
On the gable end of the Falcon Works. Visible from Sturgess Street in Stoke.
I see you, Falcon,
Goss Hawk, swooping.
Air sifting between stone feathers.
Built as a plaque of identity,
Goss ware, pottery, strong and sturdy.
History, trade mark, art, bird.
Bird of prey,
Snatching art from thin air,
Your claws knead the clay….





it’s coming on. But I know I’m looking too closely, which means I need to stand back and work out what if anything is wrong. I still need to add more bricks and sort out the trees. If I get this done I might do one of the bottle ovens.