Robert James Berry

The Maker

First

I make a

stark monochrome sketch



Then throw the clay

Turning my fingers

To mould four senses

Pedalling the treadle



Last I hang the lips

Hook the nose



I am spattered with clay

Flush with creation



Overnight

The head is put to rest

under damp cloth



I sleep with crossed fingers



Today

Cut from its pedestal

The muscles have stiffened

The mouth pouts



Suddenly I have

Gouged the eyes

Brought my hands together

and twisted the living thing

into a slimy lump



Again the wheel is turning

With the whole of my hands

Drawing the clay tall

My feet under the spell



I am remaking my head

Not with faith

But because I must

Robert James Berry writes: I'm a Londoner by birth, currently living and working on Penang Island, in West Malaysia. I lecture in English at the University of Science here. I've had poems published in the States, England and New Zealand.