Terms of Childhood
She rose, interrupting her 3am sleep,
To place a rough stone on the pavement
In the long queue of stones, marking her mother’s place
In the morning line for government bread
She stands in pink at the school-bus stop
Faded satchel on her back, her eyes contained
By some slight terror of the daily world
Of the diesel clouds and traffic waves
Tending the family stall, she chases the flies
From small triangles of garlic flowers
On the metal-lined shelves of the mercado
As soldiers and inspectors deal their gains
On the evening southern Kalahari plain
Her brother said, “there are 17 white stones”.
He was jumping from one smooth top to another –
The stones that ford the stream at Kanye
I met him playing on the day
When 42 young and grown children were slain
By a death lottery apartheid raid, an act
That histories would rapidly disdain.
The soiled dictator rules out his contenders
On general terms of fear and pain.
Would there be a lifetime
By which this deal was altered -
And something close to childhood came?
poem by Frank Bana
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The Air is a Root
The air is a root.
The stones are filled with tenderness. bravo.
bravo. the stones are filled with air.
the stones are watery branches.
on the stones replacing the mouth
grows the skeleton of a leaf. bravo.
A stone voice face to face and foot to foot
with a stone glance.
the stones are tormented like flesh
the stones are clouds for their second
nature dances to them on their third nose.
bravo. bravo.
when the stones scratch themselves, nails grow
on the roots. bravo. bravo.
the stones woke to eat the exact
hour
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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Stones
Stones
Stones would play inside her head
And where she slept,
They made her bed
And she would ache
For love and get but stones
La la la la la la la la la
Lordy, child
A good days comin
And Ill be there to let the sun in
And bein lost
Is worth the comin home
La la la la la la la la la on stones
You and me, a time for planting
You and me, a harvest granting
The every prayer ever prayed
For just two wild flowers that grow
La la la la la la la la la on stones
Mmmmmmmm.....
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rucksack Full Of Stones
A Babe…
Born perfect, innocent, ready
Cast into a corrupt world
Parents eagerly present
A family heirloom
A patchwork rucksack
Part-filled with stones
To a wide-eyed child
Begins the journey…
Child given stones of many shapes, sizes
Stones of pity, sorrow, fear, trauma
Stones filled with words like “No”
Stones filled with ugly phrases
Stones filled with abuse, punishment, pain
Rucksack seams burgeon
A growing Soul shouts
“Enough”
Emptying begins…
Through lessons, experiences, prayer
One by one
Removed the stones
Rucksack lightens
By the Grace of God,
Finally emptied
Another Babe born
Rucksack beckons
“Not this time”
Rucksack flung
Into Wisdom’s Fire
Consumed
Ends a vicious cycle…
poem by Ray Lucero
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Requiem For The Year 2011
at the last hour
we march toward a common grave
bringing the flowers
and some stones
they year is kept inside
a niche laced with white silk
slowly the men with strong arms
lowered the niche
to the the newly dug hole
seven feet under
the women with long black hair
wept beside their innocent children
the year is buried
as we then throw the final stones
then it is covered
with its soil returned
until it is full
and then we put the flowers
it is over
now
and then we go back to our houses
it is nighttime
we close the doors
and open the windows to see
those beautiful stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Secret Life of Stones
Stones are family. They move in earth and water and are so strong
they cannot be beaten. Stones live within themselves without fear.
They change in winter through ice and in summer through sun.
Without regret they may turn to dust, eternal in changed forms.
They are distant from foolishness and do not hurt for scant reason.
On a summer evening I will take a stone in the palm of my hand
and thus address you
On the last day let me be you
You are proved to be the better.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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The old man and his stone
an old man
seated alone
on his stone bench
invited me
almost invisible
gesticulating with his hand
sit down beside me
we did not say a word
together we just heard
nothing but our silence
he invited me
to take a look in his garden
he took me by my hand
guiding me
through the open gate
he gave me a grand tour
in his Japanese paradise
and wanted to know
if I would be able
to show him
that spot
he was searching for
all his life
so he could also see
all the larger stones
at once
I'll wait
and watch you
I stood
I sat down
I climbed a tree
while being up there
I could see
a smile on his face
expressing understanding grace
I walked around
accompanied
by the sound
of crackling shelves
I can count endlessly
maybe even further
In that serene garden
I could not find the spot
that place where I could see
all his stones
although I learned
during that search
there were fifteen different larger stones
that unknown space
where I see and count
the old man's 15th stone
there I was on my own
still searching
it was late
at last I returned
sat down beside the old man
on the other stone bench
he offered me his silence
and told me with his eyes
that a man or a woman
is wise
when admitting
accepting
a simple fact
you can see
you can count
all the stones
not at once
not on your own
©Ellie Daphne van Stralen 2012
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Blame It On The Stones
Mister marvin middle class is really in a stew
Wondrin what the younger generations coming to
And the taste of his martini doesnt please his bitter tongue
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Mother tells the ladies at the bridge club every day
Of the rising price of tranquilizers she must pay
And she wonders why the children never seem to stay at home
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Fathers at the office, nightly working all the time
Trying to make the secretary change her little mind
And it bothers him to read about so many broken homes
Blame it on those rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; same the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Blame it on the stones, blame it on the stones.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pavement Stones :A Song of the Unemployed
WHEN first I came to town, resolved
To fight my way alone,
No prouder foot than mine e’er trod
Upon the pavement stone;
But I am one in thousands,
And why should I repine?
