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Umi Apr 9
Silicate, emotionless sedimentary,
Darling, it is cold, doesn't care wheter it breaks or if it is swept away in a stream, cut into small pieces by the sharp rush of flowing water,
While it may hold no emotions, it can be the bringer of hope, bliss, happiness, sadness but also spite and envy, or a simple fulfilment,
Look at the wedding-rings, their stones on top to embellish beauty such as the insurance to be with the other through thick and thin,
Some diamonds are rough, but they are stronger than stones, if that is enough, harder and almost unbreakable, sorted in line moliculary,
When the kiss of death puts us to rest, a tombstone is the sad, cruel remembrence of a former life, sprouting blossoming and blooming, before returning to the soil it once had found its origin, its beginning,
I will try to be your wishing one, your shooting star, racing through the glory of the starlit nightsky to catch a moment of your passion,
Burning up within the atmosphere of your warm embrace, dearest.
Drawn by your gravitational impact on me, I will be your comet, returning to you each day without burning away as rapid as a meteor.
Darling, alike a blazing Sun you make me melt.

~ Umi
I am sorry for these love poems, I can't help it sometimes <3
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
I had not been born yet.
Still, I can see you at your labor -
alone, scouring the meadows
for the stones -
lifting their gray shoulders
from the moist earth -
pulling them from the
green grasp of briars,
goldenrod, and
Queen Anne’s Lace.

The smell of the earth
must have filled you with
your own childhood memories -
of plowing fields
and cold mornings
trudging across barn yards
mud thick on your boots -
promising yourself
that someday you would leave
and never return.

I can hear the pick axe -
the sharp strikes
against the stones,
and the dull thud
when the earth
swallowed the blade -
and the deep exhalations
when the stones tumbled into
the old wheelbarrow – new then -
that now leans rusting
against my garden shed.

Some of the stones were so large -
far too large for one man –
how did you move them?
I look at the old photographs
and you seem so young –
so much younger
than I am today - and so thin –
staring off-frame beyond the camera.
What were you looking for
in those fields?

I can see you sorting the stones,
stacking them -
building and unbuilding
and rebuilding the walls
and  terraces
until the walls were true
and the terraces level
and planted with dogwood,
birches, soft grass for bare feet,
and bordered with roses.

Did you know
that you were building my castle?
That the highest terrace
would be my tower and keep?
I remember calling out to my
knights, my legionnaires,
and tribesmen –
rallying them in defense
of the citadel –  ready for
the coming siege.

I also remember looking out
across that verdant kingdom
for the last time -
no longer a king or a boy –
and miles away, across the river
to the west, I imagined
the new home that awaited us.
I couldn’t know
how far away it would be
or what it meant to leave.

This morning,
as I looked out across
the garden that I have built,
I felt the weightlessness of time
and its gravity
settling me into place.
For a brief moment I had
the sensation that I was standing
on the shoulders of
gathered stones.

(for my father, Guy Spencer.)
Tom Spencer © 2015
Twigzy Sep 9
Your children are a precious gift so innocent and pure.
At their birth you have the hope of love, lasting evermore.

You spend your waking days attending to their needs,
Waiting for the next smile and sound of utter glee,

And when you sleep you dream of them and wait until the dawn,
Rising before break of day to greet them in the morn,

Your babies grow and soon become your little girls and boys.
You exchange all their play things for larger, bigger toys.

You’ve learned about mothering and matured along the way,
But your relationship with their daddy isn’t turning out ok.

There are ups and downs and you expect that to be true.
But underlying unhappiness begins to escape through.

Daddy doesn’t seem to be all he is meant to be,
Late nights in the lounge, is he watching the TV?

Your children keep you happy though, just look into their face,
They make you smile, they make you laugh, and they fill you with grace.

But underlying unhappiness cannot be washed away,
It’s growing like a tumour, just waiting for its day.

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.

