Friday, February 21, 2014


Blue and white combined in delicate dance of decoration,
dusted by the day and years, held upon a flimsy shelf,
in a shop, lost down languishing alleys of the city.
I found you, long ago, entranced by beauty, shape and
feel, that magic sense of china finely wrought, by
unknown hands, fired, painted, glazed and then brought
forth to be displayed and purchased. But for what?
The shape a cradling bowl, womb-like with narrowed
source, rising to fulsome hips, made to hold, contain,
preserve, nurture, protect, encase, with a small
but certain lid, which settles into shallow depths of neck
and mouth, the breath and memory held for  your eternity,
and the contents imprisoned for mine, as the glue set
hard around smooth edges which once were free, but
now denied access, knowledge, revelation of that which
someone wished to hide. I could dissolve that glue, break
the seal, open up and then reveal, lay waste your truth
upon the world - but I will not. Secrets are a precious
thing and you hold one in the heart of yourself for reasons
beyond my knowing and in which imagination can hold
hands with respect and rejoice in the silent mystery.


  1. imagination and respect hand in hand...and the mystery....its interesting the thoughts of the dead....especially if they are still
    'around' and we see them every day
    our imaginations smooth many a thing as the years go by
    our thoughts imagine them elsewhere. yes

  2. Oh what a tight description of that urn.. I love how you expand it to a metaphor for what it could seal inside... almost like a human.

  3. Such good sensory description and I really like how you carried it a step further. It does make a perfect metaphor. Many years ago I wrote a short story along those lines.

  4. Yes, as the previous commenter said, beautifully described in literal detail and also working perfectly as metaphor.