Drift glass
In the palm of your hand
It ended up
This river glass
This sliver of glass
This drift glass
The colour of cataract
Water born
Tumble torn
Pebble worn
Specks of mud had got into it somehow
Look into it and there is a history there
For you to see
So much more so than in a diamond
The fingerprint of the hand that had made it
Long since lost to the river
As was that of the child that had drank from it
There now
In the palm of your hand
Cut free from time
And purpose
Yours
Andrew Griffiths
10th August 2009
More here....
Drift Glass
-
imaginary friend
- Posts: 1371
- Joined: Fri Jun 22, 2007 5:09 am
- Location: Vancouver, Canada
Re: Drift Glass
Hi Calli,
Are you Andrew Griffiths? From your avatar and forum name I imagined you were a woman
I went to the website link you provided, and enjoyed reading your work – I particularly liked The Box and Jemima's Drawing; both are beautiful and evocative.
Are you Andrew Griffiths? From your avatar and forum name I imagined you were a woman
I went to the website link you provided, and enjoyed reading your work – I particularly liked The Box and Jemima's Drawing; both are beautiful and evocative.
Re: Drift Glass
my apologies!!
I should have said that he ( Andrew ) is a close friend!!
Jemima and Tabbi are my daughters.
Thank you for your comments I will pass them on to him.
Re: Drift Glass
Drift glass II
The thick hand's fingers
Wrapped around the neck of the bottle
Like a ship's sea rope
And smashed it on a river rock
The hollow roar
Of the lost male
Trembled the crowd
As he used the jagged edges
As a tool to tear the flesh of another's face
And as that other screamed
With his thick blood oozing between his stiff and disbelieving fingers
The circle of crowd looked down
And those shards of glass were handed to time
And time took them
And used water
And stones
As tools to round the edges
And split them up
And shape them into each a single reflection of flow
Clouding them
Minutely etching the surface of them with grains of grit
For a perfect miniature of a gypsy's ball
Then a young girl picked one from the river's edge
And passed it to her Mother's hand
Which fashioned it
And rested it in a cradle of silver wire and rocked it
And made adornment
Andrew Griffiths
18th August 2009
http://andrewgriffiths3.wikispaces.com/Drift+Glass+II
The thick hand's fingers
Wrapped around the neck of the bottle
Like a ship's sea rope
And smashed it on a river rock
The hollow roar
Of the lost male
Trembled the crowd
As he used the jagged edges
As a tool to tear the flesh of another's face
And as that other screamed
With his thick blood oozing between his stiff and disbelieving fingers
The circle of crowd looked down
And those shards of glass were handed to time
And time took them
And used water
And stones
As tools to round the edges
And split them up
And shape them into each a single reflection of flow
Clouding them
Minutely etching the surface of them with grains of grit
For a perfect miniature of a gypsy's ball
Then a young girl picked one from the river's edge
And passed it to her Mother's hand
Which fashioned it
And rested it in a cradle of silver wire and rocked it
And made adornment
Andrew Griffiths
18th August 2009
http://andrewgriffiths3.wikispaces.com/Drift+Glass+II
Re: Drift Glass
http://andrewgriffiths3.wikispaces.com/Drift+Glass+II
Drift glass II
The thick hand's fingers
Wrapped around the neck of the bottle
Like a ship's sea rope
And smashed it on a river rock
The hollow roar
Of the lost male
Trembled the crowd
As he used the jagged edges
As a tool to tear the flesh of another's face
And as that other screamed
With his thick blood oozing between his stiff and disbelieving fingers
The circle of crowd looked down
And those shards of glass were handed to time
And time took them
And used water
And stones
As tools to round the edges
And split them up
And shape them into each a single reflection of flow
Clouding them
Minutely etching the surface of them with grains of grit
For a perfect miniature of a gypsy's ball
Then a young girl picked one from the river's edge
And passed it to her Mother's hand
Which fashioned it
And rested it in a cradle of silver wire and rocked it
And made adornment
Andrew Griffiths
18th August 2009
Drift glass II
The thick hand's fingers
Wrapped around the neck of the bottle
Like a ship's sea rope
And smashed it on a river rock
The hollow roar
Of the lost male
Trembled the crowd
As he used the jagged edges
As a tool to tear the flesh of another's face
And as that other screamed
With his thick blood oozing between his stiff and disbelieving fingers
The circle of crowd looked down
And those shards of glass were handed to time
And time took them
And used water
And stones
As tools to round the edges
And split them up
And shape them into each a single reflection of flow
Clouding them
Minutely etching the surface of them with grains of grit
For a perfect miniature of a gypsy's ball
Then a young girl picked one from the river's edge
And passed it to her Mother's hand
Which fashioned it
And rested it in a cradle of silver wire and rocked it
And made adornment
Andrew Griffiths
18th August 2009