The pavement stones have broken springs
In stronger feet than mine.
I brought to aid me all the hope
And energy of youth;
And in my heart I felt the strength
Of plain bucolic truth:
The independence nourished
Amid the hills and trees—
But, ah! the city hath a cure
For qualities like these.
I wonder oft how e’er I made
The efforts that I made,
For after three long weary years
I taught myself a trade.
And two more years and I was free
With strength and hope elate,
For “he that hath a trade,” they say,
“Hath also an estate.”
I tramped the streets and looked for work
And begged for work in vain,
Until I recked not, though I ne’er
Might touch my tools again.
I tramped the streets despairing;
My cheeks grew white and thin;
I felt the pavement wearing through
The leather, sock, and skin.
The bitter war goes on between
The idlers and the drones,
Until the hearts of men grow cold
And hard as pavement stones;
But I am one amid the crowd,
Then why should I repine?
The pavement stones have broken springs
In stronger feet than mine.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Pebbles & Stones
Pebbles and stones,
Of different tones.
Oval or Round.
Black or Brown.
Smooth or rough
Oddly enough,
People collect
pebbles and stones.
They like to select
the smooth and round.
They like to select,
if it's shiny and brown.
Do you like pebbles too?
Or stones in black and blue?
She
She grew up without very much
She didn't know who her father was
She met a boy and her heart he stole
So she gave him all her body and soul
She's not ready to face
The outcome of their mistake
It's brought her nothing but pain
And she's too young for this fate
SHE'S ALONE
CAUGHT UP IN THE UNDERTOW
WHERE IT TAKES HER NO ONE KNOWS
THAT'S HOW IT GOES, THAT'S HOW IT GOES
WHEN WE THROW STONES
People denied and criticized
They sent her away isolated
Caught in a bad dream, her plea rejected
They left her alone and neglected
They put her out on display
Showcasing all her mistakes
She's worn out and she's afraid
Why does it always happen this way?
[refrain]
She went to them for help
But blindly they cast the first stone
They could have taken her in
Instead they left her on her own
All alone
[refrain]
When we throw stones at the wounded
We throw stones at the brokenhearted
That's how it goes when we throw stones
song performed by by ZoeGirl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Spain Was Like
Spain was a taut, dry drum-head
Daily beating a dull thud
Flatlands and eagle's nest
Silence lashed by the storm.
How much, to the point of weeping, in my soul
I love your hard soil, your poor bread,
Your poor people, how much in the deep place
Of my being there is still the lost flower
Of your wrinkled villages, motionless in time
And your metallic meadows
Stretched out in the moonlight through the ages,
Now devoured by a false god.
All your confinement, your animal isolation
While you are still conscious
Surrounded by the abstract stones of silence,
Your rough wine, your smooth wine
Your violent and dangerous vineyards.
Solar stone, pure among the regions
Of the world, Spain streaked
With blood and metal, blue and victorious
Proletarian Spain, made of petals and bullets
Unique, alive, asleep - resounding.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Stone
A stone
I am,
A stone
You are.
Both of us
Are stones
To each other.
Breaking the stones
And reconciling....
Why bother?
Were we not in
Endless pain…
When together?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Concrete Angle
She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holdin' back
Wearin' the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with linen and lace
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the lights
A fragile soul caught in the hands of sate
When morning comes it'll be too late
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lesbos
curiosity drives you to open the door
go outside the fence
and enter a new territory
it is an island of women with breasts
and flowers
with heads and eyes of men
their vocabulary is made of man's terms
the grammar and syntax
muscular, yet deep within upon a close scrutiny
as you see it clearly
their hearts are still soft and fragile
they bleed real blood
when you remind them of their
births, their childhood, and how they grow
to be always alone
they do not show the signs of a sigh &
as you enter their circle you are met with nothing
but their own woes
you speak
and then they throw you stones
definitely, there is no place for you here
the one with the short curly hair
shortsighted and emaciated
makes it very clear
now you are back in your own world
and you realize
things are just perfect
and the air is not as cold as ice.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cherokee Bend
His father was a man who could never understand
The shame on a red mans face
So they lived in the hills and they never came down
But to trade in the white mans place
It was early in the spring when the snow had disappeared
They came down with a bag of skins
In the fall of the year of 1910
Daddy died by the rope down in cherokee bend.
