Pots Still
by Lydia Harris
Some are thumb-sized
tempered with shell,
buried close to the dead.
Others a baby might bathe in.
Zig-zagged pots,
pots with cavetto zones,
cordons applied,
herringbone incised.
Some have lugs and rims.
All are fired,
fusing the particles
almost waterproof.
3000 years ago they were clay.
| Grooved Ware | |
|---|---|
| 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 |