What Was
written by: James Bouthiller
Nothing here
To see
I am a stick
I am a stone
The sand
The gravel
The elements below
Feel free to step upon
I won’t complain a note
If my shape be undesired
Compress me in a box
Comply me to design
I am of no consequence
I’m part of the walls
The vapor
The sky
To be overlooked
To be passed by
To go unnoticed
To be hushed
To be minimized
To be set in a pocket
With your lint supply
Put in storage
Placed on a shelf
And after a time
Rediscovered
Reviewed
Reconsidered
Rethought
Studied
Recognized
Understood
Rekindled
Reassembled
Refinished
Reinstated
Relished
Revered
Cherished
Held high
Till wings emerge
When what was,
Simply flies away…
I began writing seven years ago, after a school friend shared the experience of her mother's passing, and apparent, subsequent visit in the form of a familiar, now symbolistic bird in the backyard which they once looked upon together...
I am an occasional potter since 1993, an ex bricklayer of 20 plus years, drawn to material of Earth, soul and sky...
In recognition of our many layered worlds and varied occupants within, I am compelled and challenged, to not only survive, but observe deeply, question and express our shared common and uncommon journeys.
I am an occasional potter since 1993, an ex bricklayer of 20 plus years, drawn to material of Earth, soul and sky...
In recognition of our many layered worlds and varied occupants within, I am compelled and challenged, to not only survive, but observe deeply, question and express our shared common and uncommon journeys.
Latest posts by James Bouthiller/Soul Scribblings (see all)
- Love’s Moment - September 11, 2019
- What Was - April 4, 2018
