"unglazed" poems
Chilly autumn mornings-
Kitchen tiles cold on my feet,
Baking bread and butter fill the air with laughs,
A recipe my grandma knew by heart,
Measured in pinches and handfuls,
Started before the sun had it's first cup of Joe,
I would sit by the heat vent,
With a blanket she knitted,
And try to warm up,
Gnawing on cinnamon rolls made from extra dough,
Chewy, unglazed, rich and tasty,
She taught me to love the art.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
lay it in the heart(h)
and
watch with unglazed eyes.
see the blaze play its part.
as it consumes all to ashes
before it
reluctantly wanes and dies.
Apr 16, 2022
Apr 16, 2022 at 7:28 PM UTC
An unpainted
treasure chest
with the initials
"LP"
No glaze.
--Takes me back to the days
when I made her.
8th grade and I was no
art major.
-But I made her.
Bland, against a white wall.
Unnoticed
among them all.
There's a lid
and a box
but no key
and no lock
there's no way to keep shut
or keep out what I shouldn't trust.
Unpainted, unglazed, just burned.
What a haze.
While I move
to another room,
another wall,
it changes all.
Now white can stand out.
And it won't ever blend in.
Not unless it's put against
a white wall again.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
I will look with unglazed eyes
onto this nebulous existence
and I won’t hesitate to cut it
with a knife, unsympathetic to those
who would hinder or impede me.
They are not my life, I am my life.
I cannot imagine not turning over
every last effulgent piece of
this Earth, and so I will
not leave one drink undrunk,
one feeling unfelt, one sigh
unsighed. I will take what this world has
by force; I am here but once, so do not
stop me, block me, weather me in,
it will fail. I am an intransigent
being, uncompromising in my need,
unforgiving in my ways, strident in
my demands. Like a preservative,
feral mother I won’t let the one
I love become victim to famishment,
and I am my child today.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
I remember as thought it were today, the morning we moved to Cedar Rapids. The funeral day was clear and dry: a frosty autumn morning. My mother was crying.
Behind my closed, damp eyelids, I faced a terrible, inexplicable heartache. I wanted to forget everything we did together. We used to spin pottery, him sitting behind me, guiding my childishly clumsy fingers.
I picture vividly, to the point of tasting, the cold, dry smell of wet clay, and the chalky scrape of an unglazed *** I kept one on my desk until we got settled.
I threw it into the ravine behind the new old house when I couldn't break the frosted ground for a burial. I cried, drinking in the beauty and stillness of the grey. My breath mingled with the fog.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
lathe and plaster walls
divide a derelict
rooms part at doors,
holes
kicked through
and, unglazed frames.
light lingers on fragments
of lyric and latex.
rats scramble away
from nests;
domesticity.
after
bank's dead hand
slapped us
outta the place.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC
My face
Stole the skin of a diamond
To tote as it’s own mask of
Sheepskin.
Me, being the ever-ovulating orchestrator
Needed to pin the tail on this donkey
Only to rationalize why it is
Only in our nature to scrutinize
Our flaws, like a jeweler.
Each facet is forced to plead their case
While in the back of their mind’s eye
They know they will only be allowed on probation
Until the abuse from the lapidary starts again.
Tell me I’m not a real diamond
But then have the courtesy
To shatter me
Back into young, unglazed sand
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC