found poem #365
though it’s shape be fixed as solid,
metal, wood, fabric, mud,
every made form known
was from a working motion spun.
a skillful movement, once,
rendered from raw substance,
what you now hold.
if, for instance, form is song,
there must be one to strum.
notes in scales only form
chords when noted, thus
it is motion which sounds the song.
basket, spoon, guitar, bowl,
chalice, helmet, shield,
from the most common cobbled
object to the exquisite bronze,
finest jewels, also chamber pots
created by corrected error
with humble patience learned:
twist of wrist which rolls the bead,
finger pinch which centers clay,
kick of foot to spin the wheel,
shuttle gently shoved
through warp shed
as the bobbin releases thread,
dive and turn to gouge
the cove, a smooth firm push
chamfers the edge.
a chisel, razor sharp, shaves
hardened cell walls
to reveal an ogee,
an acanthus leaf,
a Corinthian column capital,
even the sculpted orbs
of Aphrodite’s breasts.
before any of these items were
architectural or textual or sexual
all were first conceptual,
a cognitive creaking
in the crafter’s mind, who,
waking inspired, and well taught,
dug into their chest
of tools to conjure
with enchanted tug
and pull, a dance step
of their guild and also gall,
by which all things,
even this poem you read,
were wrought.
