poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “clay”

out of reach

he turned dirt into mud with spit
and gentle hands
nimble fingers changing malleable
clay into lifeless figurines

they possessed no soul
and no hearts beat inside to fuel
their starving minds

high up on a shelf they sat
out of reach from the many visitors
who called randomly
touring the estate but coming up empty
sent to find something inside
from forces unknown

that is all there is he would tell them
and they turned and left
disappointed but certain
there were prisoners inside the place
desperate to be saved

july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Hands of Red Clay

She crafted the hands of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
before kiln dried
manicured and baked again

For years the hands rested on shelves
rubbing porcelain figurines and pottery pieces

She adored the hands of red clay
allowed her students to critique
but never handle them
all intrigued by the veins and lifelines
palms and knuckles
nails and cuticle
their uniqueness all but touchable

Some believed the clay was dug
from an ancient Indian burial ground
others convinced their creation was
inspired by her late husband
while a cult following proclaimed
the blood of man flowed inside them

The hands were crafted of red clay
hours of cultivation perfected them
while years of uncertainty
kept them alive

originally penned in 1996
rewritten april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the apprentice

i snuck into the world
through a backdoor
you carved into a rolling hill
where you worked the earth
with your creative hands

with perfection in mind
you made my eyes
the lightest shade of blue
and my skin varied
depending upon the light

your blood flowed within
nourishing my heart
and strengthening my mind
as i learned how the earth
recycles all living things

through time and patience
i came to understand
how the secrets of the clay
could beautify and nourish
a world starving for love

october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Into the Earth

In my mind I draw a square
in the very center of the garden

From there I dig into the earth
using the seasoned spade
usually reserved for plantings

The hole slowly turns into a cube
as three mounds resemble
Egyptian resting places

Further down the soil
becomes hard and cold
the clay malleable enough
to mold eternal companions

Satisfied the opening
is mathematically sound
I hold the spade at my side
sweat falling off my forehead
silently instructing the child
to bring forth her loved one
to the newly built altar

november two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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