I was a Grecian urn,
Once buried, then unearthed,
Forgotten by the sea.
The wrinkles of my cracks
Like fishing nets were spread
Entangling shoals of sun.
The teasing salty breeze
Would lightly touch my skin
Insensitive through time
That heals but kills the joy.
I waited for the rain.
It came and filled me up.
I drank and overflowed
But still kept saying, 'More! '
Until at last I burst
Unable to resisit
The water saving me
From immortality.
Now I'm a wreck, with bits
Of me all strewn around.
But each one dreams about
The fullness of that day.
JULIA.... JUST KEEP THEM FLOWING..... I LIKE THE TEMPO YOU MAINTAIN WHILE WRITING.....10/10.
This is the sort of poem that can be read and re-read. It has so many original and beautiful images - 'cracks / Like fishing nets were spread / Entangling shoals of sun...'. I like, too, the intriguing metaphors ('Unable to resist /The water saving me / From immortality) which suggest rather than explain their meaning, and I particularly like the final stanza. Does it refer to how the very old look back on their lives, I wonder? A definite 10 in my book
Your tone and subject are gorgeously portrayed. What a gem. -Tailor B.
Fantastically imaginative, using a simple tool and setting in this way. Beautifully rendered, very appealing. We share similar thoughts and ideas, Julie, only you express them so very well! Esther : ]
What an unusual contrast - the beautiful vase, filled with rain to the bursting point, shattered and yet longing. Unusual twist of what we usually picture a beautiful vase, displayed in a musuem somewhere, or in a fancy home. Well done, Julia.
Beautiful and elegaic. Emotions recollected, time out of mind. Warm regards, Sandra
Stunning imagery abounds in this original and creative piece. I particularly liked these lines: 'The wrinkles of my cracks Like fishing nets were spread Entangling shoals of sun.' Warmest wishes, Justine.
This is what they call a valuable poem......... very well written.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
...reincarnating even through things - alive, as they are through their use by us, the living - and not only through creatures alone. Great elemental thinking! You may read also my poem Why Things Don't Think Of Us, Too, In Return?