He has stirred up, or threw a stone into, still water.
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Is There Anyone Home
Is there anyone home in this house made of stone?
Anyone inside know my name
Ive been around for a half of a hundred days.
Never saw a door shut so tight
Turn around, dont look down
Theres a man behind you with a gun
Like any wandering child in the wilderness,
Wild and uncaged are your ways
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
Theres a light around you
Ive come to switch it on
It will brighten every room
Dont be ashamed if you feel a whole lot warmer in you heart.
You got that feelin in your soul
Is there anyone home in this house made of stone?
Anyone in there who might care
Ive grown weary and wise and I feel much amazed.
Got a few good tales to unwind
Turn around, dont look down
Theres a man behind you with a gun.
Like any wandering minstrel Ive dawned in the house of a thousand delights.
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
I think I heard
Someone stirred
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunger Moon
Under a full hunger moon
her children in a ring
she stands at the hub
a basket of stones at the right
a February-cold jug of water
fresh from the stream
on the other.
Each one came barefoot
touching the earth
bare arms reaching up
to an unrelenting sky.
'Choose a stone' she said
'Place it under your left foot.
Stone does not yield. There will
be times when you must be
like stone.'
And over the reaching arms
walking within her family circle
she gently rained water down.
'Water does not resist. There
will be times when you must be
like water. Close your eyes
feel like stone like water.'
poem by Beryl Baigent
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At the fountain in the ranges
Something stirred below the water
of a pool,
where a fountain splashes in.
There was no wind
and the long grass was motionless
and the branches of a sugar bush,
hanged somewhat protecting
over the pool
It was early morning
and the pool was still dark
and in its depths,
there were black spots
that stirred ominously.
When the day got brighter
a sunbird came to drink water
and looked time after time,
at its image on the water.
.
There were water beetles
that played in circles
and tadpoles, .
swimming up and down
and a dragonfly hanged suspended
above the water
Life was trapped for a moment
and out of the depths
a predatory fish appeared
and when the dragonfly touched the water,
it disappeared into the bill of the fish
and into the depths.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cares
HAVING certain cares to drown,
To the sea I took them down:
And I threw them in the wave,
That engulfed them like a grave.
Swiftly then I plied the oar
With a light heart to the shore.
But behind me came my foes:
Like a nine-days’ corpse each rose,
And (a ghastly sight to see!)
Clutched the boat and grinned at me!
With a heavy heart, alack,
To the land I bore them back.
Not in Water or in Wine
Can I drown these cares of mine.
But some day, for good and sure,
I shall bury them secure,
Where the soil is rich and brown,
With a stone to keep them down,
And to let their end be known,
Have my name carved on the stone;
So that passers-by may say,
“Here lie cares that had their day,”
And sometimes by moonlight wan,
I may sit that stone upon—
With a spectre’s solemn phlegm—
In my shroud, and laugh at them;
Or—who knows, when all is said?—
Maybe weep because they’re dead.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Stone
Hey stone on the ground
stubbed my toe on you.
Hey stone on the ground
it made me mad at you.
Picked you up, threw you far.
I should have put you in a jar.
Make you atone
you darn old stone.
You made me stub my toe.
Bet you didn't even know.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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It's Not By The Water Alone The Stone Get Wet
it's not by the water alone the stone get wet
many time the soil moisture rise the plant to grow,
and the dew fall in the midst forest has capture the
sun to shadow the plant maturity until the bearing
trees touch every twisting tooth to go down
roll on the water stream the fungi has distance the
cope off the fish, rushing into the turmoil of
crushing speed amongst the stone of sojourner into
the sea of no returning back, the awakening
movement of home bound recipe of life
all gets wet, nay wet moisturize all the rolling stone
towards to the sea floor of forever gray; neither the
water filled the dried color of the stone, and scented
to attract fish to return home for what is real lives
forever in the heart of the stone
let every piece of pebble gems taste a little droplets
of water as it linger on in the memory of the each
stream.....
poem by Antonio Liao
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What Happens when I Cry
The water in my eyes
The water in my heart
The air The air The air The air
The air that's in my soul
The water from a- crying-magpie
The water from a- stormy-sky
ALAS
Air inside a robin-bird
Air in a sky that never stirred
The water in my eyes
The water in my heart
The air The air The air The air
The air that's in my soul
Oh my eyes
My heart
My soul!
