by Lydia Harris
Broken pots do multiply by land and by water.
Replenish them, restore them to our dwelling,
cloke them, let them clap their hands,
let them rest in quietness,
neither confounding nor dividing.
Deliver them from whirlwind and tempest.
Suddenly turn their dearth into plenty.
|As Prayer||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|'Energy is an attribute of objects'||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|Folk Tapped Pots||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|How I know you||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|Pots Still||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|She that will have a pot out of the clay||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|The Words of the Pot to the Swallow||Poem by Lydia Harris|
|Tracing the Lines Exhibition Tankerness House||Poem by Lydia Harris|