Pottery

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It’s a dry subject is pottery,

The clay, once wetted and shaped, is dryed to leather hard,

Then punished in heat, it burns to biscuit ware.

So called because it takes on the dry biscuit colour,

and Matt, flat, creamy white shaded non-sheen.

Waiting on a shelf, waiting to be gently dipped in liquid,

The glaze or slip is slurped up with thirst.

Then fired again in gas till shiny new and almost molten,

It is released from the volcanic kiln.

How is it not broken with the immolation of its body

No, just shrunken, the moisture burned away.

Ready to be decorated in variously gorgeous ways……

 

Drawing is of a jug, I think by Clarice Cliff. I drew it years ago on sketchfu…

 

 

Waiting for lightning

The forecast is for thunderstorms. ….IMG_20180329_004651_329

The heat has been here for only two or three days and already the forecast is for thunderstorms and then a drop of about 10 degrees Celsius.

Back to normal for April. Cooler,  hopefully not too cold…

Looking at http://blitzortung.org you can track the lightening, an hour ago it was heading in this direction. Now it has tracked slightly east. The weather over the Channel looks bad, with lots if storms in north France.

I want to write a poem about waiting for the storm….

Here I am, on Earth I stand,                                                                 waiting for power to flow,                                                                     from sky, to ground, down ribbons of charge                                    zagged into flash and sound.

I watch the signs, the sighs of air, deep rumbled                              groans of noise. There are now ways to see the moves                      of clouds and wind that pound.

But though I wait in stifling heat,                                                        no moisture hits the ground,                                                                the sky stays dark, not lit, not sharp.                                                  The storm has turned around.

No excitation of the land, no rivulets of rain,                                   no exultation of the skies,                                                                      no lightening strikes abound …….

Well, I think that explains how I feel. I have sat and watched lightening on many occasions, it is one of the things I love. To sit safe while the maelstrom whirls around the house. But like the photo of the clear sky above, nothing seems to be happening tonight.

Oh well there is  a small meteor shower due this weekend so I might see something…..

Fork candles

the confusion of words, such as The two Ronnies sketch: four candles or fork handles…..a poem.FB_IMG_1524173502338

Can you hear the difference?

Fork….or Four…Candles…or handles….

See the word, unheard, the difference.

Imagine a fork shaped candle?

Or four spade handles…

Words change, morph, but stay the same.

Homophones, it sounds like, confusion, illusion.

Playing games to gain our trust,  learn the difference, yes we must.

So four is not fork and candle is not handle but together they mangle talk (not tourque).

Turning walls into butterflies…

I’m not going into details or explaining this one…

I am just leaving this here so you can see how my mind works…

One thing leads to another

Colour and contrast shade the image,

Tones flow, bricks swirl, wood cracks and peels as the paint falls.

The carapace hardens and is split, butterfly spills out.

Tiny tiles of scales glint through old webs of moss…..

Glossy silver and gold, hold the eye, iridescent, shivering…..