Daddy didnt like what the white man said
bout the dirty little kid at his side
Daddy didnt like what the white man did
Nor the deal or the way that he lied
There was blood on the floor of the government store
When the men took his daddy away
But the boy stayed back till he come to his end
And he run like the wind from cherokee bend.
Now the mother was alone and the winter was at hand
And she prayed to her spirit kin
It was warm in the lodge in the kentucky hills
On the day when the boy came in
Then a blizzard came down and it covered up the door
Till they thought that it never would end
And he told her the tale of the terrible affair
In the government store down in cherokee bend
Daddy didnt like what the white man said
bout the dirty little kid at his side
Daddy didnt like what the white man did
Nor the deal or the way that he lied
For three long days and three long nights
They wept and they mourned and then
She returned to her work and her weavin
And they tried to forget about cherokee bend
Now the boy wasnt big but he hunted what he could
And they lived for a time that way
But the food run low and the meat went bad
And she said to the boy one day
Im leaving tonight and I never will return
From the land of my spirit kin
You must take what you need and trade what you can
For a red mans grave down in cherokee bend
It wasnt very long till she closed her eyes
And he wrapped her in a robe
He found her a place on the side of the hill
And he buried her in the snow
Early in the spring he was seen in the town
With his load looking ragged and thin
Not a year had gone by till he stood once again
In the government store down in cherokee bend
He was ten years tall and a redskin too
So he hadnt much face to save
And the men sat around and they laughed and they clowned
At the talk of a criminals grave
Then the man from the east didnt smile when he said
Youre the son of that indian scum
If you value your hide then you better abide
By the white mans rules here in cherokee bend.
Daddy didnt like what the white man said
bout the dirty little kid at his side
Daddy didnt like what the white man did
Nor the deal or the way that he lied
And he spit on the floor of the government store
And it served him to no good end
At the close of the day they had taken him away
To the white mans school down at cherokee bend
Its been 21 years since the boy disappeared
Where he run to, nobody knows
But they say he fell in with a man named jim
And he rides in the rodeos
And they say he returns all alone to a place
Hidden deep in the kentucky glen
And its pretty well known who hauled up the stone
To the grave on the hill above cherokee bend
Daddy didnt like what the white man said
bout the dirty little kid at his side
Daddy didnt like what the white man did
Nor the deal or the way that he lied
There was blood on the floor of the government store
When the men took his daddy away
It was 1910 and they never had a friend
When he died by the rope down at cherokee bend
It was 1910 and they never had a friend
When he died by the rope down at cherokee bend
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our little hillock
When I was but a boy
not going to school yet,
my brother and I
climbed the rocks
of a green hillock
found our own little cavern
hidden behind some creeping green bushes
and the earth, blue sky,
the sun and rain
were our playmates
and with small catapults
we could let stones fly
like whizzing bullets
hitting anything that we found
and we were kings of that hill
sending baboons back on their way
and that farm was a boy’s dream,
and we were catching
yellow fish and carp from the stream
and at times we were just as wild
as our world
making lions leap yellow and wild
from our eyes
which roared thunder clapping in rage
when the neighbouring boys
ganged up on us
wanting to take our little hill
and stones would fly to and thro
missiles of clay whipped
from willow canes
and our little knoll would stay our own.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Listening Stones
Listening Stones.
These mossy stones put on top of each other…a wall.
green plants sprouts out of them like ears, do they hear
my whisper of compassion? Guarding small plots of
land no one tills anymore, where thieving sheep eat rare
flowers without a second thought.
One field is blood red of flowers that should end all wars.
They sell the plastic variety for you to put on your lapel
and show you remember the nameless soldier who fell
on a grimy battle field with an unanswered question on
his bloody lips.
Old stones once you were children of the highest peak
But the peak disappeared into sand, tired of it colossal
weight. Look at you now, guardians of hidden beauty, you
can stop nothing as rain grinds you into pebbles and
dumb sheep continue grazing on rare flowers.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Concrete Angel
(verse 1)
She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holdin' back
Wearin' the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with linen and lace
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born
Chorus
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
(verse 2)
Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the lights
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it'll be too late
(Chorus)
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
(verse 3)
A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot
(chorus)
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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