"potters" poems
fall was in the air and it was a very dreary october day. the halls of the old victorian house had been filled with new arivals and lots of noise.
"i can barely hear myself think." Madison sneered, a cigarette in her hand as she stood next to zoey and nan in the hallway. looking at the new girls with disguist. "and none of these new ******* better step on my toes. this isnt ******* hogwarts." she rolled her eyes. "hogwarts." zoey laughed, making nan laugh aswell. "if this were hogwarts, you would be draco malfoy" nan joked. "hardy har har." Madison snickered. "and you would be harry potters fat cousin because your ugly and nobody loves you." madison smiled. "well, i think it's great." zoey said cheerfully. "all of these girls would feel lost and alone and now they have somewhere to belong.". "you would say that." Madison rolled her eyes. suddenly a slightly younger girl with big green eyes and long brown hair and freckles rushed up to the three of them with a gleam in her eye. "oh my god it is you! you're madison montgomery!" the girl explained. " i love you! will you sign my back pack?" the girl turned around and Madison pulled a pink highlighter out of the side of her floral backpack. her face lit up as she wrote her name on the backpack making zoey and nan smile aswell. "thank you! thank you! thank you! you're my idol." the girl blushed. "my name is Cassie motts, i've seen all of your movies, i love you! i love you! i love you!" the girl giggled. "alright.." Madison had been taken back a step. "have a great day you little ****** she smiled, a look of confusion hung upon her face. "thank you.. you dont know how much this means to me." the girl explained cheerfully and walked away. "well ladies it looks like we're the head honchoes around this **** show." Madison sighed, still slightly smiling. "i was always the head honchoe." nan replied. "yeah, okay, right." zoey rolled her eyes and smiled at nan as the three made there way down the hall together.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
On this hillside where the homeless rest
The Song Sparrow bursts into psalm,
Reciting beautiful exclamations to the heavens above
For the forgotten souls that are concealed below.
In this place called Potters Field lay one million souls
Unknowns from 200 years ago....more & more arriving everyday.
Nestled thickets of wild trees hold these memories past and
Shadow the headstones with prayers inscribed.
How could one small place hold so many forgotten souls?
How could we have forgotten those less fortunate than us?
Saint Benedict's tear filled eyes scan the field
As he try's to to make sense of what has happened.
Lift up your eyes New York and make your voices heard.
Don't let their memory fade away.
God holds a special place for these children because....
In the Kingdom of God....
The last shall be first.
K.E Carman 2016
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Oatcakes make great bikinis they're all the rage back home.
You can rap up your eggs and bacon; fill them with sausage and beans.
They're baked on a griddle or backstone; made from oats, flour and yeast.
You can wear them like potters bikinis or munch on a toasty cheese feast!
•
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
Let me lead you
unto the darkness of the flesh
like a master potters gift
mould from base clay
into something beautiful.
Stand among the giants of creation
touch the diamond studded starlight
just out of yonder reach.
Lay with the embrace of golden rainbows
caressing stolen mystics
as love draws her ripe breath
clinging to the curved and ample *****
of moist and salacious longing.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
i have no eyes to see nor ears to hear,
no speech beyond my teeth or any breath,
i'm dumb for lack of thought in front or rear,
and paralyzed to stillness in my death,
so by enchantment i am moved to ask,
do ever you adorn my stone with wreath?
or is even a wreath a burdened task--
a limestone needing pulleys to bequeath?
and if no wreath, are you yet moved to haunt
this resting place to whisper to my mound?
or does this too remain a task that daunts
you to refrain from passing by around?
i often wonder if my plot still yields
a headstone or the mark of potters field
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzetti.
Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations
Muse a vain thing, the Kings of th’earth upstand
With power, and Princes in their Congregations
Lay deep their plots together through each Land,
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear.
Let us break off; say they, by strength of hand
Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear,
Their twisted cords: he who in Heaven doth dwell
Shall laugh, the Lord shall scoff them, then severe
Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell
And fierce ire trouble them; but I saith hee
Anointed have my King (though ye rebell)
On Sion my holi’ hill. A firm decree
I will declare; the Lord to me hath say’d
Thou art my Son I have begotten thee
This day, ask of me, and the grant is made;
As thy possession I on thee bestow
Th’Heathen, and as thy conquest to be sway’d
Earths utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full low
With Iron Sceptir bruis’d, and them disperse
Like to a potters vessel shiver’d so.
