Best Stones Poems
liquid little stones
skipping and skittering free
on shared umbrellas
Charcoal black tip of arrowhead,
among these ancient, stones - stained red
Heartbeats share rhythms of ghostly drums..
Winds carry haunting, chanting hums
I feel your blood, flow here with mine,
outlasting, even decaying time
I've been told the stories, told to you,
I know we're just spirits, passing through
When thunder, shakes awake the night,
I vision warriors by firelight
Their voices echo, around mountain's soul,
while moon and stars watch us below
Respect the sky, and mother earth,
borrow the beauty, from time of birth
Then give in death peacefully
yourself, to rest eternally
Among these ancient, stones - stained red,
my mirror reflects traces, of those long...........
remembered.......
©Donna Jones
11-8-2013
Imagine someone watching you
who wants you for his own
Imagine in the catacombs, a secret plan is honed
It echoes with a wounded heart
of someone so alone
He hides his shame behind a mask, that smolders, but is cold
Look beyond the chandelier that blinds you in the eye
Can't you see him lurking there, while waiting in disguise
If only you could see in him
a face that isn't cold
Behind the mask he wears for you,
a man has lost his soul
Search beyond the mask he wears and look into his eyes
Be wary of the rendezvous that he will fantasize
If only he was more than just a phantom of your dreams
If only you could find in him a promise to believe
Don't be betrayed by what appears to be for you alone
But be afraid, a million tears are hidden in the stones
He'll tell you from the very start, to search beyond the scars
He'll hide from you that you are meant to be his secret star
Sing to him your aria….. But don't forsake your heart!
If you believe he'll set you free, he'll tear your dreams apart
Sing to him of love, Christine! Sing to the rafters high
The chandelier will shatter then, into a million cries!
If you plead to him of broken dreams, you'll need to tell him lies
Sing about another love, but be prepared to die!
Sing your song of love, Christine,
it is sorrow you have found
Sing to him your aria…….. then, slowly watch him drown
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11/17/16
Contest: "Phantom of the Opera"
Sponsor: The Seeker
We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)
Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.
Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
and acid.
The stones settle,
BOOM...
BOOM...
BOOM...
Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.
We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner, for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:
"Honey, are you alright?"
(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)
There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-
boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...
And then serenity.
The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.
"I'm here now... and you're ok."
We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.
No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,
but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...
When we’re traveling life’s pebble-filled road
Our soles touch down on many unturned stones
Gather them and we’d decrease others’ load
To spare them from unrelenting moans
Though thorns pierced the flesh on our Savior’s head
He focused on His goal to save mankind
Staggering across sharp stones, His feet bled
Sacrifices made, salvation to find
*Entry for Rick’s “Stones” contest.
Thanks for reading but I will not be able to return comments until health issues are
resolved.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your lies will cease to hurt me
You think that you have finally won
But don't think I'll let you burn me
I'll sit and smile and make you think
I know nothing of what you do
But secretly I'll make you see
The last laugh will be on you
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your decet will hurt no more
You won't see me cry a singel tear
As I watch you walk out that door
Don't think that you can go astray
And plan on coming back
I don't believe in forgiveness
I'd rather have a heart attack
My love for you has slowly died
I buried it today
I built a wall around my heart
To keep all men away
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words can break much more
They can take your heart and leave the pieces
Shattered all over the floor
- Nature's treasures -
are worth more than money and gold in your pocket -
quote by poet
A light breeze, soft as a little cat's paw
In the moonlight on the beach, quiet and calm
a bluish light with hints of silver on the horizon
The stars above, I’m lost in the beauty
Waves touch the feet, erase the footprints
A secluded gem, a sight to explore
Of the thousands, wonderful treasures