(18th May 2011)
poem by Rebecca Stansfield
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In a City
In an eastern city where I won’t return
there is a winged stone light and huge
lightning strikes this winged stone
I close my eyes to remember
in my city where I won’t return
there is heavy and nourishing water
the one who gives you a cup of this water
gives you the faith you will still return
in my faraway city that has gone
from all maps of the world there is bread that can nourish
throughout life black as the faith you will see again
stone bread water and the presence of towers at dawn
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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The Thirsty Crow
Have you ever heard this story before?
Of a wise and clever thirsty crow?
Well, if you haven't then listen
The famous tale of this hero, now let's begin,
It happened when in a spell of dry weather,
The poor birds could find very little water,
This crow, when he felt thirsty,
Searched for some water desperately,
But in summer, as it was great famine,
Even a dropp of water he couldn't find,
This unfortunate fellow thought that he must,
In despair surely die of thirst,
Then suddenly he spied an old pitcher,
Filled with very little water,
But oh! The pitcher was so high with a narrow neck,
The little water, the poor crow could never get,
He was unlucky, thought the crow,
His beak couldn't reach the water as it was low,
Then suddenly a brilliant idea flashed into his mind,
Around him some pebbles he could find,
He picked some pebbles and threw into the pitcher,
And finally the water raised its level,
This clever fellow then threw more pebbles
Until the water was higher in the pitcher,
Higher enough for his beak to reach the water,
The thirsty crow now took a sip of water,
Then drank more water from the pitcher,
Until he was no more thirsty,
The genius crow then flew away,
To tell the world about his victory!
poem by Sadia Maqsood
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The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Falls To Climb
Ill take the position
Assume the missionary part
You work by committee
You had me pegged from the start
Ill be pounce pony
Phony maroney
Pony before the cart
Ill be pounce pony
This ceremony
Only fills my heart
Who cast the final stone
Who threw the crushing blow
Someone has to take the fall
Why not me
A punch toy volunteer
A weakling on its knee
Is all you want to hear
And all you want to see
Romantically youd martyr me
And miss this storys point
It is my strength my destiny
This is the role that I have chosen
Who cast the final stone
Who threw the crushing blow
Someone has to take the fall
Why not me
Gentlemen mark your opponents
Fire into your own ranks
Pick the weakest as strategic
Move square off to
Meet your enemy
For each and every gathering
A scapegoat falls to climb
As I step forward silently
Deliberately mine
Who cast the final stone
Who threw the crushing blow
Someone has to take the fall
Why not me why not me
Had consequence chose differently
Had fate its ugly head
My actions make me beautiful
And dignify the flesh
Me I am free free
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lstone In The Middle Of The River....
it feels like i am drained
of all my running water
the fishes in me are jumping
gasping for precious breath
i have this mouth but it
cannot speak
after all, she says, i must
be a river
always, she continues, without
more water
how can she love me forever?
she is the stone in the middle
of my pool, and when i run dry
on a hot day of summer
she will just be another stone
of this death-bed beside a mountain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Feet On Top Of The Stone On The River
you put your feet
on top of a stone
on a clear river
you want to feel
the stability of
love
the hardness of
a foundation
you want to be on
top of the
situation where
the water flows
and you
on that stone
becomes
unaffected
you let time flow
like water
you let yourself
steady like
your feet unmoved
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Einstein, Nicholas, My Fantastic Wife And Our Dog On The Beach At Home
a stone
a relative stone
a meteoric stone
a Newtonian stone
a photoelectric stone
a stone from Manhattan
a thermodynamic stone
one stone
a son
in my life
in my wife
a sun
alone
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Ways Of Knowing
Not an ounce excessive, not an inch too little, out easy reciprocations.
You let me know the way a boat would feel, if it could feel, the intimate support of water.
The news you bring me has been news forever, so that I understand what a stone would say if only a stone could speak. Is it sad a grassblade cannot know how it is lovely?
Is it sad that you can't know, except by hearsay (My gossiping failing words) that you are the way a water is that can clench it's palm and crumple a boat's confiding timbers?
But that's excessive and too little. Knowing the way a circle would describe its roundness, we touch two selves and feel, complete and gentle the intimate support.
The way that flight would feel a bird flying (if it could feel)is the way space that's in a stone that's in water would know itself
If it had our way of knowing.
poem by Norman MacCaig
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Almost a hit, said the boy as he threw the stone at his dog and hit his stepmother's leg.