Girl With a Blue Vase

I am a little lag jetted so please be gentle, I will try and catch up with any and all reviews and responses etc as soon as normal service is resumed ..

Girl With a Blue Vase

Now, on looking back,

I remember

clearly, how she used

to carry water

from the courtyard,

to her mother’s house

and then back again ..

More than two miles

each way

and every day, in that

tall, salt glazed,

lapis blue, earthenware

pitcher of hers ..

The same one that she

carried home

from the market during

the infamous drought

of twenty sixteen  ..

I also recall, how she

carried it high,

and so finely balanced

upon the pale shelf,

of her naked left shoulder ..

And of how

the sunlight then caught

and played

directly upon the silver

buckles of her

worn leather sandals ..

Indeed those

she would only ever wear

when weaving

her way home through

the scorching

red sand and occasional

contrasting

patches, of respite cool,

crisp, fallen leaves ..

She might find on her

way back again ..

Yes those, which were

once maybe,

old windblown robins

nests stolen ..

From off the branches

of long deceased trees ..

But of course,

they felt, so much kinder

to the feet

of lone travellers than that

way back then ..

Yet were still perfectly

mismatched

and as much out of place

as the girl

with her old blue vase

did sometimes seem ..

And though sad,

I confess, I now see her

far less and then only her

silhouette ..

But hear this, I know

and only too well ..

There is an old blue vase

and a young girl,

still out there somewhere

just waiting to be found ..

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

her name was Praya

Reviews

[DIVYA]

My mind wandered to some place in the past, envisioning a beautiful young girl with a painted amphora and Grecian robes and sandals. The sand was scorching but the daily chores necessitated the walk and the leaves provided the soft, cool relief. She persists through the centuries, can be felt faintly in the breeze. What I loved about the poem was how deep the painted visual, the girl, the walk and the small reliefs.

[Neville]

I must just say, it felt good to have you tag along .. many thanks indeed DIVYA .. Neville :)

[DIVYA]

I enjoyed it absolutely. You're welcome Neville. :)

[Neville]

Then I shall thank thee again, so I shall .. Thank thee again ma'am :)

[DIVYA]

:))))))) just Divya for you, or just D. :))))))

[Neville]

N is :) ing 2

[Chris Shaw]

Out of Africa, I think. I know you have worked there and there is drought and I have seen on tv in documentaries, many a woman carrying a pitcher on her head filled with water In the scorching heat. Two miles is a long way to carry it, and balance it without spilling the contents.

upon the pale shelf
of her naked left shoulder

and as much out of place
as the girl

There are clues here. This doesn’t seem to be an African woman to me. So I ponder on who she is. I have just seen your author’s note. Her name was Praya in the past tense.

Clearly a memory of a girl with a blue vase that you have immortalized in this beautiful poem.

Loving the detail in this write Neville.

Chris

[Neville]

It seem you can read me like a book perhaps our Chris .. thank you so bloomin much for your recent consideration of my little dedication .. I must be slipping or jet lagged or both, I quite forgot that I made reference to Praya .. You are absolutely spot on .. She was the daughter of a Dutch couple or rather a Dutch mother and a Norwegian Father who were missionaries .. Praya and I shared an old tin hut for a while when I was working at Tanka Tanka psych hospital .. We used to get woken in the morning by a monkey throwing grapefruits onto our tin roof .. Mind you, I used to like getting up early in those days :)

Neville