I am the man who had the feet of clay
All these years later, I feel I must confess
I’m the reason that you couldn’t stay.
Fearful, immature, and selfish to this day,
I loved you truly, but I caused you distress.
I am the man who has the feet of clay.
I was hurt, and I had hurtful things to say,
but the fault was surely mine, no more, no less.
I’m the reason that you couldn’t stay.
That you’ve found love and happiness, I pray.
This, my dear, I can honestly express -
I, the man who has the feet of clay.
I ruminate on all I threw away,
and the life of love that we could not possess.
I’m the reason that you couldn’t stay.
In my heart, I know at last, now old and gray,
why I never saw you in a wedding dress.
I’m the reason that you couldn’t stay.
Yours, with love, the man with feet of clay.
1. The Thing I Never Said
Clay and dust made food
The sloth must be fed daily
Consciousness enslaved
The days of innocence have traveled away;
Those of cowboys and injuns we did slay,
And baseball, football, and swimming for play;
Lying ‘neath the pecan trees half the day,
And going to church to learn how to pray,
In the deep red North Alabama clay.
I remember the sunlight in our hair.
We grew strong and right and became a pair.
We laughed and loved in a world without care.
Cotton, beans, and corn and living things there
Our happiness, love, and life they did share,
In the deep red North Alabama Clay.
When my days on this earth are fully drawn,
And I no longer have my youthful brawn,
When I am finished and this life has gone,
And no more sunsets will I look upon,
Lay me in my grave with headstone thereon,
In the deep red North Alabama Clay.
so little is enough for me
on the loggia in the summer
through half-closed eyes...
the regular ping of a tennis ball
the scissor-like flights of swallows
the shunting of factory wagons
cheerful chatter from the café...
I hope it never ends
Kids today, I have to say,
Are latched onto their screens
And spend more time than I on rhyme,
No matter what their means.
My grandkid’s friend, at school day’s end,
Came over for a while.
They ate and talked but mostly gawked
At sites that did beguile.
The sunny day lured them to play
Out in the grassy yard
‘Til boredom hit, so in a bit,
They played the hungry card.
A little snack, but then a lack
Of things to do set in.
Some board games? No! With spirits low,
The kvetching could begin.
Until my son got the job done,
Producing what he knew
Could save the day, some brand-new clay -
Wow, something cool to do!
Ideas took hold, they squished and rolled,
Creating works of art,
With smiles of pride that couldn’t hide
What screens cannot impart.
They say he has a sweet soul, yet I'm in dismay, my mind feels burdened, like it's filled with
decayed clay.
In fear, I reel from the chaos each day, setbacks and self-sabotage lead me astray.
Oh, please, don't let my thoughts lead me away.
Each day is a battle to keep the wolves at bay; I must remind myself, not every sky is grey.
This sweet soul hides a dark hole where my inner child lays, praying in shadows that
today's the day I'm not finally afraid.
He has a sweet soul, but they can't see the mental toll, how heavy my mind weighs on
my ability to behold, the world clearly illuminated, like a story untold.
It takes much to control and patrol my inner night, as my demons needs soothing and
rest to find light.
Shall every dawn a gentle sculptor be,
That moulds the clay of thought with softest art?
As yonder flower, bathed in crystal sea.
Doth catch the light and teach the drooping heart.
From golden vein where dewdrops slowly trace
Their shinning path along the petal's curve ,
So doth the mind, in quiet, sacred space,
Absorb the strength that daily trials serve.
Teach it to trust the root that grips the earth,
Though tempests rage and shadows cloak the sky;
For in the bloom that drinks the morning's birth,
Lies power born where fragile droplets lie.
Thus shape thy soul as dawn's own hand designs--
Believe thine own bright strength , and claim what shines.
Where upon the earth do I acquaint new life?
