I am a founding member of a small group of writers called The Clay Pot Society. The group is so small it consists only of myself and a friend at present. Our second meeting was last night and we met at a small restaurant in Westdale did some writing exercises and later shared some of our new material. This is the poem I wrote for the occasion.
We Know, And Yet...
So we know how it should work
The branch drawing nourishment from the vine
Sucking sustenance (need I be scientific?)
Water and nutrients capillarizing
The branch staying fresh and green
Budding with promise
And then bearing fruit
Fruit that ripens on the vine
Turning from small sour green to large luscious purple
We know all this, and what’s more we
know about complete joy, kept commands,
chosen friends, and sacrificial love
Yes we know about pruned branches and lasting fruit,
answered requests and proven discipleship
So why do I feel more like
the dry withered branch
and destined for the bonfire?
I suspect capillarizing is really not a word, and I admit my knowledge of viticulture is deficient, whatever else I may know, but we in The Clay Poet Society are not harsh critics and are accepting of all literary efforts.