THE JOY OF THE JOURNEY

I centered the clay
and turned the wheel
to center myself and feel
connected to the earth
like soft rain on sandstone,
to forms and shapes
that no one sees but me.

A piece of porcelain
for a potter to throw
might grow to be an
elegant bud vase,
home to a single stem
and a solitary rose,
unless it chose
beneath sensitive fingertips,
to be a Japanese tea bowl
or a goblet
for vintage wine.

Only choice can redefine
in the fullness of time
our place in space.
Life flows
through our hands,
if we so choose,
like a river with no end,
or we lose
its meaning
or just pretend.


"To pass through is just not enough,"
she said.

The final destination
for artistry and me,
even in my poetry,
is gratifying,
but insignificant
in comparison to the joy
of the journey
in a world of wonder,
as limitless
as the human imagination.

Either we are the sculptor
or the sculpted.
The writer
or the footnote.
We were born
to create numerous moments,
wondrous moments,
not the same moment
numerous times.

"Enjoy the journey with me,"
she said.

Become the possibility.

© JOHN PISCATELLA

MISS CARIBOU

After the aftermath,
a year invents
another year
without you...
Miss Caribou

Only timeless traces
of what once was
remain connected
to the other side
of never ending places
that can’t be touched
by anyone but you...
Miss Caribou

You are my book
opened only
by love
and song
and poet’s words
that long
for music to keep
while you sleep.

Next for me,
my Queen,
is the pageantry
of possibility
and the clarity
of the art of living
that unfolds
in muted sunlight
like fiddleheads
in the forest.

Without shadow,
without doubt,
the best waits for me
and my poetry.

The best of me
is you...

Miss Caribou.

© JOHN PISCATELLA