And now be wise at length ye Kings averse
Be taught ye Judges of the earth; with fear
Jehovah serve and let your joy converse
With trembling; Kiss the Son least he appear
In anger and ye perish in the way
If once his wrath take fire like fuel sere.
Happy all those who have in him their stay.
1.8k
i smoked a funny *** and saw a funny sight
i saw harry potter flying round the light
flying round in circles on his magic broom
he was having fun flying round my room
the i saw the wizard he was there as well
with his magic potions casting up a spell
my vision it was long and it seem to last
by the time it went i had harry potters cast
when the *** wore off i was white in deed
never smoked again on harry potter ****
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Would could I exchange a peach for my heart fair lady ?
For both are juicy and picked today ?
My heart beats and my peach is ripe and tender is it not
You would tell me ?
Of all the grocers fruit I could have picked did I choose at least one for you no fly had landed just for one second ?
As for my heart did I not rip it out of my chest and serve it to you
rich in the finest Claret
likened only to a plum ?
Do you remember the warm ,
Beating ***** I gave you when we first met ?
How it dripped with my blood ,
and you gathered it to your breast. and said “ now you are mine “
I died that day ,
If I could have given you my lungs I could have told you !
and my ears so you might have listened ?
How I wished you had ears to hear ?
Please if you read this come quick for I am alone sweeping up in
The potters room for what we tried to Mould ,
together was always you’re Moore to my Swayze ,
now a ghost to our dreams shattered into a thousand pieces .
Yet if you just say the word ,
just pick up one piece could we not start again ?
Then meet me at the grocer , plum , pear , heart ?
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
Too scared to take another step
too tired to go all the way
too deep to back out and start over
my heart always kept at bay
why is it in this society
we shape our actions so sharp
our fears, our concerns, our inner strives
so clothed in our never-ending doubt
we need to look to light
so keen and soft and true
that is always sure to bring us
back as we begin to brew
sweet and longing tales of old
that keep our hearts so soft
like clay in the potters hand
or creation in the makers land
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
I was my fathers prized possession. The finest piece of pottery He had ever crafted.
He worked on me until His hands were pruned.. Until the smell of clay seemingly became His scent. He molded and molded until I was perfect. In His eyes.
He placed me on the top shelf and marveled at me every day and every night.
But His neighbor was overcome with jealousy... At how I glistened at the top of the mantle. At how I gleamed in the sun in all the right places.
You see, on the top of his shelf, lay nothing but dust.
So surely, I had to be destroyed.
In the thick of the night, he stole me off of the mantle and marveled at my greatness.
He brought me back to his place and stuck me in the darkest of rooms.
So that light would never be able to shine on me again.
He spun me on his fingers, no delicacy in his touch.
He tossed me up and down, mocking my beauty.
Day after day I was plagued with the imminent thought of destruction.
Overridden with depression.
I cried out to my potter, and when the thief heard, he ran into the dark room and bellowed "no one will help you", picked me up, and threw me against the ground.
Pieces of me shattered in every direction, strewn against the floor of the enemies house.
My insides, corrupted with sin from all the time collected in this place were brought forth.
All I could hear was the wicked laugh taunting me, exclaiming "who could love you now"?
Then suddenly a light shone in my face, something I hadn't seen in years.
Every broken piece of me looked up and saw my potters face, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He began to pick me up in an attempt to put me back together...
Abba!! I cried! Your fingers! They will bleed!
My daughter, he replied, I have one hole in each of my hands!! My love for you has endured much more than a few scratches upon my fingertips!
He continued to piece me back together, not missing a beat, not missing a piece.
He shielded me from the looking eyes of judgement, bearing the stripes on His back for leverage.
Abba!! I cried out again, can't you see all of the sin that filled me?! I am no longer perfect! How can you love me?
I understand your sin, my daughter! in it, my grace is perfected! You are my creation, you are my reason! Upon making you whole again, I will not put back your transgressions!
He finalized the touches, not missing one piece.
He wiped my face, not missing one tear.
He renewed my heart, not missing one beat.
He carried me back home and presented me in His name to his Father.
Took His seat upon His throne and placed me on the mantle, right by His side, letting his glory shine on me.
He smiled and said "welcome home, my daughter, welcome home."
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful things inside,
108 of waves, you are searching for.
The true colours you love, wrapped up in a blissful layer by layer, our doorway to knowledge path,
Expounding the absolute power,
As committed and receptive naturally.
The parcel I am sending you, to say how much I miss you.
Holding the heart- " the mystical heart",
Where you always remain, beautifully inside it.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Be careful when you open it.
