This is beautiful and delightful, Margaret! I like your son’s wisdom in asking to wash the blackberries well, then opting for the sweet peaches. Your analogy of the peach pit to the stone is brilliant, and I did not know it was called a stone. For my part, I would have tried the crisp!
Thank you, Larry! I have three sons, and sometimes I forget to differentiate that in my poems 😊. The 16 year old was the one who warned me about the dog pee; the 6 year old wasn’t a big crisp fan. But it did turn out well. I love how crisps are pretty unruinable!
What a lovely observation of a peach pit. And the wisdom to wash it well sounds familiar. My doggo likes to try and water my potted herbs on the patio!
Thank you, Rebekah—this was a quick write, but I definitely felt like I had arrived at the point of the poem when I wrote the last bit. How are they that carved looking?!?
I love the fiery imagery of this one, as well as the whimsy of it. And the prompt was so timely for me. I just moved and haven't yet unpacked the many rocks I've moved many times now (pro tip on how to increase your skeletal load while moving: pack rocks!). It also got me to break the seal on my creativity drought after a week of nothing but packing, cleaning, moving, details details details, unpacking, more cleaning...endless tasking+++++. Thank you for still being here, I've missed the 100 poems posse <3
You’re back!! We’ve missed you, Keith. I love the shape of this poem on the page, as well as its emotional shape . . . the trying to connect, not quite landing in that solid place, and then the subtle sensing and trusting that the solidity is there nonetheless. Beautiful. And these lines are gold - “the pressure of elements that mean no harm, yet pummel and pulverize, just the same.”
What a gemstone of a poem, Keith. True creative genius to find such existential grace in the midst of moving, transitions, details and all centered in the solid core of rocks’. Tell us more of the story of your rock accumulation!
I love the idea of having a rock-self that reads a lifetime's worth of pummeling and pulverizing as "the pressure of elements that mean no harm." And I love that, even though your rock-self feels a little out of reach right now, you can still sense it there holding you. Lovely, Keith!
Whew boy, moves are never any fun. My first thought was, do you still live close to your special river? Millie -- am I remembering that right? Hope you're feeling good about your new digs and starting to settle in.
Thanks, Rebekah…I am falling woefully behind on comments…I guess I haven’t yet fully bounced back from the move after all…! I had to say farewell to Millie (grief there), but I now live very close to a few beautiful ponds.
I love this, Larry. Rocks are treasures...all the rocks...the unvarnished, rough-hewn rocks, the painted rocks, the polished rocks. They are all reminders of steadfastness and our connection to the earth. And New Hampshire...the granite state! I love the Old Man of the Mountain in the White Mountains! Such a stunning stony face. Your collection sounds fabulous.
I love the scene you create here -- the colorful, creative chaos of it, and especially your reflections on the rainbow stone and how "the rainbow came when the floods were over, a sign that all will be well, and all will be loved." Grateful for you, Larry!
How wonderful! I once lugged a box of rocks to a connecting-with-nature workshop and invited each (dignified professional) person to choose one. Then we did a meditation on imagining the life of the rock, its beginnings in fire, its long journey to its present form, its long long LONG present form... At the end I heard shy voices from around the room: "May I take my rock home with me?" I just love the words that flowed between this rock and you!
It was so fun to hunt down a special rock yesterday while on my everyday walk! And then, of course, carry it along with me while speaking to it. We are a special breed. ;)
This is an incredible poem, Rebekah! Its depth and beauty are true and real, and every line connects so wonderfully well. “Because it is immortal/a time capsule/and will carry my echoes/into the future.” That is pure creative wonder. The second stanza is a wonderful existential twist, and an insightful glimpse into the paradox of belief/disbelief. You are a special one!
"If" you already have a rock in your house 🤣 (of course I do). This is delightful.
My hunch is that a large proportion of the people who frequent this space engage in some degree of rock hoarding!
Stone
.
It was easy to find, a smooth little rock
from my son’s Dig-It-Up Kit, dark gray
with snowflakes falling on its polished surface.
