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
stuck in dark corner
newspapers unread, fridge leaks
beets rot in high heap
•
pots and pans unwashed
waiting for spring daisy dew
slowly make pickles
•
carrots kiss wet earth
feed blackbirds watching stale crusts
breeze blow blue bubbles
•
new rain equals life
smile at illusive spaces
catch falling acorns
•
Pots & Pans
We see on the net a dust bowl of horror called Gaza
people with remarkable pots and pans begging for
food around an open kitchen; the thought is, do they
keep the poets and pans so clean, do they take turns
licking clean any vestige of nourishment of the said
utensils, which tells me there is a Palestine under
the ruins and there will always be a Palestine, if not
Today, but tomorrow it will be the day the flag will
hang from every ruin, free of Israel's hatred, and
endemic caused by the malicious influence of the USA
From the time America was influenced by the people
of the Old Testament
Flowered patios,
admired for their charm,
Andalusian patios lovingly cared for.
As new-born babies
that Andalusian women take care of
with gentleness, dedicating
their time with the same devotion
to as a baby who needs attention.
Beauty with big eyes
that shines in a blind world
to old emotions.
Patios of my Andalusia,
you sow joy in front of
the ones who feel love
for those old ladies,
whose lives flow among your cares.
I wish you would always live
Andalusian ladies!,
so that our eyes
could delight those magical patios,
full of colors and dedication.
Every flower has your name
written on it, every new wrinkle
on your face is the effort
of your everyday's passion.
The old, cracked clay pots on the shelf
They've been there so long
I leave them there as a reminder
Life leaves deep wounds from wrongs
Some cracks are deep with crevices bold
Some so fine almost unseen
Those have been repaired hold the soul
But none can repair the genes
They are so old and unwanted now
Their shelf life ending soon
Their souls have been put through the fire
Only use is to be ground up and strewn
African minds, African souls
Yet only one controls
Her fiery hair is one of a kind
Yet no one sees inside her mask of destruction
Her name is Rae Hood, a killer of all beasts
She isn't a hero not a villain
You don't want to get on her bad side
For the moon power is all hers
African tribes hide
for she won't spare anyone on her path for vengeance
"Why is she angry?" they ask
But she never reveals her past
She's a man-eater,
their power unbelievably strong
Yet can they beat the moon control?
Africa is in danger
The pots and pans destroyed
All thanks to the "Moon witch"
Who has probably lost control
Her thirst for vengeance made her crazy
so her hold on the moon is lost forever
Lives have been spared,
people believed that she has changed
But no one knows that the infamous Rae Hood controls the moon no more
Steaming tea pots help a lot
When troubles come your way
Simply pour a cup
Rest and look up
Giving your troubles away
Plants in pots inside
like pets in pound
beckon for attention.
Like chicks in nest they screech and squeal
with open beaks, skyward
begging for worms and morsels in mum's beak
Plants in pots are dependents
totally reliant on you.
More mouths to feed
more wilts to water
more bugs to squash
more dead-ends to clip and prune.
Sometimes I wonder: Are they worth it?
But their wonder wins, all in,
hands down.
I can see the rainbows
They're right there
Rainbows do sort of piss me off, though, because my daughter always wants the pot of gold at the end
She doesn't know that it's actually not there
But, if you think about it, it actually is there
I can help guide her through storms and be there when her rainbows aren't visible
That's something she has to find on her own
And, it f*cking breaks me up every time I think about it
Pots
know
of mud they are from
also
pride why?
antiquated it sits
collecting dust amidst memories
threadbare piece of cloth
unraveling with time
I cleek it from the drawer
press it against my heart
then stare blankly at its threads
unraveling the years
I can almost see you
adept hands carefully knitting
each little thread in place
then carefully tying the knot
I grimace in pain
the writhe of my stomach
twisting about as I trace each thread
the same as the tears sketch my face
to hold you once more
in more than confine's of mind
seems as impossible
as tossing this tattered cloth
that brings me solace
through the threads of time
May 13, 2020
I came from a place of bean pots and tea pots
I love my trusty three-decade old crock pot
One holer, two holer, three holer, four
Another kind of pot, if your keeping score
Clay pots and tin pots not related to pot shots
Pot belly stoves found in old country stores
Soup pots, flower pots and pot holes galore
Cast iron, copper, stainless and Teflon
All make great pots and I could go on
Now there’s another pot staining our land
The stench of it all my nose can’t stand
It’s worse than a poop pot and I’m not a fan
We shared coffee from special coffee pots,
On special days, in special ways
Dreaming about the future
Our dreams so clear they felt like reality
When they crashed and burned in front of me.
It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t your fault
That reality got in the way
But I’ll never forget you as I pour tasteless coffee
From coffee pots inscribed with your name.
Joys of married life outweigh minor discrepancies
Such as throwing pots and pans or other irregularities
Must turn a blind eye
As harmful stuff flies by
It all part of the charm, ignore the unavoidable peculiarities
Trump Pots Up Stir
Trump many pots seems up likes to stir;
Oddball as new President who did occur;
Some said;
Loser bred;
In White House saw mounting manure.
Jim Horn
Trump and Tiny Paws
Saw Trump starting to sharpen claws,
That had been attached to tiny paws,
That de did inherit;
Was a Polly Parrot;
Even an idiot never knowing any laws.
Jim Horn
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