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Thursday, August 4, 2011


1 comment:

  1. Here is my poem inspired by your picture of rocks.

    Stone Woman/Rock House

    Each day on her morning walks
    the woman would pick up rocks.
    Then she'd take them home,
    and caress each precious stone.

    At first, she'd place them
    in bowls for friends to play
    when the bowls began to fill
    she moved to the window sill.

    She'd place the stones
    in groups of two or four
    hoping they'd be comfortable
    until she could bring even more.

    She'd hold them and turn them,
    she'd dust and water them.
    She placed the rocks in neat little rows
    or clustered like an English garden grows
    trying to coax them into bloom.

    She'd sing to the rocks,
    she'd jabber and croon.
    She cracked one open
    and saw the moon,
    and light like stars
    sparkled inside.
    Each little stone
    was her special pride.

    She worried the rocks
    until the day
    when one of the stones
    finally said, “Stop.”

    He was a sage of a rock,
    who started this tale,
    “Never has there been a man,
    or animals, fish or bird
    insect or reptile—no one never--
    that hasn't been touched
    by a rock.!”

    So the woman stopped
    what she had to do
    and sat to listen to
    all the rock had to tell.

    He told stories from
    the beginning of time
    when rocks came together
    to make the earth sublime.

    Of fruit and flowers
    and whiling away hours
    from dinosaurs to Indians,
    and trains crossing plains,
    of farmers and wars
    and hurricanes.

    The woman grew old
    listening to stones
    and when she died
    she wasn't alone.

    The rocks all giggled
    feeling her mirth
    they rolled to cover
    the woman in earth.