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?
Related quotes
Conceit and Deceit
what i have in my hands
are only stones
if you search for more
pebbles
my mind can give you
but first
you must entice me
with a flower in your hand
for you to have stones
that soon will grow you
some leaves of sand
that soon shall show you
how pebbles can be flowers
too
what you have are only
flowers
a little bit lighter than
the twigs of their source
what i have in my hands
are pebble that give us weight
yes, weight is wisdom
and they are all stones
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cart, Carter and a Carte Blanche!
He collects pebbles into his dilapidated cart
The plastic red bucket perhaps from a junk yard it seems
And luckily no license needs for the unending road?
I asked him; 'Papa! Why all these pebbles? '
'Yes I understand and everybody asks the same question,
Certainly I pass this clue and do not bother please!
I make my own tomb with the help of these round stones
And this white blank paper which I have signed below
That's for my humble epitaph and I hope you finish it? '
Yes I do Papa! ; 'Some collect bare lands for future prospects
And some collect money for pleasure but very few
Those who collect friends and that's why I scribbled few lines hereto! '
(To Mr. Patrick Gabriel)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Most thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sands so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before;
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie to-day.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here to-day they shine;
And in my pre-pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines to-day,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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The Poems Flutter
Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.
Man in fact is a brimming river wide and deep,
Thousands of ditches hide secrets countless;
As pebbles, sand, stones dwell in the bottom,
Covered with the opaque oozy settling layers.
I bring out those pebbles, sand and stones,
To construct, erect the castle with thick walls,
Where nestle themselves poems mysterious,
And often flutter; flap there from one by one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Stones of Death
I gather the stones of death,
My options are few and a breath;
This I design with my hands
And the feet may be from badlands.
The stones I picked deceived me,
Their large amount was ivory;
I wanted a little pebble or parable
To consist of the wisdom not horrible.
The horror I concerned myself with
Was loved by demons and the gunsmith;
Shooting carried disorder like stones,
Pebbles called bullets fired at bones.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Life Is ~ The Stones Under My Feet
Life is the stones under my feet
All the places I've walked
All the places I haven't
They say something about who I am
The pebbles that I pick up to toss in the ocean
The boulders I've sat on
The skipping stones I throw across the lake
Gravel and sand
And cobblestone streets
Places with history
Places where history is about to be written
And what it has to say for my history
All those stones that I've crunched
Under my boots
Or sandals
Or sneakers
Or just my bare feet
Walking carefully
And there occasionally is a piece of glass
When I cut myself I bleed
But I heal in the end
Then I get up to walk on more stones
Because life is where you choose to walk
And where you don't
poem by Indigo Rosedragon
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The Secret Pond
you know the way to the secret pond of my heart
meet me there
and stay there for a while
do you not notice the wild grass growing there?
think of me as the unintended
think of me as the wanton beauty of the grass
that plans nothing to spread anywhere
think of me as a free vine
bringing soon a flower to you lips
do you notice the grey stones blunt and the pebbles black?
think of me as a certain hardness uncracked by the pain
of infidelities, think of me as pebbles that you through
after some sweet confidences after some utility
think of me as a stone that may kill a mocking bird
do you notice the stagnant waters there?
still, and quiet, and not flowing
it is what my love is all about, no noise, no words, no transfering
from one brook to another
do you notice my absence? be patient, wait for a while.
soon i may come but like a cloud above that secret pond
i may just be a drifter, a passer by, a vagabond, a wisp of air, a hush
a ghost, a phantom, an image, a shadow, a mirage.
yes, it will still be sad and lonely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Habitat-Visions of a fragile planet
Babbling brook bubbles over broken pebbles
Rippling round smooth stones
Wonderful waterfall winding through
Meandering lazily, not in a hurry
Scorched sand beneath burning sun
Heat waves rippling upwards
Reaching towards the dry dead heat
Rushing to drown all in drought
Green grass in fresh pasture
Waving in soft cool breeze
Cattle slowly munching through
Yellow flowers and small green clovers
White streaks of wonder
Taint the clear blue sky
Whips of cloud, invisible mist
Pictures formed, incomprehensible
Black carpet splattered with invasive dots
Sparkle consistently no matter what
These far away stars glisten and shine
Remember how small we are, humbling.
