I come from silky mud
after a season of rain, rain, rain
The universe would not
allow the earth to dry up
my mother could not resist
and picked up a clump
and made a fist
to shape me into the person I am today.
She told me though
that I had picked her.
- It Wasn’t Supposed To Rain Today or Is It “Monsoon Season” in Georgia? (unexpectedincommonhours.wordpress.com)
- Day 8: Rain (spectaculareveryday.wordpress.com)
- Contradiction and Expectancy (zen-haven.com)
I like the feel of this poem, look forward to reading more!
Thanks! Look forward to reading more of your work.
Great poem! Thank you for the pingback.
Pretty nice post. I just stumbled upon your blog and wished to say that I’ve truly enjoyed browsing your blog posts. In any case I’ll be subscribing to your
rss feed and I hope you write again very soon!
I like this. You took a simple thing like walking in the rain and mud and made it sound beautiful. Great metaphor with the mud, clay and yourself.
Thanks so much. I want to learn how to do pottery in my old age :). For me it is a way to connect with nature and to become more creative. But when I wrote the poem I thought about my own formation and how I get it now that we are all a part of each other. Thanks again. -Melba Christie