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David at the Firing

Member since 2007 · Posted 2 Feb 2007 · 3 comments

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.

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3 comments

[n/a] coldiron 2-Feb-07/10:50 AM Reply

this poem was inspired by the accidental death of a 20 year old potter.

[7] Dovina › coldiron 2-Feb-07/1:38 PM 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.

[n/a] richa 5-Feb-07/2:57 PM Reply

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.