The remaining just flower for you, the way the potters wheel is,
Opens up various levels of perception,
Everytimes puts out, when it silence, gets hurts.
I am trying to be flower for you to your potential, external and largely fortunately internal.
I am sending a parcel on its wings, be careful when you open it.
Better to maintain conducive atmosphere
Is called KAVACH, create a cocoon energy inside,
That simply transmit that you wish.
The parcel , it has , things inside, full of beautiness
That you had initiated into meditativeness,
generating receptivity , you transmitted into me,
In a short time,
as a doorway to knowledge.
I am sending a parcel on its wings,
Trying to praise your emotional integrity,
Whatever i send, be careful when you open it.
The beautiful things inside it, The thought
Quiet powerful transforms spiritual process.
Starting the aware of kundalini with the help of ganapati.
I am sending a parcel on its red wings.
Grounded bases of balance emotional issues.
For reduction of anxiety to energize your powerful spirituality.
With another parts of parcel on its orange wings.
Which help you to open up for the feeling of
Maintaining harmoneous relationship together.
Because of human beings being empowered with this.
To promote your beautifully things, self confedence and
To be continued effective manner in which you are travelling miles and miles,
See in this parcel.
I am sending a power with its yellow wings,
Be careful when you open it.
It has full of beautiful heart , the mystical heart..
On its green wings
Having full of love , kindness, experiencing compassion which you opened a balance of sympathetic love.
During our conversations.
I am sending a parcel on its blue wings .
When you open it carefully, you will find positivity,
Singing a song that you most love.
It has also contain a indigo one called 3rd eye
Helps you to visualize inside
And connected the way the path of spiritual heaven.
I am sending a parcel on its violet wings
The crown you will find,
When you open it carefully.
Enjoying with spiritual connections.
Creation of emotion, bonding meditative path.
Melt completely wisdom.
Leaving probably me alone
In the world a path spiritual
Where we will be reunions
Our soul again and again.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
In monasteries,
clay men seek the potters hands,
slight imperfections,
were their claim to injustice--
the worst kind of puzzle players.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 12:14 AM UTC
I was created..In my mothers womb..From dirt and of Clay...
A piece of art...In the potters shop...molded in ways...
A shape shifter...A color fusion...of what ever he may...
From light fair skin...
to a darker colored state...I will be what ever the potter shapes....
From one form to another...to another again...
I wont stay the same until Im perfect for him...
And even at what I believe to be my Finest...
He can ball me back to clay...And remind me he is the artist..
.And he loves each piece he has created..
for none has been out weighted....
I just want to be pefect in his sight..Even If im ugly in yours...
For maybe he will put me on display inside of heavens doors..
mold me form me..Im yours to maintian...
I know Im just clay...
So I'll let you have your way...
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC
Black eyed Venus
your lascivious confessions
a voice of thorns
made the priest **** off
and for seconds he felt close to his god
i burn for you on this
iron jawed fire escape
crying on your thighs
as if landing on a dream
like a canon
that could take out the moon
feel me fickled fingers
I am potters clay
prom queen
*** goddess
luminous dusty winds
of the miraculous
everything is about death
even being born
clouds like asphalt flowers
and ancient monks
her mouth
wet like peaches and syrup
her beauty
an arrow in my throat
and the moon claims the light
i consume you a thousand times
before i die by your hand
oh so willing
tired of living in this dead house
of harsh destiny
palanquin of lust and blood
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 12:55 PM UTC
In a juncture of three years he traipsed ***** nilly close to christ
He was the treasurer and all the finances he kept safe in a pouch hanging on his chest
He was a chosen in the midst of the chosen twelve he existed
All the miracles the son of man performed he witnessed
In his gospel all he recorded
Yet deep within he charred with bitterness he was dissapointed with the long awaited messiah
Tears of hatred soaked his soul
Ironically he felt betrayed this is not the saviour he had longed for
His iron heart had yearned for revolution
All his selfish heart wanted was the surrender of the roman
His heart pumped blood saturated with patriotism and christ with his spiritual
Kingdom was a foe of the jews whose throat were parched with the thirst of a political king
He had been preordained and he had to fulfill the divine decree
It was a calling he couldn't overcome
Thats when the ministry of christ was done and together they sat to eat the last meal the lord dropped a hint about him
He sopped a bread in wine and urged him to hastily fulfill his mission as the other disciples sat there clueless
This was a golden chance for he knew by assuming the role of a traitor he will precipitate the action of messiah and induce him to manifest his miraculous powers
For he longed for this savior to perfom the miracle he had pergorme throughout judea
For thirty pieces of silver he betrayed his master Because of his greed he condemned an innocent man to be banished from the land of living to abyss
And when the son of man was condemned his sense of guilt stirred from a deep slumber
He became despondent at his repulse by the chief priest and elders he cast down the accursed payment into the santuary
The gnawing guilt took him to a tree and with a thread rope he terminated his life
He burst asunder and for hundred year the smell of his bowels lingered in the potters field of which the betrayal money bought
On the hill of skull the man on the cross breathed last and into hell he descended not only to settle scores with the lord of underwords lucifer but to free the soul of his follower from abyss
For it was written he had to die for salvation of humankind and his betrayer was the first to b redempted
The man called judas triggered a series of pretold happening
The man called judas fulfilled old centuries prophecy
The man called judas ensured redemption knocked in every sinners door
The man called judas jumpsttsarted the birth of christianity
The man called judas need a better slot in our history
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
These other people
This other life
They trip to France or Italy
Or die or leave their wife
These other people
That other life
The one I might have lived
The one without the strife
Those other people
And their tidy lives
Their tidy houses
Their tidy wives
Those other people
And their messy lives
Their dead husbands
Their missing wives
I find...
