Best Kilns Poems

Dark place

my place

standing water

violin frogs...so very quiet.



Where is my voice

where are the lungs

flung into wells of fire

another day for the kiln

another day   ...

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Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not cry.
Into Ochs valley, through the Vale of White Horse...prancing 
besides a Dragons Hill;
It was here...

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First draft 

I

By his deeds he was duly judged
And by his greed he was condemned
To the bowels far beneath the Earth-
Cursed tenfold to rot and...

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Amphorae, beautifully crafted,
Delicate, exquisite, fire-glazed, 
Heated in jumbo kilns,
Lovely molded necks, 
Opaque pigments, 
Quartzite residue- 
Symbolic, timeless, utilitarian
Valued- with xanthic yellow zirconium




***
October 22, 2019
F T...

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Platform breezes,
spitting rain,
red brick station,
vintage train.
Take a seat,
relax with ease.
Conductor's voice,
'Your tickets please'

Time to leave,
the whistles cry,
release of brakes,
hydraulic sigh.
Boiler stoked,
the pressure's high,
clouds of steam
feed...

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alighting
bees
ceding
deeply
easily
foraging
garnishing
homesteads
into
joyous
kilns
lithely
moving
nourishment
over
parading
queen
routinely
screening
their
unborn
valiantly
weaning
xiphoid
young
zygotes...

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I am the son of Britain and Californian
     Reared of Europe and the American Revolution
Progeny of English countryside and Frisco Bay
...

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There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious...

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The moon shone on the water
Dyed ochre by the iron mines. 
Centuries of men have toiled 
In trenches and in chines. 
Carving through the sheer...

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The March of Madness has begun,
                   ...

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Dear old woman who lives in a shoe
The dear old woman who’s house is a shoe 
For Christmas she doesn't know what she can do
She...

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when once my clay hands began to harden
 under the potters wheeled sun 
 i turned to reach for my shadow 
 but found only...

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There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious...

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The skyline merges with the sky.
As I observe kilns and ovens high,
Their smoke rising up to the clouds,
In a heated chamber, pollution enshrouds

The furnace roars...

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A week of summer heat
with no cooling breeze
or break made bedrooms 
like brick kilns 
still hot after a day's firing.
You couldn't sleep.
Air conditioning back then
was...

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