.
It’s been lying around the house, destined
to be swallowed by the dog at some point
if we leave it long enough. But as I ask him about it,
.
as I hold it in my hand, my eyes move to the peach pit
(also known as a stone) that I just cut from a peach
for my two youngest, who don’t love the crisp
.
I made in honor of summer, the scant handful
of blackberries I managed to pull from the low vines
huddled across from the house, which my oldest son
.
warned me to wash well, because it’s where the dog
likes to pee on his evening walk, and they opted instead
for one ripe peach split between them, then another ripe peach
.
the stone wet and brown, always looking a little carved
like a treasure someone whittled with a tiny knife
then hid safely inside the soft fruit.
This is such a lovely homage to summer. I can taste it (not the dog urine, the fruit ; ))!!
Keith, I’m cracking up! 😁
This is beautiful and delightful, Margaret! I like your son’s wisdom in asking to wash the blackberries well, then opting for the sweet peaches. Your analogy of the peach pit to the stone is brilliant, and I did not know it was called a stone. For my part, I would have tried the crisp!
Thank you, Larry! I have three sons, and sometimes I forget to differentiate that in my poems 😊. The 16 year old was the one who warned me about the dog pee; the 6 year old wasn’t a big crisp fan. But it did turn out well. I love how crisps are pretty unruinable!
Ohhh that last stanza is such a juicy delight!
What a lovely observation of a peach pit. And the wisdom to wash it well sounds familiar. My doggo likes to try and water my potted herbs on the patio!
Thank you, Karri! Yes, my dog seems to enjoy anything fruit related as his potty. This morning it was our little blueberry bush 😁.
There is such magic in the last stanza -- I've always thought peach pits look like something I should keep, along with all my other special rocks.
Thank you, Rebekah—this was a quick write, but I definitely felt like I had arrived at the point of the poem when I wrote the last bit. How are they that carved looking?!?
I love the fiery imagery of this one, as well as the whimsy of it. And the prompt was so timely for me. I just moved and haven't yet unpacked the many rocks I've moved many times now (pro tip on how to increase your skeletal load while moving: pack rocks!). It also got me to break the seal on my creativity drought after a week of nothing but packing, cleaning, moving, details details details, unpacking, more cleaning...endless tasking+++++. Thank you for still being here, I've missed the 100 poems posse <3
***
I try to connect
with the part of me
that feels like this rock.
Worn cool and smooth,
stoic and sturdy
by the vicissitudes of years
and the pressure of elements that mean no harm,
yet pummel and pulverize, just the same.
But this part of me has gone distant,
obscured by a sooty smog
choking the channel
between head and heart.
I sense it there though –
waiting silently and
holding all of me.
Solidly.
You’re back!! We’ve missed you, Keith. I love the shape of this poem on the page, as well as its emotional shape . . . the trying to connect, not quite landing in that solid place, and then the subtle sensing and trusting that the solidity is there nonetheless. Beautiful. And these lines are gold - “the pressure of elements that mean no harm, yet pummel and pulverize, just the same.”
What a gemstone of a poem, Keith. True creative genius to find such existential grace in the midst of moving, transitions, details and all centered in the solid core of rocks’. Tell us more of the story of your rock accumulation!
I love the idea of having a rock-self that reads a lifetime's worth of pummeling and pulverizing as "the pressure of elements that mean no harm." And I love that, even though your rock-self feels a little out of reach right now, you can still sense it there holding you. Lovely, Keith!
Whew boy, moves are never any fun. My first thought was, do you still live close to your special river? Millie -- am I remembering that right? Hope you're feeling good about your new digs and starting to settle in.
Thanks, Rebekah…I am falling woefully behind on comments…I guess I haven’t yet fully bounced back from the move after all…! I had to say farewell to Millie (grief there), but I now live very close to a few beautiful ponds.
I am there with you in the sooty smog. I hope to find my way out soon! Congratulations on breaking the creativity drought!
Holding onto this lovely stone, this poem flowed from somewhere...
