Wednesday, December 21, 2011

We built the hills

to break the space

between earth

and the Gods


in the horizon,

leveled by hope

and fear in the unknown.

Upon them we placed

our homes

from which

we watched the sun

scale the peaks

of distant mountains.

We adorned our walls

with stars

plucked from the sky

and hung mirrors

in which we observed

their glittering reflections

in our eyes.

We created the clock

to relieve us from the

golden brightness

at the day's end.

We sought refuge in

our likeness to

the flower,

finding our growth

most similar

to the unfolding

of petals,

yet we closed our eyes

once seeing

our true selves

in the decay of

abandoned buildings,

walls warped

shifting from chrome

to rust

space changing

forming a distant memory

whose life progresses

not through growth

but erosion.


living through time.


The mythical pursuit of quiet time spent reflecting on ideas and time is an unending ambition of mine. Lately I have been less than successful in establishing such time with demands of social responsibilities, firing kilns, and attempting to photograph and market my work pressing down upon me. Yet, as with all sources of inspiration, working with active intentions of creating something 'great' can result in disappointment. It is only when the conditions present themselves as being appropriate that we may find what is sought. This is my current moment.

Hiding in the grass,
The moment at which
place and time close
their eyes

creating the breeze
at a cycle's end.
Tall stalks,