“Daddy’s been molesting me it started when I was four
All those times you were asleep, he came through my bedroom door
He put his hands all over me I couldn’t make him stop
I wanted to die many times, to fall down and drop!

He hurt me with his penis mummy, I am so ashamed
I was too scared to tell before because I was to blame
Once, you were in the room mummy, I could see you sleeping
He molested me then and there mummy, I could hear your breathing

My heart screamed out to you mummy, but I did not exist,
My soul began to suffocate and death seemed freedoms bliss.”

The words your child is speaking echo through an empty void,
And darkness falls around you, encumbering you like a shroud.

Someone just stuck a knife into the heart of what was sacred.
Your precious children have been filled with someone else’s hatred.

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.
Our family has survived. My children have become brave adults, they are my heroes
Thorns Sep 2
Thinking about you  
What you said
You asked me what I see in you
You asked a question and now I’ll answer
I see wild eyes as they stare back at me,
Like burning sapphires, a longing glare
To ask me that question right then and there
Was totally unfair
But now I'll answer a long time after
What do I see in you
I’ve asked myself every day
But oh how stupid I was being when what I see is right there
Now that my answer finally clicked
I see a nice guy kind with blue eyes and brown hair
Now to say that to you I could not
So I wrote it down instead
You got your answer but you didn’t care you even admit that you threw it in a puddle
But a week or 3 later say you kept it
Since you asked me that question and I answered so long after
I asked you that question in which you didn’t take your answer seriously
When I asked for a serious answer you said my response took 2 months
And that yours would take the same but there isn’t 2 months left of school and time for that
I tried you ignore me
I'm in tears
Please
I beg of you
Please don't do this to me
Please Stones
Stones
No...
Look at your eyes harder than ever before describe in nature, an element what you see....
Onoma Aug 4
a slip of stones...your sidelong glance,

an entire mountain to break our fall.

i want to tell you--as i tell you when

night doesn't know what's happening.

with the ritual of breath and its savage

exasperation.

you push from behind my eyes, and i

yours.

it's from there i hold words to your face

that pale, so i can live and die by comparison.

rocking forward and backward, side to side...

i can't undress and clothe enough.

i scratch at this split heart, and offer it a

crushing embrace when it breaks open.

it's you baby, it's you...the culmination of my

poetry--this final intensity.

i don't care about the next poem anymore,

the one i'm in is the god of your country.

i'm content to roam...waiting for you to come out

into a clearing.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 27
The world is dumbed down, dark
with roads made of glass for
which we caused and keep
One little mistake, one
little crack, people
will throw stones
and laugh and
point when
you
F
a
  l
    l
Nowadays we have to be perfect and correct about everything or else you get backlashed.
I just find it ridiculous because WE AREN'T PERFECT!
Sheesh... You wanna throw stones at others but you hate it when people do it to you.
A shallow being that simply consumes, discards and then moves on to the next host!
Every good or creative act is designed to mask that simple fact! This creature presents a chosen character and sexuality for reasons pertaining to social image.
Sex is simply a tool for manipulation or pleasure!
There is no love!
Just stepping stones!
Stone cairn
Not too moderne
Sedimentary rock
Years of process
Around the clock
Sunlight, wind, cold
Bringing colored layers of bold
Stones that provide heat
On a dreary day where you set your feet
Shelter and protection
Beauty in its collection
Double meanings surround
These stones that are abound
Appealing rock garden
A visionary cycle of carbon
On a planet that is well known
Of abundant natural stone
Jen Aug 15
Stones,
Upon
The shore.

Shimmering,
So pure.

They pick
You up
All day
Then toss
You
Out to
The
Ocean's
Floor,
With
A single
Motion.

Listening
To
Waves,
Forever
An orchestra
Of their own.

Ocean.

Dip your
Toes,
In the
Ocean.

Stones
Are
Made
Of
Hard
Matter.

They
Don't
Shatter
Like
The
Flawed
Imperfection
Of
The
Human Condition.
If only we could be like stones, so tough and strong, yet we are human in all our fragility.
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