Short Crockery Poems

His
broken
crockery
enlightens the
room

Ekphrasis after Ingo Maurer...

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The kitchen's disinfected, the worktops squeaky clean,
The laundry's in the wardrobe and nothing's left in the machine.
The crockery is washed and dry, it's stacked in cupboards, looking neat.
There's just one nagging problem, I've got nothing left to eat!...

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walking the floor
regular pastime
not about you
more about me

tweezers and splinters
droplets of blood as blues
not about us
more about life

accidental klutz
lumps and swellings 
not about happenings
more about hurting

dynamic stone teardrops
cubic zirconium crockery
not about pain
more about truth...

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There was a mighty head of state
who thought he was like God.
Within the prercincts of his  house
all feared his heavy plod.
We now hear many stories,
 some of which appal,
of crashing crockery on the floor
 and ketchup on the wall,
and how the hand that held the helm
grabbed his driver's steering wheel.
Many a good ship did capsize
for want of a steady keel....

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Infamous in death.
You stop fighting-
with me. I will ask the dynasty,
Where was your enemy ?

It was within you, he 
said. Crawling in the dark- 
poems. Will you invite 
the monk for the atonement ?

Spiritual ? Between the 
sentences, you fall asleep.
Green-crockery turn to a 
naked statue, for comfort.

The black lips start 
kissing the red hooks.


Satish Verma...

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Oh !
The swirl o the kilt !

The Maid
There was an old maid of Pitlochary whose morals were truly a mockery
For under her bed she'd a fellow instead of the usual porcelain crockery !

to the haunt o the pipe !

The Lady
Each time Lady Sutherland swooned 
Her bosoms popped out like balloons
But her butler stands by with a gleam in his eye and lifts them back in with warm spoons !...

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here on earth
i pray for all
in space
i have amnesia
the rainbow has golden strings
the sun has a surprisingly cool center
the moon has a warm, comforting glow
i am happy lying to myself

here at home
i play for all
rat race
i have amnesia
my voice painstakingly sings
my throat has a crockery laced splinter
the boos, yay, they steal the show
i get so excited when denying myself...

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From a balcony in Ankara
Exotic birds swoon
Pigeons sit on roof tops
Awaiting on the moon 
Traffic noises hum
Children’s voices clash
Banging pots and pans
For the evening dinner rush

Crockery and cutlery
Tapping out a rhythm 
Chinking Turkish tea glasses
Adding to the sound
Scraped back chairs
Washing up
Hustle bustle crescendo 
Then silence
Full stomachs 
contentment 
From a balcony in Ankara...

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Support Campaign for Real Plates,
The use of which good food dictates

A national shortage of plain china
Is set to plague the rest’rant diner

It just adds nothing to good food
To dish it up on planks of wood

My chicken doesn’t need  a casket,
A cheap and nasty plastic basket

But what I find is really vile –
To eat food off an old roof tile

And even Wildwood, I’ve heard say,
Will use a chipped enamel tray

So join the C,A,M,R,P,
Insist on real crockery....

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