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Passions in Poetry

Stones of Truth

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miscellanea
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since 06-24-2004
Posts 4106
OH


0 posted 06-14-2017 01:33 AM       View Profile for miscellanea   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions  View IP for miscellanea

              

He tried folding stones of truth, but they would not bend.  Flat ones, round ones, granite, lead.
Inadequate.  Frustrated. He threw them instead.  He flogged old ladies until their sagging skin bled.
Sticks and stones did break onesí bones and calling names did harm them.  They became friendless
leppers living in barren land. People in darker ages valued their heads, watching, listening, really seeing,
then falling to exhaustion of inner over-heating.  Occasionally, if fortunate, their stomachs would soon
turn, upheaving their Dreads.

           Perhaps, overdramatically Iíve written times of the past. But, somewhere, some time in history,
there were floggings and treatments of life that are foreign to me. Thank goodness. Yet, upon occasion,
a remnant from a movie or an image from a book carry ivy, brushing against my skin unleashing its
urushiol. Itches lead to scratching. Inadvertently, I rub my eyes. They, too, become affected to the point I
must remove my rose-colored lenses.  It is more comfortable to leave alone leaflets of three.
With that said, I divert to a different concept of the usage of rock. (I shall be more caring of my
taste and tiptoe with caution around leaves of three.)

           On the other side of the medieval fence, children may have been stacking stones (somewhat like
twenty-first century toddlers do with their red, yellow and blue plastic blocks).    In silence, they placed
one stone atop another, building toward the sky while no one watched or applauded. They enlarged
their visions: If a tower fell, they imagined a better, more stable way to build.  Then they built it. If that
didnít work, they flexed their thinking to the use of other strategies, becoming active agents of balance
and contemplaters of if/then.
  
           The game may not have been sustaining or fun if the river had created all rocks exactly the same,
equal in weight, size and texture.  But like the mineral of children, the river ran rich.


© Copyright 2017 Cathy Farmer - All Rights Reserved
JamesMichael
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since 11-16-1999
Posts 33690
Kapolei, Hawaii, USA


1 posted 06-22-2017 09:55 PM       View Profile for JamesMichael   Email JamesMichael   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for JamesMichael

Reminds me of when I was a little boy and would take a jar of bolts and screws of assorted sizes and play with them for hours as if they were two armies squaring off for battle...james
miscellanea
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since 06-24-2004
Posts 4106
OH


2 posted 06-25-2017 09:35 AM       View Profile for miscellanea   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for miscellanea

Interesting comparison, James. Thank you for your response.

              miscellanea
Bluesy Socrateaser
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since 11-07-2002
Posts 750
In The Mirror


3 posted 09-10-2017 03:58 PM       View Profile for Bluesy Socrateaser   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Bluesy Socrateaser

Reading your prose as a 'trilogy' Misc, made it interesting for me. I liked your usage of the old adage... "leaves of three".


BTS  

...just bein' Bluesy

 
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