Marching Rocks

Marching Rocks Like Toffee people chasing the westerly breeze And, presumably ordered, abruptly, to freeze- Tableaux is evocative of an ancient command That left a sprawl of stones scattered on the land. On swift flight in one course towards the West Serrated line of rock tell of a progeny abreast Giant Boulder between on a determined lead Balanced rocks, leaden load on top of his head. A Clan of rock here appears pretty cold; Disdainful faces from a timid Toffee’s mould... Could be true- that it was once a woman witty: Polished smooth with soft cheeks so pretty... On the rear side, a bulge and a brood of stones A beast of burden caught up with her clones! A Bohemian was he- the load crushing his neck Perhaps a demo to Sisyphus his toil to check! Maybe on their way up the mountain they rose On the brink desperately perched yet so close; From a distance, they are rusted teeth so bare Facing Heaven, their protest to eerily declare; Curved spine of a Beast in primordial repose Its Grave sluiced with elements bones to expose. This rock speaks of a Gallant’s March so solid By an old Leader with subjects now squalid Yet, obsessed with loyalty, trailing at his rear As they toed the line in their usual solid war gear. This chap half embed; where are his limps....? Vain effort to extricate self like chained chimps! He calls to me with a silent voice in choking mist To evade captivity or grab liberty by the wrist. So they froze while in each other’s loving hug Before the Big Bang blew the cataclysmic bug; Now, they have nothing except their embraces And pain of thwarted esteem printed on the faces. Blank stare, with déjà vu, spelt in a cold stone Relating how their conjugal dreams have gone! Hope he’s not committing adultery this Guy, Suitor’s sweet hold he doesn’t want to defy. Cold Rock every story line can eloquently tell Happiness, Love, Pain, of Heaven and of Hell Stones preach, command, mourn in a voice mute For the Fate done by Nature the daring Brute. They find their voice by the hand of sculpture Furnishing visage and lending a voice of rupture. Ozymandias’ pouted lips and his wise gaze Solid mass on sand fragments that dazzle or daze... Moai Ancient sculptor with narrow forehead Noses drooping long, sniffing of ancestors dead To stir to Life these giant stones deeply yearn Why can we not from these stones our Life learn? The cracked boulder, pieces strewn or drooping Or, twisted necks affected by eavesdropping (Maybe, just given to the energy to listen) Or watch what eyes cannot resist its glisten. Despite being immortalised in a march static Their voice is loud; their idle life too is hectic! ***Inspired by the spectacular balancing rocks and boulders. JM 11th Nov. 2013