Stone Poems

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Pain-A-Full Apr Cold Stone. Owlman Jun Stone cold with heart of stone. I marvel, at this creature Ponder upon every feature After ages and ages of gazing To me, It is still amazing! Emma Oct Stone heart. All the "I love you"s In the world could not make my stone heart beat again and my love is like medusa he looked at my heart and it turned to stone and crumbled under his gaze falling into pieces on the floor so tiny you can't put them back together but only sweep them under the rug and forget that my heart ever beat in the first place.

Idk, the meaning is whatever you make of it. Juhlhaus Jan I Am a Stone. Long ago my mother gave me birth.

Poetry Out Loud

From her molten womb in the cooling rain I took shape. Wind and water gently fashioned me And smoothed my hard edges. Through riven clouds the bright sun warmed me, And in the mist life wove me mossy coverings. Day after day I listened to the wind in the heather And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead.

Men found me on the mountainside, Stripped me of my mossy cloak And hauled me away on a cart of wood, To be used for the glory of God. With metal tools and hammer blows they fashioned me And gave me hard edges. They stacked me high on top of other stones, Fitted me snug and sealed me in.

Through narrow windows colored light shone on the floor below, And in the darkness voices rose with scented smoke, Singing of the glory of God.

Ruth Stone

Scorched by angry flames, I fell From that high place to lie broken in the ashes. Wind and water gently washed me And smoothed my hard edges. Day after day I listened to the wind in the ruins And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead. A shepherd found me in the grass, lifted me up And carried me away in his arms. He nestled me alongside other stones To keep the wandering sheep from deadly cliffs. Though riven clouds the bright sun warms us, And in the mist life weaves us mossy coverings. Day after day we listen to the wind in the heather And the cry of the sea birds wheeling overhead.

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I would not have thought a stone could possess a soul, until I visited Scotland. This poem was inspired in part by a visit to the ruins of the Cathedral of Saint Andrew. I composed the poem a few months later, after a friend suggested I write an essay describing my spiritual journey through disillusionment and doubt. As I pondered this, it seemed that no essay could ever convey my bound-up thoughts and emotions, but a poem might begin to do so. Blissful Nobody Sep A stone is a good thing to be. I must be made out of stone, A stone is a good thing to be, I have weathered wounds , Changed a bit on the outside, The core remains the same.

Nothing changes inside, Time has layered me solid, A little unraveling by nature, Is time again working on me, Showing the grit that makes me. Time has layered me solid, Bruises sharpened my edges, Water smothered me smooth, I could lay alone for ages, Or I could flow and dissolve. Shiv Pratap Pal Sep 1. Birth of Poetry. Peoetry and Song are born this way also. Do you Agree with me??? Carson Alexander Defelice Oct If I could mount that rock to my forehead, the demons I'm fighting would finally go.

I know the risks of one last blow.

See a Problem?

Visibility is prevented from me, by me, divided. I choose sadness because it was all i ever felt. All feedback is welcome and appreciated. Wayward Feb Stone Cold. Stone cold, is my soul. You want it Satan? Consider it sold! That person had to be mourned. From the ashes, I rose. And of those ancient peoples just discovered, who constructed totem poles covered in wolves and demons—where are their bones now? Or the genes, unraveled and rewired, stretched like taffy—do they mean eternity? Truth is always getting closer, vanishing everything possessed by inertia.

The Wynona Stone Poems by Caki Wilkinson

When grandma died her forehead perspired and a sickly-sweet odor filled us up, like the calm urine of infants. A new, straight nail. Upright, un-pounded. A wild horse with goggles who disrupted dinner parties.

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  • There is nothing to stop you from taking it into your arms, telling it it is a good. And over at the bar—there she is, with her breasts hanging at her stomach—gorgeous with a shook Manhattan, and murderous with a maxi pad. They just want you to listen to their poems. And call every once in a while. With checks. Then the dead are sitting down in the back of the club, dying further. You are not sure what it is, but this one thing you know, No matter what happens now, you enjoy watching your children grow. The pre-teen years are nearly over and the high school years draw near. Then one child beckons you and whispers in your ear.

    Someone just stuck a knife into the heart of what was sacred. You need some help, you need to grieve but who can be trusted. The fear the shame the hurt the blame your heart is torn and busted. You collect your shattered children and hold them very tight, You hold them ever so-close, you hold them with all your might. Flashes of the years gone by ignite before your eyes, And you see so clearly, all the torment in his lies. Time has passed you by and your children have grown But it feels only yesterday you were crushed against the stones.

    This was how the my first marrage ended.

    Sticks and Stones: a poem about bullying - Jon Jorgenson

    Our family has survived. My children have become brave adults, they are my heroes. Mydriasis Aletheia Jan Odd Socks, Sticks and Stones. Lilith craved Ficus carica, Mr. Robot brandished a branch of Olea europaea. Would either care to comment on the state of the world? Their intentions clear. Is it that "all the world's a stage" or that all we are is a mirror? Should it matter that I feel the motions of my mind, and long to escape without the aid of their counterparts. Subtle contrarian. Every reaction has its equal in emotion; each moment has its fulcrum. Monika Layke Aug I have rocks in my heart and a river on the brain.

    I left that body long ago.

    Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

    If you can sparkle I may land tonight. Come on and kick me, I go weak when you daze me in the knees. Thorns Sep Thinking about you. Look at your eyes harder than ever before describe in nature, an element what you see CK Baker Dec Cinque Terre.