Define any thing: A summer breeze, a tin roof, a Snowflake drifting, a girl, a father, Your boyfriend or your sister’s new shoes - Even a teapot. Create its place, joy, sorrow: Draw lines around Its embedded time, and sound, and forms - What did you
Define any thing:
A summer breeze, a tin roof, a
Snowflake drifting, a girl, a father,
Your boyfriend or your sister’s new shoes - Even a teapot.
Create its place, joy, sorrow:
Draw lines around
Its embedded time, and sound, and forms - What did you teapot art stories
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giovannifrances
giovannifrances Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
....more than illustrated poems, a poem-ed series of watercolor artwork by Giulia Neri. For each month of the year one teapot, one scene, with 3 points of view or voices for each.

Define any thing: A summer breeze, a tin roof, a Snowflake drifting, a girl, a father, Your boyfriend or your sister’s new shoes - Even a teapot. Create its place, joy, sorrow: Draw lines around Its embedded time, and sound, and forms - What did you

Make for each? A name, A face, a scent, a flower- Filled field on a perfect Day, the moment of tragedy knowing, looking

Down, (always down, then,) or looking Straight and up, (always straight and up - When a then carries a belief,) A background, a time unmoving, a

Movement, an alternative, a feeling, A fear, a safeness?

Am I this teapot, topped With a dragon, tail curled, and A living flower tattooed in Yellow-green pigment on my body?

Am I an implication, only: The space of a teapot, A space needed, in A time needed, with A movement - A sideways moving, discretely, inside – so like A thing among other things, defined.

We make a warm drink together, You and I, In society, Blending the flavors of Dried things that don’t become, Not yet, until You no longer need the space I hold, And I no longer need You to create the teapot I am, yet with you, in Society, we remain – dragon, tea, and all.

December – home for the holidays

1. christmas shopping, charlie It’s everything: False and true, Bing and Elvis, Blue and White, Nip in the air, Freezing as It pulls within As I step Over, reach and Open the Door – inside it’s So-o warm,

With so many Things to Hope for. Gabby Would so-o Just love this, and John, I’m sure, Will not expect That under our Big, fresh pine - A good one, this Year, filling

The main room, open space, With Christmas scent and Red and gold, The same bulbs, the Same lights – oh, I should properly say Which, which lights (The lovely drums From Venice,) What gift this is, (a

(Beautiful Set of colors: Oil, Rembrandt,) That, (a teapot, eighteen Hundreds, Belgian) Belgian,) who Gabby is, (my Beautiful Sister,) and John,

(Always, of Course, my John,) and hurry Through the line - I’m meeting her For tea and Scones, blueberry, at The Starbucks Near the exit:

They’ve come for A stay – Gabby Makes me think of Cinnamon, Vanilla and Fresh nutmeg. Her nearness, so

Close – sometimes It can be Cold in the House with the two of Us alone, John and I, But not now, not Today or Tomorrow or – I should text her, I’m running late, a Little. Whew,

She knows, always She knows, her Beauty is that Quietness, Finding warmth Through judgeless lips That remind Us we belong. I so like To feel her smile.

2. christmas tea, gabby This is not a my place, this sort, A filtered music for this part of town, Chosen in a room of men and one or two Too tight women in too tight suits in too Tight heals that tend to follow Rules tightly within tight days

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