A secret paradise, so unique and peaceful
Safely hidden between grain of sand
Quartz stones that glitter in the moonlight
Love to turn them over and over in my hands
Provides a soothing and softening effect upon touch
As I ride the winding roads away from smothering waves of hypocrisy,
I cross the line into freedom through valleys, soft breeze and fluent rivers
Decorated with weathered rocks and bordered by empty picnic tables
The multi-colored mountains rise high above me, holding onto spatial snow,
Before it’s stolen by spring’s warmth with months of waiting to be seen again
Suddenly everything is so simple, like the wandering turkey, on patches of grass
Old railroad tracks remain in place through crevices of gray cliffs so narrow on edge
Birch trees cast shining white color in clusters on the side of the road in the sun
Waterfalls flow down the mountainside with an ‘energy’ some thrive to have,
In a world spinning with hatred amidst criticism that drains the depth of one’s soul
While all those ‘complaining’ hurl insults like balls of fire, fueling it more each day
Yes, hypocrisy has its twisted way
But, far into the fresh air of these mountains, so cleansing and peaceful to the mind,
There is no place for this kind of hypocrisy that twists, bends and projects, robust negativity
Such that those want to push onto others like a wave in which they believe will drown the truth
But, God allows for spaces to be found that some things he dislikes may never reach
Such as these mountains, this winding road, this fresh air to breathe all with no casted stones
Heidi Sands
4/9/21
I have a small gray rock placed by my bed
Each day it is the first thing which I see.
It stands on guard and watches over me.
Alone a gray, smooth rock, it stands on guard
Well weathered, polished stone, from wind-blown sand.
It was wind-blown and lost in dust of time.
I found this stone near covered with such sand.
It had lain lost, I think, since time began.
Without another rock to call a friend.
There was no other rock, one stone alone.
The God of sand, I may well keep this thought.
No other stone to judge its size I found.
I thought at first it was a grain of sand
One stone alone, in all this sand and lost.
This stone would save me form this sea of sand.
My guarding rock this rock became my friend.
My rock I love and loves me back, my stone.
It sits, it guards me, guards me from the thought--
I am alone in all this sea of sand.
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
Born To Walk, A Dark Path Of Jagged Stones
Born to walk, a dark path of jagged stones
too oft full of mistakes and ragged moans,
lone flying feather, blown in raging storm
black-hand of death, tis but our aging norm.
Begging for more Time, with sorrowing pleas
doomed within forest of narrowing trees,
searching for some hope, its reckoning halls
forest echoes, with our beckoning calls.
Bereft of light, tumbling as desert weeds
in abject darkness, mumbling out our needs,
forever seeking more, that fleeting dream
yet we live as a lost, retreating team.
We exist, much like constant flying birds.
We resist, hesitant to seek truth's words.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-21-2018
Sonnet, ( The Dark That Holds Its Prey)
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 100
Lasting memories haunt a tearful mind
How distant the dreams that no one owns
Etched marble, another name to remind
Lay in silent fields of flowers and stones
To search for days that will never be
unearth youthful years that quickly passed
To stand in a field where soldiers are free
know their torment is over at last
Eyes flow freely at a stone so cold
Brushing her hand across a marble name
fingers tremble for a son she can't hold
years to live with the pain she'll claim
Handed a flag that eight soldiers fold
Knowing her son will never grow old
2/18/15
My window sill is laden with little stones
Of no particular color, shape or size
Given to me as if they were diamonds
By his little hand, my own special prize
Each one had its small story to tell
A recital of just when and where it was found
Washed and polished with loving care
Oh the stories, they went round and round
Small things make up the embroidery of life
The joys that carry us through our days
Like a collage of colored stones on the sill
A small thing, precious in its own way….
For Anthony's contest....
waves shape the sea glass
rain paints the skipping stones
sand frames the ocean
Draw near and listen—
the interminable din—
thunderous and raging,
spindrift riven from
graybeards’ snowy crests,
that plunge at journey’s end,
their whitest teeth laid bare,
to gnash with boundless fury
on patient rampart of
unyielding stones,
their mottled skin
to smooth and polish,
that these might stand,
in reverent alarm,
never to be forgotten.