Posted in Poetry

Stones


I never carved a word
into anything permanent
because “What is truth?” anyway

studying love
i discovered my blank mind
was dangerously close to hypocrisy

i smoked every flavor
sank my teeth into sugar
rubbed my ailments with alcohol

i brushed bugs off flowers
held the leash too tight
fought against God

and other people’s entities
draped as silver chains
and golden idols of mediocrity.

I once made a pile
stones stacked as fences
stretching for miles

met people who stopped to wonder
what energy provoked such nonsense
whether we agree or disagree
someone will come by and pick up a stone
laid gently to stop
only to be thrown

Just wonder how you write? This came to me in the past ten minutes. Is it any good? Make any sense? I throw my life into the poetic mix and wonder do my thoughts matter. Why matter anyway? Just drink my coffee and run. As always, comments are acceptable forms of relating here. Cannot say we wont misunderstand each other. But I will try my hardest to be available. Shalom, Jeanne

10 thoughts on “Stones

  1. This is beautiful. Poetry doesn’t have to make “sense” as we see it sometimes. Your poem is like art, with colors complimenting one another but not really having a symmetrical shape. Beautiful instead in the abstract.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I think that it’s wonderful. The imagery, the irony and the self reflection are all in place. Keith Richards once said that songs write themselves. You only need to be receptive to write them down. I believe that. When I write a song, I never try to write. I play and eventually something comes to me. I assume that it’s very much the same with poetry. An idea, an image, something, comes to you and you capture it with your pen.

    Liked by 1 person

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