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Array ( [sid] => 83926 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Potterer and His Blue Funk [time] => 2005-02-11 02:59:52 [hometext] => [bodytext] => The wizened sinewy potterer,
with liver spots desecrating his
once aquiline sculpted features
now runty and thwarted by whatever comes.
The molten clay work is now further away from shoddy completionn
already malleable, with teetering edifices
crumbling beyond recognition.
And his hands?
They do not loo bruised and industrious
but limp and forlorn.
The wheel spinning eratically
with wavering seams that weave,
and wilter.
Forming acute and unaesthetic welts
grotesque protruderances.
Rising falling
and then falling again.
A crescendo of messy destitue.
His once seemingly expansive and adept glossy hands
likened to the laquered finishing of
a gleaming pristine vase
now clumsily fumbling with the pulp like
consistency of unfinished spinning.
Messy grey clay is glinting awkwardly and precariously under the beam of sunlight
moulding, exaggerated contours smothered in vain,blending.
His hands oh where are they ?
The potterer with a sigh of heaviness and inertia rests his unrecognizable
and weathered looking hands
with clay vapidly drying, crusting over
unto a dishevelled and disintergrating rag
and desides to wash them.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 194 [topic] => 43 [informant] => CARAAAAA [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )

The Potterer and His Blue Funk

Contributed by CARAAAAA on Friday, 11th February 2005 @ 02:59:52 AM in AEST
Topic: oops

The wizened sinewy potterer,
with liver spots desecrating his
once aquiline sculpted features
now runty and thwarted by whatever comes.
The molten clay work is now further away from shoddy completionn
already malleable, with teetering edifices
crumbling beyond recognition.
And his hands?
They do not loo bruised and industrious
but limp and forlorn.
The wheel spinning eratically
with wavering seams that weave,
and wilter.
Forming acute and unaesthetic welts
grotesque protruderances.
Rising falling
and then falling again.
A crescendo of messy destitue.
His once seemingly expansive and adept glossy hands
likened to the laquered finishing of
a gleaming pristine vase
now clumsily fumbling with the pulp like
consistency of unfinished spinning.
Messy grey clay is glinting awkwardly and precariously under the beam of sunlight
moulding, exaggerated contours smothered in vain,blending.
His hands oh where are they ?
The potterer with a sigh of heaviness and inertia rests his unrecognizable
and weathered looking hands
with clay vapidly drying, crusting over
unto a dishevelled and disintergrating rag
and desides to wash them.

Copyright © CARAAAAA ... [ 2005-02-11 02:59:52]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The Potterer and His Blue Funk (User Rating: 1 )
by Vampirequeen on Friday, 11th February 2005 @ 03:13:24 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

very refreshing and different then any i read .
well, done .looking forward to more of your writes.

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