The life of a famous actress
As far from my life
As those memoirs of drug runners
Or the stories from refugees
Fleeing unthinkable brutality.
My life...
Potters on from day to day
No big tragedies
No big triumphs...
Unless a word here
And a phone call there
Could count as either.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
There comes an eternal peace
Right there
Deep down d well of our soul
When we make some known utterances
up to d potters above
And the solace we find
When we become assured
that the spirit itself
makes intercession
For us all with groan utterances
.. this ve known
and the joy
I ve found...
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
I looked you in the eye and saw you as a lump of clay.
I took it all in with a sigh; you dwindled to a fray.
I'll put you on my potters wheel until your head spins.
and you're nacius.
I'll toss this clay till it's centered and you'll wonder what kind of fiasco you entered. I'll mold you and form you till I have you how I want you.
But that's not you.
I'm not the potter, I am not God.
I'm only a daughter.
Perhaps i entered a land I wasn't meant to trod.
I shouldn't try to rearrange you. Only God can change you.
So how do I reverse this curse i've put over you.
and when this is over will I still know you?
I'll smash you before I take you off my potters wheel so you can restart.
I don't know how to feel since you've reformed my heart.
© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
We choose life,
always against the grain,
taken in, savored in the mouth, then spat out with haste,
ill gotten gains, worthy sins,
blessings felt as we puke over a porcelain basin,
we are but dried out clay clinging to the potters hand.
© H V Swan
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Polyester smiles so frail and dainty
Make up theatrics kept thick and daily
It's all first glance and imaginary portraits
A bright foreground on deep heart puppets
The new day brings us back to the start
Naked infants with sleepy eyes and lost art
A stretch of fantasy sets up another quest
To be someone pretty with a checkered vest
Strap up with proud laces and the darkest shades
Meet with the people that the new scene made
Speak a familiar tongue that we learned yesterday
Never ask the questions that are too gay to say
Playing middle class rasta with our wine and hash
Homeless free spirits with handfuls of cash
The serene glimmer of a second lived inspiration
We're all just misfortune tellers without destination
Turn up your misfit radio and be unique
Pretend you're profound and it's wisdom you seek
Swim in the current or just wade in still water
Become the new batch of artists and potters
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Here i sit at the Hilton having a raspberry tea and yogurt when it dawned on me. I sit abound in a sea of green bamboo plants,sofas and two palm shade trees keeping the glare from my paper.
Someone told me i was a bowl that holds the knowledge of god, sacred water within a potters bowl on a secure foundation on the table of David's fathers house. A beautiful centerpiece with the petals open and glistening in the sun.
Now the mystery is, How did the seed not know where it grew? How can the water not know the bowl or what sustains it? How can the flower not know it's scent? The wonders are ever lingering within the eyes of the stranger who see's into the center of the flowers scent with compassion for the living soul, no matter the surroundings.
The bowl contains a history of the souls coming and going through the waters ripples to support the seeds path of growth. All the while as we see the growth of a flower maintaining and becoming a masterpiece from the scents of the master. How then could a flower not smell sweet and alluring like the glow from the newly acquired soul in the form of a gem called hope?
