.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:42 AM UTC
Clays are Jumping Up & Down
in Every Corner of Colosseum
Your *** Is Dead, Violence All You See
Your *** Is Dead, Violence All You See
They Drink Flood of Tears of Saints
Certainly, Nature is Church Of Satan
Slave Run Faster!
Slave Run Faster!
Slave Run Faster!
Come & See A Brand New Car Carsh
Full Of Blood make your Brain Dance
Fresh Flesh of once Loved Trash
Window was Open & take the chance
Your *** Is Dead, Violence All You See
Your *** Is Dead, Violence All You See
Bones they Love the most
They want to **** my host
Now There cities are Destroyed
And They all are turned into ghosts
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Faith we lead you to promised Land
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 11:05 AM UTC
Outlines of a bird
Flying, but unstirred
In the bleak presence
Of phosphorescence!
Knots untying themselves
Loud ringing bells
Emanating petrichor
On the luminous floor!
Construction deconstruction
Misconstruction misconception
Blocks above blocks
Clocks! Moving clocks!
On the whole
It is a black box
Ready to go down the hole
Without a key, but with infinite locks
Encrypted Decrypted
Protected Unprotected
Waves after waves
Castles made of clays!
Ready for the outburst
Ready to explode
To find a body, to be the first
To walk on the forlorn road
Search is on
For the companion
The illusionary ally
Turns out to be an alter-ego
Unstoppable flow!
Unraveling mazes,
Retracing the traces
There are too many places
With a multitude of faces
Its a frantic search
From the inside
It is the soul searching for a soul!!
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
The sound on the streets of lalchowk
Remind me of my past
When my father took my little hand into his
Now it's lost
Where's the time
Being child everything my mine ...
The travelling along the Road of panthachowk
The sky touching poplar trees
The paddy fields full of grass hoppers
The mesmerizing butterflies on the flowers of almond tress ....
The waters of jehlum's anticipating sound
Being child everything was mine
The rowing of boats along the Dal
Going picnic to Manasbal..
The biting of the pencil reminds me of that excitement
That curiousity of looking at insects
Where is the past
Do u think it's lost ...
Those days I was making a clays house
Now these days on internet I browse ....
What I got
What I forgot
The days I used to eat cotton candy
And lick one rupee orange icecream
Now where's the time
Being child everything was mine
The olden days !!
Where are those golden days
Let me be a child again
Let me wonder along the streets and karewas to regain....
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 10:33 AM UTC