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David at the Firing (Free verse) by coldiron Warily approach the golden boy,
For in certain sunlight, he casts a dark shadow.
He sits by the side of the throwing wheel--whirled droplets of clay
spatter his feet.
His hands, soaking wet, changing, shaping--
The pot
Rising above the frenzied wheel--
Finished,
To take his ashes.
Up the ladder:
Swansong
Down the ladder:
Him.
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 3.5
Posted: February 2, 2007 10:48 AM PST; Last modified: February 2, 2007 10:48 AM PSTWeighted score: 4.928861 Overall Rank: 9265 Comments:
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coldiron @ 71.109.28.85
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2-Feb-07/10:50 AM
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Reply
this poem was inspired by the accidental death of a 20 year old potter.
[7]
Dovina @ 75.54.152.214
> coldiron
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2-Feb-07/1:38 PM
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Reply
I would not have got it from the poem. That's a bad thing. Suggest shaping the image a while longer on the wheel.
The first verse-- dear God. The embdashes from then on are utterly misused (the one after shaping is ok at a push). The ending is too abrupt. Having said that I like the idea that they put his ashes in a pot he was shaping because he died at a potter's wheel. I would go for more descriptive language for how the pot is being raised.
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