Continuing the story of Lydia and Me
I decided that my tired mind would benefit from a bit of focused activity so I turned to cleaning up my creative corner in the lounge.
After a walk with Lydia and a short meditation, I set to.
Bowls of dry clay are now outside, soaking up water, until they are ready to be reconstituted into that malleable substance that is so versatile.
I’m moving in a different direction now in my work with clay. I have no idea what that direction is, only that it is different.
It feels good, to have tidied and sorted, thrown out, re-organised.
With my ‘plan’ for pottery now in place, I turn to poetry.
There is a meeting of the poetry group coming up, and our theme this month is ‘A painting’. The remit is to interpret this as broadly as we want to (which of course is our prerogative anyway, as creators/writers).
My poem is this:
A painting
A painting
can be anything
you want it
to be
A flower
A wall
A tree
Brush goes into pot
Paint loads
Hand holds
And then it flows
Wherever
and however
you want it
to go
The mark is made
and then it’s gone
in the blink
of an eon
Is the painting
in the pot?
Or on the wall?
Where does the call
to paint
come from?
Is the painting
in the mark
or the mark
on the canvas
or the wall
or the wood?
It can be good
to paint
or not
It just depends
on what is in
the paint
and what is in
the pot
© Maggie Baker – Glad the Poet – 2025
I do now feel a sense of mental energy coming through; the tiredness was temporary; doing something constructive helped.
Glad About 