Rocks and Stones
^
In this cozy corner office
in this rural New England town,
small things matter.
Like the rocks and stones
spread around the room,
in baskets, jars, bowls and bins,
some shiny and glistening like gold,
others smooth and matte like,
those with words that sing:
peace, hope, joy, gratitude,
you are enough and
you are loved.
^
Reminders as much for me
as for the assembled sojourners
who find their way to this humble, simple place.
My favorite is the rainbow stone,
Left on the steps one morning,
perhaps a response to the threats and toxic venom
spewed our way because we proclaim our love and affinity
for the rainbow people.
A small gesture of solidarity, a tiny glimpse of hope.
^
I smile at this beloved stone, and for
those guardians of purity perhaps forgetting
the rainbow came when the floods were over,
a sign that all will be well, and all will be loved.
Rocks and stones scattered among
Instruments and photos,
books and puppets, hats and art pieces
drums and noise makers and their kindred spirits.
Their presence an affirmation
that in this eclectic place
and distracted mind
there is a foundation worth living.
This makes me want to visit your corner office! It sounds like you have an eclectic collection to match your inclusive, loving heart!
Thank you Lisa! I’ll take some photos!
I love this, Larry. Rocks are treasures...all the rocks...the unvarnished, rough-hewn rocks, the painted rocks, the polished rocks. They are all reminders of steadfastness and our connection to the earth. And New Hampshire...the granite state! I love the Old Man of the Mountain in the White Mountains! Such a stunning stony face. Your collection sounds fabulous.
Thank you Keith! The Granite State is a garden of rocks for sure! Thank you for rockin’ it with poems and prose every day!
Beautiful description of a space that seems so lovely! I love the last line…”there is a foundation worth living”
Thank you Karri. Thank you for being a foundation builder! 🙏🏻
I love the scene you create here -- the colorful, creative chaos of it, and especially your reflections on the rainbow stone and how "the rainbow came when the floods were over, a sign that all will be well, and all will be loved." Grateful for you, Larry!
Thank you Rebekah! You are a rainbow bringer and shiner!
How wonderful! I once lugged a box of rocks to a connecting-with-nature workshop and invited each (dignified professional) person to choose one. Then we did a meditation on imagining the life of the rock, its beginnings in fire, its long journey to its present form, its long long LONG present form... At the end I heard shy voices from around the room: "May I take my rock home with me?" I just love the words that flowed between this rock and you!
I love this so much, Priscilla, and it’s right up my alley as a forest bathing guide!
I have two pieces of coal on my jewelry armoire. Unfortunately my brain hasn’t cooperated to write lately with back to school/work!
I can totally understand that! My writing has slowed way down over the past couple months. There are seasons to everything. 💕
It was so fun to hunt down a special rock yesterday while on my everyday walk! And then, of course, carry it along with me while speaking to it. We are a special breed. ;)
.
I believe in this rock
because it is
right here
weighting my palm.
It is a planet
whose orbit
is mine to name.
I move it around
as I please, and even
confide in it
because it is immortal
-- a time capsule --
and will carry my echoes
into the future.
.
I don’t believe in you
even though you are also
right here,
telling me you are
real.
Is it because
you won’t be steered?
Is it because
your mortality
weights my chest?
In you, I see
all that I love
and all that is
not a rock.
Beautiful and a bit haunting. The thought that the rocks will “carry my echoes into the future” both reassuring and humbling
This is an incredible poem, Rebekah! Its depth and beauty are true and real, and every line connects so wonderfully well. “Because it is immortal/a time capsule/and will carry my echoes/into the future.” That is pure creative wonder. The second stanza is a wonderful existential twist, and an insightful glimpse into the paradox of belief/disbelief. You are a special one!
Thank you so much, Larry! You are also such a special one!
Thank you Rebekah! Specialness abounds here!
You will likely outlive me
by several million years,
so I am your pet
and when I am gone
from you no tears.
My cry is ugly.
Loud gulps for air, face all red.
Like I don't know how.