In passing, you said, “I wish limestone tasted like lime.”
B Byrd
Oct 4, 2013

In passing, you said, “I wish limestone tasted like lime.”
I laughed, and looked to you as if to ask why I was with you.

Later we were sitting in a booth together and I glanced over at your concentrated brow and the touch of light on your cheek and I asked myself,

how am I with him?

The limestone slick
Tonya Maria
Tonya Maria
Oct 15, 2014

Took out on foot
For an adventure
Made my pathway
To the falls
The creek was a rambling
Beside the laurel
And barred owls calls

There was a gaping
In the hillside
Approached it's opening
Without fear
Her mouth beckoned
Me to enter
The wind guided
Like steering gears

The ledge lifted
As I entered
The limestone slick
Blackened as night
The wind,
It did continue
On to lift me
Like a kite

I then awakened
To a tapping
On the glass
Of my windshield
Wiped the sleep
From my eyelids
Was this flight
A truth revealed?

The word calcite comes from the latin word calx, and the Greek word chalix, meaning "lime". Calcite is common in limestone. Calcite is a protecting, grounding and centering stone, and can help bring inner peace.
Source-Robyn A Harton
Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.

If it form the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,
Are consistently homesick for, this is chiefly
Because it dissolves in water. Mark these rounded slopes
With their surface fragrance of thyme and, beneath,
A secret system of caves and conduits; hear the springs
That spurt out everywhere with a chuckle,
Each filling a private pool for its fish and carving
Its own little ravine whose cliffs entertain
The butterfly and the lizard; examine this region
Of short distances and definite places:
What could be more like Mother or a fitter background
For her son, the flirtatious male who lounges
Against a rock in the sunlight, never doubting
That for all his faults he is loved; whose works are but
Extensions of his power to charm? From weathered outcrop
To hill-top temple, from appearing waters to
Conspicuous fountains, from a wild to a formal vineyard,
Are ingenious but short steps that a child's wish
To receive more attention than his brothers, whether
By pleasing or teasing, can easily take.

Watch, then, the band of rivals as they climb up and down
Their steep stone gennels in twos and threes, at times
Arm in arm, but never, thank God, in step; or engaged
On the shady side of a square at midday in
Voluble discourse, knowing each other too well to think
There are any important secrets, unable
To conceive a god whose temper-tantrums are moral
And not to be pacified by a clever line
Or a good lay: for accustomed to a stone that responds,
They have never had to veil their faces in awe
Of a crater whose blazing fury could not be fixed;
Adjusted to the local needs of valleys
Where everything can be touched or reached by walking,
Their eyes have never looked into infinite space
Through the lattice-work of a nomad's comb; born lucky,
Their legs have never encountered the fungi
And insects of the jungle, the monstrous forms and lives
With which we have nothing, we like to hope, in common.
So, when one of them goes to the bad, the way his mind works
Remains incomprehensible: to become a pimp
Or deal in fake jewellery or ruin a fine tenor voice
For effects that bring down the house, could happen to all
But the best and the worst of us...
That is why, I suppose,
The best and worst never stayed here long but sought
Immoderate soils where the beauty was not so external,
The light less public and the meaning of life
Something more than a mad camp. 'Come!' cried the granite wastes,
"How evasive is your humour, how accidental
Your kindest kiss, how permanent is death." (Saints-to-be
Slipped away sighing.) "Come!" purred the clays and gravels,
"On our plains there is room for armies to drill; rivers
Wait to be tamed and slaves to construct you a tomb
In the grand manner: soft as the earth is mankind and both
Need to be altered." (Intendant Caesars rose and
Left, slamming the door.) But the really reckless were fetched
By an older colder voice, the oceanic whisper:
"I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing;
That is how I shall set you free. There is no love;
There are only the various envies, all of them sad."

They were right, my dear, all those voices were right
And still are; this land is not the sweet home that it looks,
Nor its peace the historical calm of a site
Where something was settled once and for all: A back ward
And dilapidated province, connected
To the big busy world by a tunnel, with a certain
Seedy appeal, is that all it is now? Not quite:
It has a worldy duty which in spite of itself
It does not neglect, but calls into question
All the Great Powers assume; it disturbs our rights. The poet,
Admired for his earnest habit of calling
The sun the sun, his mind Puzzle, is made uneasy
By these marble statues which so obviously doubt
His antimythological myth; and these gamins,
Pursuing the scientist down the tiled colonnade
With such lively offers, rebuke his concern for Nature's
Remotest aspects: I, too, am reproached, for what
And how much you know. Not to lose time, not to get caught,
Not to be left behind, not, please! to resemble
The beasts who repeat themselves, or a thing like water
Or stone whose conduct can be predicted, these
Are our common prayer, whose greatest comfort is music
Which can be made anywhere, is invisible,
And does not smell. In so far as we have to look forward
To death as a fact, no doubt we are right: But if
Sins can be forgiven, if bodies rise from the dead,
These modifications of matter into
Innocent athletes and gesticulating fountains,
Made solely for pleasure, make a further point:
The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,
Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of
Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love
Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.

on smooth limestone
Jan 30, 2012

tough love

scrawled in tall black blocks
on smooth limestone

Tonya Maria
Tonya Maria
Dec 10, 2013      Dec 11, 2013

the soul lying below
~100 % organic.~

10w Tuesday
on a limestone scree
Eileen Prunster
Eileen Prunster
Aug 6, 2012

Auburn coated cattle
seek safe purchase
on a limestone scree
bent windscarred conifers
climb the hill

With breath crisper than limestone.
Brandon Puckett

We'd run in mornings
With breath crisper than limestone.
Now her legs are stiff.

#haiku   #dog  
matt nobrains
matt nobrains
Aug 12, 2011

The age old question,
Climbing back up from
Rock bottom,
Fingertips straining against clean hewn
Piece by piece
Taping yourself back together.
"What happens now?"

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