The world breaks
broken places
shattered mirrors
to reflect what is neglected
in dark corners.
My efforts are needed
i will turn to meet my destiny
reflected in shattered mirrors.
Unmolded clay
in my hand
nourishes new life.
The world breaks
I am a humble artist
molding my earthly clod.
Prayerful hands
i will trust to love.
Several years ago, I was grateful for the opportunity to return to a weekend workshop at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, NY and be with my artist sisters of WWAM (Women Writers and Artists Matrix). A loving, powerful, far-seeing community of good living and loving in the world.
In one of the workshops, we played with broken pieces of glass added to a collage we made on a trypearche. Color, fabric shapes and designs and paint went on the surface.
Then we added the lines of a poem, selected from many she handed…
View original post 163 more words
Napkinwriter 
Leave a Reply