Potter's Final Cup Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Potter's Final Cup



Pots and platters whir about
Spun by weathered, bony hands
Rows of cunning patterns tout
Points unseen on tightened bands

Dreamy castles fill with light
Fire and soot then meld the mass
Long forgotten textures fight
Tamed by earth's unleashed morass

Thick and green the clay soon yields
While an ancient chord commands
Soul's vibrations sun baked fields
Music formed by unsung hands

Potter stands in silence now
Armed with subterranean key
As the mossy door swings slow
Waiting eyes will surely see

Faces peek from covered earth
Clay stained hands now upward turn
Without effort wide their girth
Crawling forth from earthly urn

Touching faces watch the burn
Dank as darkness hugs all pots
Timeless shadows linger turn
Smoke and fire cast their lots

When the hyacinth morning breaks
Rows of clay are fired pots
Golden yellow azure lakes
Pristine goblets twisted knots

Weathered hands weak gentle now
Skyward facing morning light
Eyes delight as rainbows bow
Sooty shadows hint of night

Like Narcissus and as cruel
Mother Earth takes back its child
Punishing the tampered jewel
Of the potter much beguiled

Pots and faces are now one
Melded mended welded mass
Crying out in sacred drone
Potter drink that final glass.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Margaret O Driscoll 16 January 2016

Who or what inspired this piece I wonder? I'm intrigued?

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