A New Vessel

The clay lay on the table before me;
it has just arrived and freed from its sack
with preserving amniotic fluid.
When it had first arrived at the door

by David Taylor Click to read full poem

Comments (7)

your words spoke of beauty, its frailty, in clay, of birth, creation, nativity, the vessel holding the form of life, to behold, to contain...and mold, according to lifes' continuing hold
What shall it hold? ....i think it holds all you felt while moulding it, hope it was a big vessel, lovely....smiling alana
In centuries to come it may be found whole or broken in the earth's soil to give pleasure to whoever finds it, as we today find treasures in the mud beneath our feet. A lovely creation of a poem in every way. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
I remember the slippery feel of the clay between the two hands - the left still, providing the anchor, the guide, the other gently easing, loving the pot into shape. What a superb metaphor for the role of a loving parent from the first moment of birth to the final push from the nest. Superb poem, warm and filled with wonder. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This was wonderful to read, it hummed along so nicely, and left the impression of the clay spinning on the wheel. Very nice work. Thanks
I also have had the experience of throwing a pot on the wheel. The process can be quite rewarding. I mavel at the human qualities contained within the form of the vessel. Nicely done. Interesting read.
I liked this David, a story of the lump of clay being formed into something useful, I did pottery at school however my efforts always flew off the spinning potters wheel lol, although I made a model of an African woman once which wasn't too bad. Lynda xx