The Glassblower

This poem was written after watching a glassblower at work at the Subiaco Markets in Perth, Western Australia. At the same time I had found through the Wakefield Census records that my great grandfather William Smith, was a glassblower. This poem is dedicated to that ancient art.

The Glassblower
The delicate bubble
the glassblower turned,
Twisting and shaping
as the flame burned.

People stand quiet,
watching the skill
Of an artist at work
for them, a thrill.

Carefully, gently,
he twisted and blew,
Moulding the glass
into Cinderella's shoe.

Then another bubble
he twisted and turned,
Making a basket
As the flame burned

Here - a small swan!
There - a miniature hat!
Then the blower blew
a tiny, wee cat.

Horses that rear,
dolphins that fly,
Soaring birds
up in the sky.

Blowing the bubble
for all to see
Mighty animals
and fish of the sea.

Slowly, softly,
the bubble unfurled,
As the glassblower blows
to show us the world.

Art from the ancients;
skill of the wrist,
Fingers so gentle
as firmly they twist.

Gift from our God,
given to man,
Part of our life
and the overall plan.