The Tree Is Here, Still, In Pure Stone
The tree is here, still, in pure stone,
in deep evidence, in solid beauty,
layered, through a hundred million years.
Agate, cornelian, gemstone
transmuted the timber and sap
until damp corruptions
fissured the giant's trunk
fusing a parallel being:
the living leaves
unmade themselves
and when the pillar was overthrown
fire in the forest, blaze of the dust-cloud,
celestial ashes mantled it round,
until time, and the lava, created
this gift, of translucent stone.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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804 Aquamarine Birthstone Of March
Hexagonal - Aquamarine
Gemstone of purest rarest hue
The colour of the deep blue sea
Expresses your fidelity
The depth of love you have for me
Aquamarine birthstone of chance
The Roman gemstone of romance
Hexagonal - Aquamarine
Aquamarine sea-water stone
We find this very precious gem
In Madagasgar and Brazil
Sea-green sky-blue a diadem
Your lovliness adorned by them
It strengthens your cerebral zone
Enhancing body heart and soul
Aquamarine sea-water stone.
March month's birthstone - Aquamarine
Linked with Zodiac sigh of Pisces
Stone and sign linked to the ocean
The Greeks believed that all who wore..........
This gem would sail without comotion
Aquamarine - Aquamarine
The sweetest jewel that I have seen
March month's birthstone - Aquamarine.
Perfect gemstone for mine Angel
Hexagonal - Aquamarine
Aquamarine sea-water stone
March month's birthstone - Aquamarine
Aquamarine - birthstone month's March
Stone water sea - Aquamarine
Aquamarine - hexagonal
Angel mine for gemstone perfect.
Thsi poem is dedicated to The Angel of March.
(John Knight - Colourful Colchester - 26 January 2010)
poem by John Knight
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The temple of Tenkasi
Tuesday, September 14,2004
A gentle breeze blew over Tenkasi
Through a narrow mountain pass
Sprinkling fine stone dust all over
Innumerable were the chisel strokes
Stone after stone cried out in pain
A phallus-God had to come from afar
From the distant banks of death
The love-God wielding a sugarcane bow
Invited certain, fierce death by fire
The horrified wife froze in stone
A heap of yellow dust reached the skies.
A strong gust of wind blew from the hills
Spreading a dusty film over their oiled bodies
The celebration continued late into the night
When bewitching Beauty would marry Death
The horse-borne King faltered at the bilwa tree
Stopped abruptly by the Queen’s purple flow
The bilwa leaves had become dark green
All was ripe for love and ripe for death.
The artist who had reached the beauty’s end
Hid himself behind Time’s dusty haze.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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To Turn The Stone
The moon retreats behind a silver cloud
As darkness throws its cloak towards the earth
And mystery replaces what thought we knew
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
The one dimension only shows one side
But do we see the same through different eyes
As you and I peer into lifes kaleidoscope
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
Eternal sands of time shift endlessly
Behind a veil of motionless disguise
An eyelid flash is all it really seems to need
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stone That You Love
you are unique
for having loved a stone
how did the stone
entice you?
are you seduced by
its silence?
are you tempted by
its solitude?
you take the pain
poking the stone to
your heart
and you bleed
you rub the stone
in the skin of your body
hoping that someday
the stone may have
feelings and
love you
but this is all useless
the stone is a stone is a stone
and there is no love
in its blank stare
there is no softness in its
belly
i ponder upon this
and come to think of it
you and the stone
are the same
on this hardheadedness
this futility
this numbness
this suffering without end
the stone can never give
a part of its cracks
it will never part with its
dust
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Purity
In the dark tabernacle,
a shaft of sunlight
illumines the heart
and shines through
a million years of dust.
Clouds and clouds of swirling
dust
spiralling
through the light
which spills in a golden pool
on damp, grey stone and iron rust.
When the light moves
it does not take the dust there to it.
When the dust slides into darkness,
the light does not pursue it.
Why then does the heart invent
heart bruising burdens to shoulder?
(Why does the heart consent
to the illusion of growing older?)
poem by Brian Taylor
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Stronger
See my scars,
See my wounds,
All over the place
Far from perfect;
...Just like everyone.
Cracks and wrinkles
Run all over
Like the trunk of a tree;
Like any tree in any forest,
Battered by rain and wind.
Baby days long lost
Cheated away by the world;
The frost who kills and steals
From every tree and every forest,
But my roots run deep,
Deep in my father's womb
And my leaves are not blind
Fed by the Sun above...
I shall live.
Day, or night,
Stronger with every storm-
Like how it has always been.
Wilson Khor W.H. @ Seymour Nightweaver
poem by Wilson Khor Woo Han
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A winner doesn’t walk over cloud
Mile stone
Pebble stone
Tricky stone
Stone wall
A winner doesn’t walk from the sky
Rolling stone
Stepping stone
Slipping stone
Grinding stone
A winner doesn’t walk over cloud
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Summit Redwood
Only stand high a long enough time your lightning
will come; that is what blunts the peaks of
redwoods;
But this old tower of life on the hilltop has taken
it more than twice a century, this knows in
every
Cell the salty and the burning taste, the shudder
and the voice.
