Pottery Poems - Poems about Pottery

Pottery

She waited as her brain burnt her body to a crisp.
Shaking as time passed, she just won’t relax.
Her heart is in the hands of one’s fist.

He ran far away, until one fateful day
He couldn’t keep living without her.

?They pushed and they shoved,
but never fell out of love.
I suppose no more needing to chase her.

Now the

Cool Natural Pottery Room

hello and meow
very much hot summer noon
love cool pottery

Pottery Row

pottery row
lead me to the beach

pottery row
the ocean in now within reach

pottery row
thank you for all the scenery

pottery row
i appreciate the blue sky and the greenery

pottery row
your back roads are so lovely

pottery row
i welcome your purpose when your encouragingly shove me

pottery row
i am happy that you create beautiful central confusion

pottery row
i thank God for you

A Skeleton of Pottery

Splintered gold carpets the ground at her naked
feet. Stars spat from skies above crashing
down to carve out craters in the earth, barren.

She crunches memories once perfect between
her toes - the past squelching-squashing
in meadows bogged with rain and night-time tears. 

His ashes, once held in an urn, float
now over a field, let out to pasture. The

Pottery Class

The other night we took a pottery class and I wish I could convey…the excitement we both felt with our hands immersed in clay.

In some ways we felt like kids again…perhaps that’s the appeal…as we began to play in the mud…upon the potter’s wheel.

Sitting on my stool or at the table where I stood I

The Darkness of Silence

You have the darkest silence
I can’t read your face
I can’t interpret you blink
There is no meaning to your wink
Your smile is warm and cold
You head shakes like a nod
Your yes sounds like a no
I see nothing on your fore
But you have a soul
You get my attention without a call
You make chants of a statuesque dead

Pottery

In sanctuary,
Cracked from flows and blows of life,
A piece of raw clay!

Mold me, my Potter;
I surrender to thee now,
Pray bake me finest!

Pottery People

i hate to
because
i want to

stay
awake
for to take

you
by the
hand and

shape
your clay
into a vase

you
needn't be
Ming Dynasty

for you
you please
me just being

Colombian

Pottery

If I had some clay
I would work with it
To create a vase
or make a soap dish

Working with wet clay 
Ins easy to work with
Making it into something
To be so proud of


The large items made
on the potter's wheel
It takes time to shape
Making objects right

After twelve hours made
Then into the kilm
Next to be sanded
After that g;lazed

Then painted

Stories In Pottery

STORIES  IN  POTTERY 


Bluebirds above the azure lakes
Burleigh cups  - willow pattern trees in gold leaf -
Once with mashed Sichuan oolong,
And on their side plates, shortbread tiffin,
While nephews in white laughed loudly and played tennis on the lawn.


George  V  Silver Jubilee mug and plate (1910-1935)
Found by slum clearance machines
In a

Pornstar Pottery

She stalks the hall of graffiti red,
bare legs and platform shoes, 
and she ties her shirt in such a way
as to best accentuate her boobs

 her hair's a mess, 
smudged makeup dress,
and lipstick sticks on bottle tips,
cause she's she's she's...
 
drinking in the bathtub,
taking pictures of her body,
       

I'M Sorry I Meant This Is 4 All U Lousy Poets Who Don'T Know Poetry From Pottery

A BEAUTY BORN OF THE ‘BURBS

I showed her the steamier and seedier side 
A place where the desperate have tried, cried and died
Young Ms. Suburbs took to it’s derelict charm
As we’d stroll downtown with arms tangled in arm

She had never been confronted by the pitiful and the poor before
They never showed up at her mahogany

Poetry and Pottery-W

A poem sleeps in my body in an upright state,
Among the heavy traffic, I lay bare my desire
Comes unto me in the broad way of my heart
Search in her body similes, title or metaphor.

I breathe in her mouth with the words proper
I whisper into ears to hear the echoes of words
That are in my mind

Pottery Room

Early morning in the Pottery Room,
I gather my tools, bits and pieces of
heating coil, broken and brittle.
The kiln still warm from last firing,
but empty now,
I walk in, turning on the switch that
heats the coils as I pass through the arch.
Where are the bad spots?
I await the coils to turn red.
I see a gap, find a

Pottery Jug

Pottery jugs big and small
Flowers in abundance one and all.

Sometimes roses, lillies too, 
Daisies white with a yellow hue

Birthdays weddings, anniversaries too
out comes the gug both bright and blue

To house the flowers sent by you.

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