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And Made of It

East, enter potter under
whose hands the world
turns clockwise.
West, counterclockwise,
say tradition meaning
means nothing,
no blown breath nor big pull.
In the name of is what it is,
sun casts the shadows
as themselves for a change.
To speak to into or to
through this needs more
than my little muscles.
Perhaps a handle.
An as if turned to music,
slurry sieved to slip.
Here are my hands
for pulling the walls up.
Here is the air
will cause a wobble.
Rib to tip in the direction
of rotation, murmur,
momentum, tell you
What. I tell you What.
Centred, I am ready
for an opening.
But for a throw of,
or thrown off, or
to or for or from.
Kick throw repeat
is my prayer
for a pliable vessel.
I have never seen
a child unquiet
while watching
the wheel.
 
Poetry
Johanna Aitchison
Michele Amas
Angela Andrews
Sarah Barnett
David Beach
Ken Bolton
Jenny Bornholdt
Rachel Bush
Mary Cresswell
Stephanie De Montalk
Cliff Fell
Tom Fitzsimons
Brian Flaherty
David Geary
Bernadette Hall
Kerry Hines
Andrew Johnston
Therese Lloyd
Iggy McGovern
Mary Macpherson
Dora Malech  
Vana Manasiadis
Emma Neale
Gregory O'Brien
Lucy Orbell
Zach Savich
Charlotte Simmonds
Marty Smith
Elizabeth Smither
Abby Stewart
Robert Sullivan
Jo Thorpe
Cath Vidler
Louise Wallace
Ashleigh Young

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