Odin Roark, click here
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The language of the unspoken conjures up worlds we can only imagine.
Stone So Quiet
The confinement nothing wishes to escape
such might be the life
inside a stone
For where can ancestral honesty
be better gleaned
than from ocean's silt
and glacial drift
this mix of evolution's
fire and plant
flesh and bone
now the stone
Polished over time
from sea upon sea
this history of life's time
tumbled from nature's infant hand
to yet the next
ebb and tide
shore to shore
How intimate it must be
these inner walls of the stone
where once cold of ice
relinquished its drifting sand
across maplandia's anvil
lending sparks of light within
carving hieroglyphs of personal history
traveling as whisper
this stone so quiet
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|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|What a lovely tribute to the process that has become geology. There is much to be learned from the process of making stone.
|Reviewed by jude forese
|once the unspoken is conceived and open to synaptic interpretation or the lack thereof, it is articulated ... even the stone comprehends itself; the mind of god observing its own properties ...
stimulating & well written ...
|Reviewed by John Flanagan
|a probe that most writers and observers
would and do overlook; it is one of the jobs
of the poet to explore where words are not only used
but where they aren't used, where there's an alternative way
of sharing without words;
the observation/speculation in the opening three lines
i love this, Odin
|Reviewed by Budd Nelson
I like this one too, just image the events these stones have outlasted.
|Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather
|i like what diana said, all things have a rythm. ~ Morgan|
|Reviewed by Diana Legun
|Washington State beaches are more rock than sand; and I have seen up close and personal the subjects of your study here, to know what you are saying. "this history of life's time," right there in spider veins of quartz and agate. "tumbled from nature's infant hand,' is exactly the feel of these sea-rounded stones. The mica, "lending sparks of light within" . And "traveling solo/traveling lonely" like orphans. Soft hush of a poem from the basement of time. ~~ Diana|