Clock

They were traditional
retirement gifts.
Perhaps the first time
one was given in irony,
an employer with a quirky sense of humour.
But then it caught on and became the norm.

I was a small child,
only four years old
when one was given
to my father.
It was brown
all brown
with a glass front
and cream numbers and fingers.
It sat dismally on our mantelpiece
ticking away morosely
long after his death.

As I child growing up I used
the glass as a mirror,
a smiling face, a funny face,
a gurning face or a frown,
my faces livened it up a bit.

I thought I would leave it behind
when my mother died
it’s ticks and rocks seemed to slow
in sadness at the parting,
a parting as hard as that
from a lover.
Too hard.

So it’s with me still
sitting there looking morose
and releasing a memory
with every tick
and tock.

Sneek Peek

My first attempt at throwing a pot
was not successful.
My large lump of clay twisted and turned
on the wheel
till it became cup size
then egg cup size.
I rather liked my egg cup in the end,
well, not quite the end,
it’s final end came in the kiln
with bang.

Who would have thought then that potting
would become my trade,
my living,
certainly not me.
But that’s what happened for a while.
Look here’s a sneak peek
into my studio
the grainy black and white
showing it’s age.
It’s all gathering dust now
so a sneak peek is all I can offer,
just a glimpse of how things were
a long time ago.

“Sneak Peek” first appeared in Visual Verse.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Find her on her blog or on Facebook.