Yeah, that reached me, too. Or rather, I heard them mumbling as I read, the waves and currents rolling them along like an avalanche of bonkers in a slow game of marbles the river and the bed have been playing for so long they've forgotten why. No one minds. The game, the sound, the watching, the playing, just enjoyable, you know? When poetry lives inside you as the words swim deeper, when you are the experience, invited in with such humility and grace not one part of you noticed the letting go of artificial thresholds, that's a powerful thing. The silence that's not silent. The aliveness that's simpler than you imagined. Like the marble stone click a call to prayer that the temple gong is jealous of. But not for long. Just for now that big brassy thing is breathing the listening the underwater of a river. She's not even here. The sermon today is elsewhere. Besides, we have to find a mop for this weepy puddle under her stand.
Nice Rob, We have a beach or two in Maine that the stones feel and look like they just came out of a stone tumbler, the entire beach. Stones are the oldest and we can hold the history of our planet in our grasp. Wouldn't it be nice to have the stones reveal that history.
Nice, Rob - coming home from Cortes today (book launch and Paul’s reading tomorrow night) sat on an old one in Whaletown, waiting for the ferry- stone who witnessed the flensing of whales in the bay - some stones piled as breakwater, tide mid high - important that when we listen to stones, that we don’t necessarily expect them to speakEnglish 😉 - thanks for your listening!
Loved your poem, Rob. I'm partial to stones myself. Not sure if it's the done thing to share one's own work in comments (still relatively new to Substack, so please let me know) but I thought you might enjoy my own ode to stones: https://thebluehourjournal.substack.com/p/the-perfect-pebble. I look forward to reading the report you mention in your intro.
So intense, thank you. We need poetry to let silence speak.
Yep.
Perfect Sunday poem, Rob! Question: was this authored by you?
Yes. Glad you liked it.
Perfect - now I can quote you as the author! Love the stones mumbling, as so often they do when rolled by waves. Truly brilliant.
Thanks, Val.
Yeah, that reached me, too. Or rather, I heard them mumbling as I read, the waves and currents rolling them along like an avalanche of bonkers in a slow game of marbles the river and the bed have been playing for so long they've forgotten why. No one minds. The game, the sound, the watching, the playing, just enjoyable, you know? When poetry lives inside you as the words swim deeper, when you are the experience, invited in with such humility and grace not one part of you noticed the letting go of artificial thresholds, that's a powerful thing. The silence that's not silent. The aliveness that's simpler than you imagined. Like the marble stone click a call to prayer that the temple gong is jealous of. But not for long. Just for now that big brassy thing is breathing the listening the underwater of a river. She's not even here. The sermon today is elsewhere. Besides, we have to find a mop for this weepy puddle under her stand.
How many of us collected stones, like others collect shells, as children. They are so much older than us.
So true.
Beautiful poem, what the stones know!
Thanks, Lisa
Never hurts to honor rock and sing the song of stone.
yep
Nice Rob, We have a beach or two in Maine that the stones feel and look like they just came out of a stone tumbler, the entire beach. Stones are the oldest and we can hold the history of our planet in our grasp. Wouldn't it be nice to have the stones reveal that history.
History according to the soul
YES,
Nice, Rob - coming home from Cortes today (book launch and Paul’s reading tomorrow night) sat on an old one in Whaletown, waiting for the ferry- stone who witnessed the flensing of whales in the bay - some stones piled as breakwater, tide mid high - important that when we listen to stones, that we don’t necessarily expect them to speakEnglish 😉 - thanks for your listening!
Yes, well put, Scott.
"Sunday, a good day to take a break from the worries of the world and spend a little time with its wonders."
Yes! Started a green sketching group in Barcelona and we do just that. Appreciate the blend of wonder and distance in your poems
Yep. Sunday is poetry day for me.
I just picked one up on the beach because the arch of my foot was hurting and I wanted the round stone to sit under my desk and massage it.
I suppose that is the most middle-aged reason anyone ever picked up a pebble on the beach but it meant I had a stone to read this poem with.
Ah yes, plantar fasciitis. What a great way to study a stone, with the foot.
Loved your poem, Rob. I'm partial to stones myself. Not sure if it's the done thing to share one's own work in comments (still relatively new to Substack, so please let me know) but I thought you might enjoy my own ode to stones: https://thebluehourjournal.substack.com/p/the-perfect-pebble. I look forward to reading the report you mention in your intro.
I think it's fine to share one's work in a comment, and I loved your piece. Thanks.