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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

         More poetry...

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Orphaned Pebbles
By Odin odin@aflx.com
Last edited: Friday, June 9, 2023
This short story is rated "G" by the Author.
       
Recent stories by Odin odin@aflx.com
· Patience Waning
· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)
· A Gentle Man
· Pacing Love's Journey
· Gratitude
· A Sticky Conversation
           >> View all 367
Having heard it expressed that giving birth is like a mountain erupting, perhaps some posetry flash fiction will give Nature acknowledgment of knowing other such births and travels in life.

 

Orphaned Pebbles

 


Atop so many ebbs and tides
Have I ridden
Beneath the roil and tumble
Have I survived

Now at last
A fling of wave and wind
Rests me among found safety
A pebble blanket
High upon the shores
At the foot of your magnificence

How very long ago it seems
Your mountain spire
A shudder
A quaking shift
My security split open
The severed shards
The razor chips
Cascading into the sea

We were all lost
Flung from your fortressed castle
Destined to drift
And tumble
In watered darkness

But you…

After your fathoms-deep eruption
Did heal
Ocean did soothe
Sunlight did transform
Devastation into vegetation
Your island survived
Your knife-edged spirit
In spite of severed shoulders and face
Became a frozen echo of resilience

Your ancient imagination made beautiful its scarring
Its many cave-like eyes held firm the watch
Your beard of tangled vines continued its reach far below
Across a rotund belly of scree and sand

How peaceful this inlet shore
Where briny caresses have protected
And made available your pebbled orphans
Who returned

So…

Here we are
Waiting patiently the next adventurous child
Looking to select
Gather
Sort
And cherish one of your surviving kin

As the sun dries my polished continuance
I wonder if the journey will find new transport
To window pane
Cigar box
Perhaps an aquarium
Placed among other friends of the deep

Though…

I’m hoping to become
A pocket buddy
That’s the best
Don’t you think?

To be a warm companion
To a boy like the one hovering over me now

He’s leaning down


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Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on June 10, 2023
Your story brought back my boyhood dreams with a few pebbles in my collection of odds and ends hoping for some precious stone, but settling for some interesting ones.

And the question I always had by the river or lake side in Wisconsin where the glaciers polished the stones to wonderful rounded shapes with hardly any sharpness. My quest was for skipping stones that were around and flat about the size of a silver dollar. Sometimes, my twin brother and I would find a treasure trove of them and skip stones to see how many skips we could count before they sunk into the water again. Sometimes, skipping 30 or more times on ideal flat placid water of a windless day. What fun to compete like this. Returning the pebble to where it came from. Only to know that it would be back on the shore again sometime soon like a thousand years or after the
next flood.

Ron

Reviewed by Richard Cederberg
Reviewed on June 10, 2023
Finding a beach as pristine as that is getting increasingly difficult, given the grotesque amount of plastic waste washing up everywhere. As I wrote just this morning: 'True creativity has a purpose for existing. It is more crucial than knowledge. If a mind gets too habitual, too comfortable, or too lackadaisical, it will be less inclined to create what it was intended to create. Creating allows a mind to progress and keeps a person from the creeping slow death of patterns.' Enjoyed your story-poem. r