Tag Archives: rocks

SOLSTICE 2024


Last year’s fine hair,
dry and hollow-stemmed
screens renewed green

sheltered in rocks
that once were one
mind, one set of eyes

to record the wild cycle
of new roots from old
seeds of life — hope

and grace apart
from the rubble
of mankind.


WINDMILL SPRING

 

How many jillion rains have washed away

the rodent digs from these exposed intrusions,

lichen-stained, fractured magma rockpiles

 

changing shape in the sun’s daylight and shadow

to appear to be alive for eons, like a trout

breaching a clay wave, free to see the sky?

 

Some have seen so much that they have souls.

 

 

IF ROCKS COULD TALK

 

IMG_4684

 

                     The old granite stones, those are my people;
                     Hard heads and stiff wits but faithful, not fools, not chatterers;
                     And the place where they stand today they will stand also                            tomorrow.

                                 – Robinson Jeffers (“The Old Stonemason”)

Some like headstones thrust into the earth,
or weather-carved phallic outposts
natives knew by name, those are my people,
my landmarks nodding now as I pass.

They have grown cold and taken shape
from the fires of molten violence—
cracked and fractured piles, wisdom
scattered in the grip of gravity at rest

to hum as homes for rodents and reptiles,
a tunneled settling of colonies to feed
a wilder world. Some pulse with life,
dress with thick green moss, after rain.

But those tattooed with colored lichen
first draw the eye to unravel art,
question what they seem to say—
all good listeners, patient to a fault.