Stoneware Poems - Poems about Stoneware

...A Simple Pleasure A simple pleasure in simple lines Frosty mornings, that wear fuzzy slippers, Bundled against the dawning amber chill To watch the early robins through misted windows With ......

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...We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture Tracery architecture began seeing the light From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright Its beauty spread left and right, day and ni......

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...It’s the Rain… It’s the rain, I think, That causes a brain To slow down Long enough On summer afternoons To think with rose-colored glasses To ponder dripping eaves Dodging rai......

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...artisan bread sliced I baked on a stone in a oven medium on a warm summer day placed on a stoneware platter white on a table of butcher block with the condiments I’d need to prepare my n......

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...FLOODED CLOSET flooded closet, got your attention? washer; and dryer sent to the dungeon, well the garage. not our fault. phone call received in ninety-three, wouldn’t insure us — the flood......

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...Standing in the kitchen, the house is silent. Mama’s door is shut. She’s sleeping or hiding Floral lined stoneware, in faded blue A cluster of sticky notes, with the day’s “to do” Two warm, ......

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...Konrad’s hoover hovers from wall to wall in the back room of his mind A partial vacuum once the power switch is on and all neurons are firing Time for a good clean up the curtains have been dra......

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...There was a time I saw my mother's hands and noticed quite a difference between hers and mine hers were fine soft and smooth with lovely nails, refined While mine- so rough and dried no lo......

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...Frequently I make the mistake of thinking that poetry is a fine-dining experience to be served on the finest china forked wit......

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...Huge hands extracted heavy red clay lumps gleaned from Edgefield's argil soil, placing it upon the whirling wheel. Fingers roughened, he formed, shaped, with master skill vessels fit -- massiv......

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...I looked in the file cabinet but I could not find it there. It obviously had not been filed; I began to look elsewhere. I looked on the lamp table beside the green armchair. Only to find my poem......

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...Cocking a small blue shovel in her hand, my four-year-old, Amanda, chops earth in the garden. It is warm, a moist thing to our digging. We bring forth ocher nails, a blue shard of stoneware, a ......

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