the piece i made sunday looked a bit like oscar wilde/he also looked lonesome/so i made him some friends
in a couple of days they will dry/and at a proper time/into the kiln they will go
and soon they will have a board to stand on
and more friends
and friendly foes
Despite having created her, I know little about this sweet old lady except that she is a work in progress and is surprised and overjoyed to exist.
Practicing chess piece stems grew tiresome,
So I did a glaring bird,
And then the bird
And the largest of the stems
Decided to mate.
I give it ten years at most
Because that’s what I give
Myself.
Darling
said the King
the enemy is breaking through
and I am vulnerable
.
Sweetie
said the Queen
it is time for me to do what I must
give us a kiss
.
a kiss and she was off
and quickly felled after taking the Bishop
on the enemy’s Queen side
and her capture exposed the enemy’s flank
and the Queen’s Rook quickly moved to the seventh rank
and thanks to the brave Queen’s sacrifice
the enemy was defeated
but her King
was more vulnerable than ever
and devastated.
It does not please her to exist,
This Bird that I have made.
She glares at me with glaze-glared eye
And dreams of hells in which I fry
Because a sculpture cannot fly,
And I with ambulation blissed
Ensouled her shade in shade.
When you want intense blue
Cobalt will do.
For white/miscellaneous
Go porcellaneous.
For a texture of nub
Try Crawling Glaze, Bub.
With motile non-sessiles
Do Handle your vessels.
And Showcased Absurdity?
Use Unreal Birdity.
noeyes
“…as you stare into the vacuum/of his eyes…” Bob Dylan, “Like a Rolling Stone”
he is noeyed/nevertheless he is eyeing us all
judging
looking out at you and seeing foibles
waiting for another slip
and that is why he is there on my home screen
amongst stuff i often use
i made him to watch me/keep me mindful/let me know twin abysses abide/and every moment counts
i stare him down to prepare for a challenge
he wants to intimidate but hey
i can see right through him/so can you
“Acceptance,” said Sabi, “is paramount.”
“Albinos,” said Wabi, “are weird.”
“You’ve weirdness yourself. Quite a fair amount.”
“You’re one to talk,” Weird Wabi sneered.
.
“Look. She’s got some eggs. Instant family!”
“Good point. I would be down with that.”
“Hey, Dabi, you’re IN,” Sab said hammily.
Thus ended the brief, perfect spat.
i was a lump of clay
i am a flightless bird
i will be on display
now isn’t that absurd
.
to get the rapt attention of
supporters of the arts?
a pedestal’s detention, love,
confines and wilts and smarts.
.
the trouble is when i was made
my wright made me a soul
and now i’m frozen, senseless, stayed…
but Love
may make
me whole…
cup, bird, bird, and mug await the fire,
a squadlet facing fate. alas, all will not survive. worse, it is the bird
with the eggs, the one on whom the highest hopes were pinned, that will suffer
decapitation.
irreparable.
.
the sculptor is philosophical. if i make another version of this one, it will be better.
then a sigh. it will not be as alive.
then a shrug. plenty of fish in the sea and on the plate. plenty of birds in the wind and in the clay.
there is a moment of silence. so long old pal.
****
Afterword: Grateful acknowledgment to Fannie Flagg, author of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café, for the last four words of the poem above.
One with Clay, Image and Text 