Hope dances upon the page like a rainbow through the diamond of my ring, like dancers in your heart. The sun shines with warmth to snuggle into the center of your chest. The stars shine in your smile as your eyes reflect the lovely days gone by. Dreams come and go but you are but a memory unto me as the ripples are stirred daily by the angels who sing to the flower on the alter of the table of his magistee' for the non stop growth of humanity.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 4:10 AM UTC
Chorus Every things a fog. All I done so wrong. Whatevevers left is hard. Everythings not fair. Everyone upstairs. Every emotion I feel is just A fear. But if I hold on tight, if I speak my mind. Maybe this will better in the end. Cause this picture right here is a blur. And I'm stuck in the middle of the world.
I see the faces from the bus station single me out. In the spotlight like Y life is a crime. I want to hide. I try to explain my problems to them. But they can't understand. What am I supposed to do then. I'll remain sleep walking through all mysery. Tripping on my shoe laces not tied. And breaking away from mis deeds. In this I confide.
Chorus Every things a fog. All I done so wrong. Whatevevers left is hard. Everythings not fair. Everyone upstairs. Every emotion I feel is just A fear. But if I hold on tight, if I speak my mind. Maybe this will better in the end. Cause this picture right here is a blur. And I'm stuck in the middle of the world.
Maybe you can help maybe you have heard my cry. But could to care less of this mess that you left out in the mud. When I was the potters clay. But till this day why did you make me. I'm asking what is so real. About how I feel. Oh so scared Is what's unseen.
Chorus Every things a fog. All I done so wrong. Whatevevers left is hard. Everythings not fair. Everyone upstairs. Every emotion I feel is just A fear. But if I hold on tight, if I speak my mind. Maybe this will better in the end. Cause this picture right here is a blur. And I'm stuck in the middle of the hurt.
I'm a stranger. A curious undecided answer. Your decision where shoild i be placed next. Am I riddle that you can't figure out. throw me to the ditches and discard my thoughts. From the fustration of it all. Will you find me lost. I'll finnally trust in the cost of your blood.
Chorus Every things a fog. All I done so wrong. Whatevevers left is hard. Everythings not fair. Everyone upstairs. Every emotion I feel is just A fear. But if I hold on tight, if I speak my mind. Maybe this will better in the end. Cause this picture right here is a blur. And I'm waiting for the turn of the century to pass by me
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 6:48 AM UTC
I learned
The basic art of healing from
The Medical School
The Health Centers
More during observership
Time with
The Carpenters
The Plumbers
The Electricians
The Bricklayer
The Cobblers
The Potters
The Singers
The Peace Keepers
The Ecosystem
People like them
Make us believe in solutions
Transcending any problem
They all fix
What needs to be
In alignment
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
Take this broken bowl
You made so very long ago
She is such a terrible sight to behold
Please take her off the shelf She's been sitting there all by herself
She's so very much alone
Battle cracked and worn
I know she's broken in many places
But please show her your good graces
Fill in the spaces
With potters sands
With your loving Godly hands
Patch the holes
Within her soul
With your mighty wisdom make her whole
Like you did once so long ago
Shine her with your glory
So she may go tell your story
Of how she was so broken
But your love over her you've spoken
And her sin's have been cast in to the ocean
And now she is new again
Even though she was born in to sin
She did not have to stay and descend
But now basks in the lights
Of your heavenly sights
As once again her spirt takes flight
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
Retar Puso "white" plus "heart"
Aeoprrstu - alphabetical order
Par es tu or - "pairs to err?"
Pears Tour - "pairs to err"
Hmm .....
White Heart Pears Tour?
WHPT?
Wild Heart Plus Two
Wild Hearts Pair Together
Windows Hold Painful Tremors
Wandering Hearts Pave Trails
Wherever Heart Pains Travel
Whoever Hurts, Push Through
Whirling Havoc, Peaceful Tornado
Whispering Havoc, Peaceful Times
With Her Pieces Together
Watching Human Populations Thriving
With Hunger People Thirst
With Hope People Try
Withdraw Here, Petty Thieves
Wonderful Horses, Ponies Too
Wishes Have Ponderous Thoughts,
Words Hold Power There
Words Hold Precious Things
With Hate People "Thu-ffer"
Haha okay so I'm messing around but this is so much fun!
Wondering How People Think
With Hubris Princes Topple
With Haste Poor Tidings
Work Hard, Plentiful Tidings
Wanted, Humble Proper Teachings
Warped Hatred Produces Terror
Working Hands Produce Treasures
Worried hesitations produce Trepidations?
Wave Hello Pretty Thing
Where's Harry Potters Trunk
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC