Best Rock Poems
Rock turtles in blue waters . . .their crawl so slow it’s imperceptible
2/20/2016 Based on a beautiful picture of a New England shoreline.
running to the rock
a strong tower against foes
her love a refuge
To strong women and their love
David Meade
11/20/2014
Live Generously
an ugly gray rock, so I kicked it along
amused by my memories, humming a song
it was jagged and rough - I gave it no mind
and punted it thrice, then left it behind …
I changed up my hum and walked on alone
not thinking it special, (it WAS just a stone)
yet the farther I got from where it had been
the more I considered that "plain" rock
again
something about its proportions or form
contrasted just slightly, was not quite the
norm
the way that it tumbled, or lay there, just SO
or maybe the way it had bounced off my
toe
whatever it was, I could not quite discern
but decided right then, it was worth a
return
so, I spun myself 'round, headed back to
that spot
still not sure of WHY - just a feeling I got
but when I returned, it had broken in two -
an incredible OPAL flamed red, green and
blue!
scant had I known just what "ugly" could
hold -
all the prismatic colors that smoldered,
untold!
well …
I couldn't help think that a lesson was there
of the plain folks we see, that we pass,
unaware
for they are more precious than any gray
stone
with such wonders inside - yet we leave
them alone
perhaps if we gave them a wink or a grin
we might find the bright of their beauty
WITHIN
the colors that light their charisma and
grace
the complexion of charms that don’t show
on a face
the places they’ve been or the roads they
have run
their moonlight romances and days in the
sun
the wealth of their spirit, their talents and
rage
they’ve a story to tell, if we’d just turn the
page
so, I keep in my pocket, a piece of that rock
to help me recall what I learned on that walk
not to take "plain" for granted, or push folks
aside
but instead, look for sparks of their fires …
deep INSIDE.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Overlooked Beauty" Poetry Contest, Jesse Rowe, Judge & Sponsor.
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
no purpose,
it just weighs me down
~~~
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone
~~~
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
there are
~~~
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
wishing
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
stops being
a stone
A diesel generator
drowns out the rusted Marshall stack
Six years we owned
the Billboard charts;
the DJ who crowned us
every summer
for five straight years—
this week, a county fair;
tonight, the Music Pier.
The drummer tapes two split fingers
closes his hand once
hard—
then rests the sticks
by Mick’s ashes
in a Folgers Black Silk can behind the kit
Tommy’s gold sequins
snag on his dialysis catheter
as he sits
Johnnie the P-bassist drags a stool onstage
to ease his neuropathy
We are crushed elderberries
hawking CDs from a card table,
bleeding a dark, tart stain
onto ninety aluminum chairs
No teenagers weep;
a man wipes funnel-cake grease
from his chin
As I tune the cherry-red '57 Stratocaster
down a minor third,
hoarse from pushing air
through a throat scraped thick
with scar tissue
We were a dense, golden field
beneath the studio lights
on Midnight Special
Now plucked dandelion crowns
scatter over Ferris wheel blacktop,
leaving white ghost-tufts
snagged in the Music Pier’s
boardwalk planks
Where just three bald stems
plug into the seaside damp—
and the seeds drift past the shoreline,
washed up,
vanishing into the deep
we used to call home
Rock Girl
You are scissors, and all you can do
is to cut all those paper hearts through.
But I’ve hardened my heart
and before you can start
to destroy me, I’m going to SMASH you!
(Gosh, PD, they won't even permit the ~sign in the title!)
Between a rock and a hard place
I sigh
I cry
Between a rock and a hard place
unable to speak
growing weak
Between a rock and a hard place
Unable to move
stuck in this groove
Between a rock and a hard place
I am still here
you are still near
Between a rock and a hard place
just where you left me
wondering why
parched and dry
you watch
as I die
Between a rock and a hard place
Come let me rock you gently
and as we softly sway
I'll share with you a story
and rock your cares away.
In the years that I have known
there has been much I've seen
the big "to do's" the nothing days
and all those in between.
To all I've offered comfort
and a quiet place to rest
I've rocked my share of little ones
(oh, how I love them best!).
A very tender memory
of all those that I hold
is one of love and caring
that now is growing old.
A Grandma and a little girl
placed firmly on her knee
would for hours sit and play
and we would rock so free!
The laughter in their voices
(to which I'd add a creak!)
would fill my day with pleasure
and with pure joy I'd squeak!
Oh how I loved the songs they sang
and the games they played
and all the Bible stories told
when we were all so staid.
How glad I was to share it all
we were a happy set
this is my sweetest memory
(the best one I've had yet!).
Now as our time is winding down
(it's nearly at an end!)
I bid you please come back and sit
when you have time to spend.
Together we will gently sway
and stories will unfold
and I will rock your cares away
as each new one is told.
Inspired by Deborah Guzzis' The Chairs Tale contest
“And the rains descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock.” Matt. 7: 27
One day along the beach I took a walk.
Before me, there appeared a church. It seemed
to have a strong foundation. Built on rock,
its white brick surface in the sunlight gleamed.
I thought of One who stood upon a mount
once long ago beside a great sea where
his teachings poured like water from a fount
of wisdom for the poor in spirit there.
He said to build one’s house on rock, not sand,
and spoke of charity - the higher love.
Salvation for the meek, he promised, and
the sweet and everlasting peace thereof.
Since Christ so often taught near Galilee.
I loved the sight of His house by the sea!
By Andrea Dietrich/ Sept. 25, 2011
For the Contest of Constance La France ~My Dear Heart ~
"The Church By The Ocean Poetry Contest"
Collecting 45's, I could not wait
for albums of groups' greatest hits to be
released; one band I thought was pretty great
put out the album most well-liked by me.
Its psychedelic cover art was cool.
And Golden Bisquits was the album’s name.
I listened very often after school
to those songs that enjoyed radio fame.
“One,” (the Loneliest Number), fed into
my teenage angst; there was another song
called “Easy to be Hard.” When I was blue
those were the songs with which I’d sing along.
A song of novelty I loved to hear
entitled “Mama Told Me Not to Come.”
The singer, in a silly voice, feigned fear
of a party that he should escape from!
Twelve songs in all, romantic mostly, and
the album had that seventies rock beat.
It was the best deal I would ever get
of all my high school records. It was grand!
My 45’s and albums to this day
are in a closet. I don’t feel it’s right
to trash my youth. How could I throw away
good memories in songs by Three Dog Night?
Written 9/4/16 for Phillip Garcia's Rock 'n Roll Rhyme Fest poetry contest
(See above for links to songs off the album
They broke the news
to me today
That my friend - who loved rock and roll
had left this mortal coil
We used to burst into song
when we saw each other
He loved screaming guitars
and played one himself
He died in his forties
He wasn't watching his health carefully
which is something we all should do
I remember the times
he shared his food with me
He was generous in that way
My rock and roll friend is gone
Now I'll have to sing metal tunes by myself
We all we face the grim reaper
but his passing came too soon, too soon
I will think of him
When I hear rock and roll from my radio
His memory will live on with his friends and loved ones
Another rocker gone....
Wherever we lived, summer meant
riding in the car ~
red clay, Georgia bound
My excitement grew with each state
trapped in Daddy’s rearview mirror.
Macon was relative love ground
where smiles were not lost but found.
I always sat in the back seat, heart viewing you,
knowing before dark came
I would hear your dear accent say my name.
After dark, I knew I would stay with you ~
not brother, or little sister, Pooh,
but me, snuggle loved in your bed
and you would care about all I thought and said.
Sweet, Grannie, for decades now I have missed you
I can still hear your voice, see your eyes twinkle
and
tonight I embrace space
seeking your dear, fresh powder presence
gentle words of love’s selfless attention
turned to silence way too soon ...
in my heart we still share love
Grannie, you were the softest light in my youth
Could you but rock me secure once more this night –
sing your comfort songs – gently hush my grown fright -
safe, sweet Grannie arms would shield me in love’s truth
I still talk to her
close my eyes with hopes she hears
~~ she believed in me ~ ~
her image never leaves me
my adult still craves her - here
Onyx
dark silicate,
descendant of agate
echoes inspired by nighttime sky;
a calming focus of the deepest void,
spiritual transformation
awakening the soul,
translucent black
onyx.
Black hole
transmigration,
transformational sight,
the never ending seeing eye
vision of Tetragrammaton essence;
majesty of heaven’s splendor
enlightened souls will fly
darkness alight,
black hole.
Caressing the mind
And kissing
Glossy, smooth stones
Liquid rippling
Flowing over the bed
Hues of taupe
Sand and charcoal
With hints of lavender
Coloring the emotions
Wistful, willful, warm
Like the flavor
Of a rising storm
Resting on the sand
Brilliant like the sunshine
Glowing in moonlight
Smooth stones
Risking their stability
In the currents
Gracefully pouring
Along the edge
Of an emerald forest
Pines, oaks and birch
A leaf dancing
In the starry flames
Night’s radiance
Whispering to souls
In prayers of faith
Discovered on
The winds of a day
Bought by the songs
Of wren and robin
Frogs on mossy stones
Beckoning to the
Promise of rainfall
Smooth, lasting stones
Layered on shores
Of rivers and creeks
Awakening the bare feet
To memories
Of childhood days
Spent wading, playing
In the clear, cool waters
Alive with sinuous fluid
Waters surging, rolling
Across the mind
Who delights in praising
The Creator who
Rests these stones
Upon the shores
Of hope and faith
Love which praises
As it slides
Across the surface
Of these fluent waves
Both agile and gracious
Molding the stones
In their favor
L Contest
Written: August 06, 2025
*********
The traffic roars as wounded gulls.
metal beats skated over the asphalt waves,
each honk a fractured prayer,
fleeing the city, restless breath.
I sit beneath a twisted jacaranda tree.
Its lavender flowers unfurl as the sun dips low
Parrots squabble in the canopy—
boisterous, unrepentant, and singing,
stirring the dawn with their raucous cries,
a beauty entwined with longing.
Their melody exists beyond,
concrete and clocks,
I sip coffee—malnourished warmth—
Its bitter essence wedged between my ribs,
where comfort once thrived.
The chipped cup, a reflection of lost trust.
Each face that passes me
is a silent question,
I have forgotten how to answer.
Once I skated these streets
hungry for names,
for the echo of someone to cram my void,
But identity remains a fog
caught between chain-link fences
and fragrant jasmine vines.
Yet still,
I listen for that singular voice
amid the clamorous parrots,
the one that might beckon me back
into the wholeness of myself.