The fire from heaven; it has
felt the earth's too
Roaring up hill in autumn, thorned oak-leaves tossing
their bright ruin to the bitter laurel-leaves,
and all
Its under-forest has died and died, and lives to be
burnt; the redwood has lived. Though the fire
entered,
It cored the trunk while the sapwood increased. The
trunk is a tower, the bole of the trunk is a
black cavern,
The mast of the trunk with its green boughs the
mountain stars are strained through
Is like the helmet-spike on the highest head of an
army; black on lit blue or hidden in cloud
It is like the hill's finger in heaven. And when the
cloud hides it, though in barren summer, the
boughs
Make their own rain.
Old Escobar had a cunning trick
when he stole beef. He and his grandsons
Would drive the cow up here to a starlight death and
hoist the carcass into the tree's hollow,
Then let them search his cabin he could smile for
pleasure, to think of his meat hanging secure
Exalted over the earth and the ocean, a theft like a
star, secret against the supreme sky.
Submitted by Holt
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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355
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Rise From The Ashes To Become A Star
i see you rise from the ashes
to become a star
up there in the skies
you glitter
in the deep black night
you are glorious in your light
the distance between us
this separation
stone am i in this garden
star you are to the heavens
there is only silence
and up there you do not see me
you do not even remember perhaps
the significance of any stone
or dust
you were once just a dust
on a leaf
you once were but a patch of me
oh, i watch you tonight
oh, you glorious star in the heavens
you have been given a place with the gods and goddesses
but in a sense
i do not envy you
in truth i may have missed you
and i may have followed you
the ways and means that i have taught you
how to be a star how to be a shining glory
but i didn't
i like it here
i love it here in this little garden of earth
where i am but a stone
for these little ants where they are building a home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Liturgy is like a strong tree whose beauty is derived from the continuous renewal of its leaves, but whose strength comes from the old trunk, with solid roots in the ground.
quote by Pope Paul VI
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life And Death On The Stone In The Pond
on that rainy month
a stone was so kind
enough
to let the green moss
wrap its
solid body
there was
mutual bliss in
their
company
then the drought
comes in months
the river where the stone
lives
dried and
mud turned to
cracked
surfaces
the moss knows
that this happens
every year
dies peacefully
around the solid body
of the stone
like sleep waiting
for the next rain
the stone is
undisturbed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Constipated Conscious
Pranab k c
23/09/2011
talent makes you different
but common you in flesh
when touch I the switch
just above your chin
fire shows me the song
last I got from obscene
when talent dominates the flesh
desert flashes with sandy storming
when flesh dominates the talent
it gets another passage of streaming
since you is one as one is me
come on touch the soil
where stone and dust
peacefully coexisting
stone become dust
and dust becomes stone
need quakes fit high
with deep drifting
talent needs flesh to play with string
and flesh blows fire to ignite playing
nothing common is the game
nothing singular is the passion
it is law we are standing
what gravitation plays unseen
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Steppin' Stone
(i'm not your) steppin' stone
By tommy boyce and bobby hart
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
You're trying to make your mark in society
Your using all the tricks that you used on me.
You're reading all them high fashion magazines
The clothes you're wearin' girl are causing public scenes.
I said
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.
When i first met you girl you didn't have no shoes
Now you're walking 'round like you're front page news.
You've been awful careful 'bout the friends you choose
But you won't find my name in your book of who's who.
I said
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
You're trying to make your mark in society
Using all the tricks that you used on me.
You're reading all those high fashion magazines
The clothes you're wearin' girl are causing public scenes.
I said
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.
When I first met you girl you didn't have no shoes
Now you're walking 'round like you're front page news.
You've been awful careful 'bout the friends you choose
But you won't find my name in your book of Who's Who.
I said
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Forest Of Fire
We are in the land, with the same sand.
We breathe the same air, with our lungs.
The war broke in east, it is not far.
They have built wall and constructed bar.
Killing and bleeding the assassins they hire.
Turning into ashes, its forest of fire.
War in this life, miserable and chaotic time.
Reason of power, they bleed over the lime.
House of tent, Canopy of bombs and bloods.
Many have been killed, still it flood.
Burning flames are into our desire.
Turning into ashes, its forest of fire.
Beauty and ugly or Black and white.
Its natural, we share same light.
Trembled in fear, we here thy babel.
Wretched in war, makes us all nibble.
Running away far, we climbed more higher.
Turning into ashes, its forest of fire.
poem by Diplove gautam
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Every peak crumbles
Four hundred million years ago,
Three hundred million years ago,
Two hundred million years ago,
And seventy million years ago,
The world had witnessed
In succession,
Major calamities of the major species,
The Dinosaur being the last victim.
Next, in midway, are we, the Homo sapiens?
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Looking For That Blackstone
the black stone is not significant
there is nothing in it that makes you be amazed
it is round and not as shiny as your gem
the diamond that glitters in your hand
the black stone when put beside
become nothing,
but it is my black stone
my silence lives there
my rage is kept there
even my love is there
how can you understand
what i am when the black stone
my essence you do not mind
it is round like the truth
it is hard and harsh like all realities
it is silent like the night
it buries itself somewhere
that place where you have never been to
it is a mere black stone
it is mine alone
i am that
black stone, but you never want to remember
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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