A Spirit who scampers upon a banshee breeze,
Unsure—anxious thoughts taking aim, rife, unmoored
Focus unsharp—a fog on a mountain freeze—trees
Seek hope, its landing unannounced, high and lofty:
A child, clay-borne, raised by morning’s star,
and bearing the velocity of love
Untainted, untrodden, undaunted, unstifled—
What nurtures freedom in a nature made for freedom
Time clicks; a moment slips, forgotten.
Hallowed, sought, bought, fraught—a chiefdom
Berean, listening without ears of cotton
Whispering, churning, turning, burning—wind
A persiflage ingested as thunder rumbles, grumbles
Persistence, resistance—conscripted in sin
There, a cry for wisdom, yet stuck—fumbled
Who? A father, mother, sister, brother—kin?
Progeny, cacophony—perhaps fools on atolls
All, forgotten tenets in interplanetary space
The medicament—far-reaching, teaching bleeding souls
Contrary to prevailing belief: to show no grace
Yet responsible life-stewards, a virtuous gift extols
Greater, higher—hope, faith, and love proclaim the Ancient Scrolls
Thunderstruck
=======
and the Lord formed man
of the slime of the earth
and breathed into his face
the breath of life
and man became
a living soul
wonderfully made
with faculties to know
wrong from right
truth from lies
and freedom
to choose which side
until slime
returns to slime
and breath like dew
to the throne
of light
to give an account
how the coin of life
was invested in time
if sheep were gathered
in love
or scattered with fear
and slaughter
There is no wolves
in Paradise
Dust
Red clay
Crunching between my teeth
Four long months before the pouring
rain You keep waiting
Wait
Wait for a sign that never
comes I see the gold in the weeds
Crows circle around the fence
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to Break
The Harvest Is Here
The Harvest Is Here
Oh oh oh Oh
Pick It
Oh Oh Oh Oh
Shoot It
Burst
Dry stalks crack under the boots
Sickle blades bite the dry heat
The sun burns my neck
Hard work
Hard
sweat Hard
truth Empty silos won't fill themselves
While you're sitting on the porch
Watching the shadows lengthen
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to break
The harvest is here
The harvest is here
Don't talk about tomorrow
Don't talk about next
year don't say it's too early
It's ready
It's heavy
It's right in front of you
The color of frost
The color of bone
Look up
Look at the fields
They're white now
They're white now
Ready to fall
Ready to fall
Racing against backward clocks
I see it slipping away
Like water through finger tips
When it hits the clay
to bone,
He soften his edges
But one look in your eyes
He turns to stone
Still solid inside,
He solemnly pledges
But even the strongest foundations
Can crack at the seams
When time comes to theive,
All thats left is our dreams
.
i were born'd tuh
phuk
thuh flame
yourn
pink's
chameleon
(((snap)))
red
')>
*okay, it iz difficult to find 'mine' explicate uv "phuk"
vide supra...therefore, ask Google; does phuk mean
a spark? surprise ')
*nonethuhless
naughty knave 'nfer
We are human clay
Clay pots for the Lord’s display
And as we are led in a cruciform way
It is the Lord who will restore the cracks with new clay
But the cracks are to be seen and known
As we grow in Christ and our light dimly shown
That Light will break forth through every crack
And like Gideon’s Army will break forth
with the Light that we lack
So goes the pugilistic efforts that we’ve offered
Beating the air in our futility that’s proffered
But our fight is shown in the cracks of the jars
It’s shown in this life through pottery shards
Shown to give glory to the One that’s in charge
He repairs all, the connards and the canards
So, Jesus repairs you and me
He uses His kintsugi
To mend the pottery
The fractured pitcher of you and me
(He uses silver and gold and His Refiner’s fire
To refine our focus towards Him our Desire)
The Desire of all nations bursts forth
in the breaking of the clay
We will share in a new life that’s breaking today
.
i were born'd tuh
spark
thuh flame
yourn
pink's
chameleon
(((Lap)))
red
')>
Lush geranium proud and glorious.
Blooms so gracefully in old clay pot.
without a tinge of shame.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.