Long Pebble Poems
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A stone in the backyard,
roughly cratered like the moon,
a black stone
heavy with ancient cinders –
fire chipped.
Could it be a meteorite
or maybe a bit of cold star-fire?
It’s so very old,
utterly lost
even though
it is now placed here in my hand -
placed for an iota of time.
Lots of rocks in the black
pock-marked yonder-
in the star quarry,
Then there is this blind pebble
between my fingers.
The stars are mad.
They glare down upon me
as night lets go of Ohio.
Perhaps the stars miss
this piece of endless night
in my hand?
Dawn is racing
over hedgerows.
A lingering starlight
glints on the hard ground,
the blanching gleams
seem angry,
even psychotic.
A boy on a pedal bike
throws a morning newspaper.
The daylight rattles
as if shaking off a dream.
Sol rolls the earth over
its violent core, rekindles
our eyes.
I take the stone back indoors.
I’m not sure why,
maybe I’ll write a poem about it.
I meander the winding pebble path
where the bumbles bounce . . .
holding back my sorrow and wrath,
for my beloved lay in eternal peace;
among bird songs that never cease.
A place of tears and grief alive with life,
oh, still I feel the pain- the knife;
where the bumbles bounce . . .
among the stone grave markers jewels bloom,
on many a plot, monument and tomb.
My love is deep- my sadness is deeper,
was not ready for that dark reaper;
oh, so quiet, secluded and serene,
where the bumbles bounce . . .
in this garden of death and green.
I see a butterfly and dragon fly,
and sparrows flutter from trees high;
quick, a squirrel, chipmunk and shy raccoon,
and now a song of love- I croon,
where the bumbles bounce . . .
______________________
March 10, 2022
(inspired by an older poem)
Poetry/Rhyme/My Love Is Deep
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1437-759-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
It scarcely times to stand out from the eager crowd.
This is barely the proper time for a tame proud.
It is not the odd time to bitterly lament the tragic loss of a pebble.
It's not the accurate time for yearning and crumple.
We've allowed enough of beautiful utter weeping.
And a shallow cup of sensitive souls, as well as damaging.
We awful are in desperate need of a bold generation.
We dearly need brave folks willing to subtly recondition.
And not just for the sake of estranging.
Our green fantasies are rapidly declining.
To the blazing rays of the departing sun and the visible light of the living.
Ripples
Down the dusty road,
in tattered rags,
He came,
weary,
wilted,
and
withered.
Body bent with age,
bones sticking out of the flabby skin,
with a tremor
running down his limbs.
With eyes reflecting hope,
he waited at my doorstep.
No words came out from pursed lips
but,
in mute language
begged for alms,
hopeful he would never be betrayed
I held his shriveled hand,
helped him ascend the steps.
Like a child obeying it’s Elder,
he sat on a chair in the patio.
The sumptuous fare, served before,
he surveyed with eyes
bulging out in utter disbelief,
and greedily devoured
every bit of morsel.
A rare gleam lighted up his face.
With hands folded in benison
he stood up and silently took leave.
I watched him stumble
along the country track
and fade away in the distance.
Ripples of joy stirred my mind
in ever widening circles
as, a pebble idly tossed
causes ripples in still waters
over a random act of kindness
idly tossed !
Kindness
Down the dusty road, in tattered rags he came-
An old man- weary, wilted, and withered.
Supported on a stick, still he staggered lame,
And with age and fatigue, his body quivered.
I could see a tremor running down his hips.
With expectant eyes, he waited at my doorstep.
No words came out of his pursed lips.
He was tottering as he took each step.
I held his hand, helped him to the patio.
Like a child obeying its elder, he sat on a chair
With eyes sending out a radiant glow,
From the sumptuous fare served, he ate his share.
As he finished his meal, a gleam lighted up his face.
He stood up with hands folded in benison
And took leave, bowing and smiling in grace.
I was so happy that I could make his world blazon.
I watched him stumble along the uneven track
And fade away like a shadow in the distance.
So elated I was that the tears of joy I couldn’t hold back,
With an ebullience penetrating my mind’s outer surface.
As a pebble idly tossed cause ripples in still water,
A random act of kindness idly tossed gave me such delight.
As the ripples keep widening and on the banks splatter,
In me, the joy over my kind act, as waves began to beat.
Pink and My Buster Browns
My egg hatched north of the border, Pink is my name
I come from a proud line of egg- layers, poaching is my game
I’ve walked a mile of desert, crossing the Texas sand
I’m here to dip my spurs into the waters of the Rio Grande
I’ve come to quench a rumor that started on the Mexico side
A dandy there’s been crowing and winking his beady eyes
He’s got his reputation alright, he earned it long ago
But he hadn’t met this Road Island Red, squatting here in Mexico
They say he’s a genuine fighting Cock and fast with spur or wing
He’s been strutting with the egg-layers and pecking their chicken feed
He’s scratching around in Laredo, I hear it’s the common belief
Even crowing for the pullets, a double dealing chicken thief
I strut into the fouling yard, my eyes shifting around
I’ve come to pluck a chicken “A new rooster’s in town
The yard is quite and still, not a cackle can be heard
There’s no room in this chicken yard for another crowing bird
I see him fly from the roost and land heavy on the ground
He struts in small circles, as he side-eyes me up and down
The time is high noon and we're standing beak to beak
I look at that blood red comb and my legs start getting weak
His feathers ruffles on his neck, his spurs are gleaming white
His wings hang loose and ready, my heart’s not beating right
My beak starts to pucker in the shape of a pout
I’m flogging it back to Texas, I done chickened out
When I was ten years old I was given a little pink chicken for buying a pair
of Buster Brown Shoes for Easter. Even though everything was against him he lived and grew up to be a mean Road Island Red Rooster. He took
great pleasure in flogging all he could reach even to the point of devising a little trick by tossing a pebble into the air and running to fetch it in order to close the distance to make a strike. My Grandpa was always threatening to blow his head off. He finally jumped a dog over a watermelon rime and was dispatched.
