clay
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When you fall
When you take long in the cycle
Remember seeds do too
Deep in the dirt, drenched and dosed with heat
Clay tells all your secrets
the ones you hide from others and yourself
You think your doing a decent job at concealing your frustrations, anger, and sadness
but the clay points to every intrustive thought
I'm just clay
I mold myself depending on who's with me
Change into what they want me to be
Then I sit there as they react to me
As if I'm a film and they're the movie critic
Hong Kong China crunchclash of ideologies—iron mixed with clay
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© 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
His eyes are disks,
His teeth are jacks.
His arms sinewed with cables
With gold along his back.
A spark of electricity
wheel thrown pottery
coils of clay willingly yield-
master potter's touch
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© 2019 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
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that piece of clay
that i became
so long ago
in the montains rain
crafted by God
put together again
that piece of clay
a pot filled to the brim.
that piece of clay
We all begin as lumps of clay
Shapeless
Colorless
Full of potential
I was a small lump
But I knew what I could do
I knew I had so much to offer
And with that thought, I grew
Wiser hands with more experience mold younger ones into shapes
positions designed to mimic their own
The paintbrush between my hands is not angled quite like hers
She makes a single, long stroke across the white page
A piece of clay on the molding board
Constructed by the hands of an artist and teacher
Purpled by inky fingers
I spin in a whirlwind as the wheel rotates
Pots
Everywhere.
Glaze on the table.
People building animals.
Teapots strewn around the room.
Teacher telling what to do.
Notes fill the air
Where there was a void previously is filled with a beat
Beats that resounded with the heart
Boom boom boom
Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum
Each pulse sends energy into a limb
Eyes softened,
Spirit felt
the heart of God
in tenderly melt.
Golden glow
your piercing gaze
reflects His love
in treasured clay.
Reaching farther,
searching more
Words swirl inside my head like pillars of light,
I grasp onto the strands and wait:
I wait for them to makes sense,
Incoherent buzzes of truth are all I have.
Hands knead and press slippery clay
Earth centered on the wheel
Spinning
Round and round
Vase rises up from shapeless clay
Form leaps up
Falls down
