Hands in Clay

by Alanna

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When my hands touch clay

I lose myself

Deep in the soft, smooth sensation of mud

Sliding between my fingers

When my hands touch clay

I am a child at play

With infinite possibilities

 

When my hands touch clay

I become the earth

 

When my hands touch clay

I am Navaho, Pueblo, African, Asian, Aborigine

And of the ancient ones

Sharing the spirit of creation

Hidden in the clay

Waiting to be born

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Photos by courtesy Pixabay

As also seen on byalannapass.com

“The Power of Play, The Power of Clay”

7 Comments to “Hands in Clay”

  1. Very well written. Reminds us of our foundations!!!

  2. Beautiful words, moulding my mind as if also of clay. Primeval pleasure.

  3. Reblogged this on Writing, events, competitions and even some self-penned bits and commented:
    I am so impressed with all the ways this can be read and hope you will be too

  4. Reblogged this on In the World of Thoughts and commented:
    Alanna your poetry express the emotion of all the Artists who create masterpieces with clay. Thanks for sharing

    I am reblogging this in honour of my Sister Joy.

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