Here’s to Pink, the Road Island Red Rooster
bedazzled by jewels
beguiled by the gem of you~
diamond eternal
as fake gold duals
alloys mix unbanding two~
with flames infernal
tears drowning in pools
blinders tunnel, love eschews~
so notes my journal
Love is
Surrounded by Monarch butterflies,
on migration
A tingling in your gut
does not defy
A warmness flutters inside
When flowers perfume
When you are near
You feel the same, I shall assume
Love hurts
When rubies now rhinestones,
dullen, sullen
Diamonds now glass,
cutting deep
Pollen smothers,
I swallow my sorrows
My bleeding heart
Let’s stay together
Dowse the drought
Better a diamond with a flaw
than a pebble without
the square
was packed
& the high street full
meat&veg seemed plentiful
market barkers
drew the queues
with jokes
impromptu
shoppers filed
neat& formal
in sainsburys greggs
& home colonial
the bacon slicer
shuttled back& forth
rashers scaled
in halves&fourths
bread mealed smooth&strong
butter patted shaped oblong
cheese cut with twangy wire
toasted later on an open fire
ham sliced from the bone
spuds bagged weighed in stones
tea from open square tins
packet-served with a welcome grin
'woollies' snackbar smells
'elevenses' hunger time to quell
one mug of ovaltine must'nt dally
so shortcut thru' market alley
where auctioneers tones rise&fall
above the sheep&cattle stalls
then off homewards at a trot
last pennies spent in feaseys sweetshop
on the train bridge 'spotted' numbers new
waited whilst the 'cutler' raced thru'
along pebble brook time to climb a tree
on this day shopping was made coupon-free
"...So...my dear. I've arrived to find..."
Fascinating messages...
Interesting questions...
~You haunt my mind~
Burning questions.
Time after time, replay.
~where are the crickets~
"...somethings wrong with my map..."
"...I'll come find you..."
Trees in the clearing, long grass.
And the sounds. A pebble there.
The water is glass.
No crickets around.
... but the sound. Yes. The air.
"...NUC, we took a trip..."
~It's you. I know those lips~
"...I'll come find you..."
Is your Kitten, afraid of me?
A little smile, some pony tails.
The gem is green.
I heard your snails.
Notes in the air, a little finesse...
I even gave you, my pet Venus.
My Lotus.Lion.Ness...
~Is this a test?~
A static mess?
A game of chess?
Then away I'll fly. Indian say...
~ This way, to the sky.
~ Watch the water. Say g'day.
~ Mind your way. Accept the ride.
~ This isn't a test.
So I kissed the stone. And I left.
My Lotus.Lion.Ness
Form:
I have walked the hallways
where minutes gnash like teeth,
each second a pebble pressed
into the jaw of memory.
The air tastes of iron--
memory’s rust,
old prayers swallowed
before they ever touched the light
Yet still - I carry my candle
into the jaw’s dark cavern,
its flame a soft rebellion
against the grindstone silence.
Soft laughter rests in the cracks,
like seeds grabbed
into the frozen earth,
waiting for the frost to release them,
for spring to rise
from winter’s quiet.
I move onward,
not a hostage,
but marrow unbroken,
a hymn rising
through bone and enamel,
singing until the jaw
yields to the light.
It's winds remembers names of those who vanished ages ago
ancient hills locals claim are mountains
Time itself has reduce them to piles of boulders
slowing seceding survival
thin trees stick up and brush and sage populate slopes
just bumps on the surface of a hard land
Some natural streams flow into man made lakes
plenty of elk and deer and introduce buffaloes
Bald eagles dip into the horizon
many birds and critters abound more by evidence than sight
Trails for hiking and biking
rustic land with the beauty of a southwest prairie
skirting the edge of mountains feet and dotted with farmland
People here are rough and earthy is the landscape
beauty with the simplicity of life
Weather feels dry and winds common
tough standing your ground as time wears you away
layer by layer, rolling boulder by boulder
Pebble houses litter in spots
abandon and crumbling as the mountains themselves
From heaps to dust as they rust
The bleeding dimness of dusk sinks into the mountains mouth
as darkness cloaks, the bright moon a nightlight for nature
stars twinkle as animals feed in the safety of shadowland
Dawn's fingers poke through the night as stillness resumes
another day breaks forth over these sleepy hills
and a steady breeze whispers names of long ago
Time itself fades these mountains into oblivion
as petals of wildflowers swirl in the wind waving goodbye.