Huge expanse of aqua blue space
Millions of colours mingle into obscurity
Flashes of red, blue, green yellow
Decorate the huge blue mass
Wet, humid sticky, green
Insects buzzing, damp over whelming
the pure heat enough to dizzy oneself
Rainforest drums with snakes like vines.
poem by Fae LundConlon
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Savoring The Images Of An Early Morning Sunshine
needles of light
pricking your face like Chinese
acupuncture
blue and white butterfly-clouds
gray crab-stones
beetle-pebbles
showers of golden-dusts
emerald mountains
ruby-twilight
turquoise-blue-drea ms
diamond hopes
platinum-self.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Transposition
on the dry pavement
summer stones
and pebbles
and grass with dews
early morning light
pearls and diamonds and
yellow mantle crawling
spreading
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words Like Pebbles
Words like pebbles
Thrown down a pond
Will cause some ripples
That go around.
Words like pebbles
Never come back
They sink in people
That they attack.
Words can create
A thousand circles,
Pain resonates
As hurts unfurl.
Words released
Like pebbles drown;
The friendships cease
As they go down.
Hold your words
Hide your pebbles
You cannot afford
To cause the ripples.
The pond is calm
So be blessed
Be friendship's balm
Speak what is best.
'Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise
brings healing.'
Proverbs 12: 18
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Written May 11,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Along The River, The Stones And Pebbles
he fulfilled a promise
to be strong
alone with the rest of
his lonely surroundings
despite the
number
the storms
and drought
the devastation
of the quakes and
floods
no way
they cannot effect
him
them
along the river
they all lie
all faceless
stones
so many
pebbles
made by
God
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walk of Life
Grandpa! Your walking stick knows how many pebbles that you hit?
But the pebbles never hit you on your walkover.
*Some unsophisticated friends are like that.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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False Prophet?
You have humbled me-
Groveling for any stone
To throw;
Pebbles of yesteredays-
Paleolithic Era-
Sit silent-
In a copious-
Summer sun;
And you-
Drowning in such-
Circumstance...
The waters using you up-
Your energy dissolved-
In a mere flash-
One rip tide;
Gone in the glory-
And the deeps-
Unfathomnable-
Becomes the reality-
Of the still blue lagoon;
What a slap in the face-
From the tide...
It stung upon your-
Vanquished skin-
Shriveling from the water-
Logged tissue of your derma;
Down on your knees now-
In the glass house that-
You designed and built;
Flashes of a fresh view-
Of the sea and shore-
A Malibu moment resurrected;
Once accepted by you-
But unsatisfied- wanting more;
Away from the crags and rocky cliffs-
The pebbles-and the stones aside-
And onto the alibaster sands-
Where the heat comes rising from-
Your footprints-reminding even me-
That you were never immortal at all...
And Idoltry is not just a major sin but-
A delusion of the minds of those-
Who once believed in the magic of you.
Dedicated To: Sheltered aka: ...
poem by Theodora Onken
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Beach,4 P.m. Somewhere...
as i walk along the beach
this afternoon
i give in to the child in me
picking up stones,
amazed by its colors
and shapes
i begin to make stories out
of them...stones, smaller ones,
like a creature possessed by an
enigma,
there must be an underlying
truth to its
shape, it is, as it must
be telling me about
what happens to me
after this?
is this a hurting enigma?
am i mad at my attempt to give meaning
to one without meaning?
i am interpreting a pebble
the smallness of humility the silence
of the insignificant
the wars of the sands
the struggle of the waves of the sea
chasing each other
as to who reaches the thighs of
the shore first
a mad man is reading the shores
of the sea on
a very insignificant moment of the day
the stones are writing novels
on the hot skins of the shores
people who pass me by are sparing me
of saying anything
and they refuse to look at me and give
that look
of that feeling that i must have been
one kind of
a wasted man
a child looks at me with pity
and asks, what are you doing with the pebbles?
are they speaking to you?
i am awakened by this vastness
sometimes to be found, i must experience being lost myself
in the secret labyrinths of
thought
the child is looking for play,
i do not have it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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
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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Pebbles And Marbles
She started a blaze from one tiny spark
I didn't even detect
She loved the light, was dismayed by the dark
The stars, though, she seemed to respect
The faint light that flutters at night to the Earth
Would land in her eyes and collect
Luminous creatures she'd find in the surf
I never thought to inspect
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind
Seem to get lost and harder to find
When I am alone, I am inclined
If I find a pebble in the sand
To think that it fell from my hand
She gave me ideas, planted the seed
But she never stopped to reflect
The course that she's on, wherever it leads
I never would redirect
Pebbles and marbles, like words from a friend
Make us hold tight, but are lost in the end
When we're alone, we all seem to tend
If we find a marble in the dust
To wish someone left it for us
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind
Seem to get lost and harder to find
When I am alone, I am inclined
If I find a pebble in the sand
To wish that it fell from my hand
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind...
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Insignificant Pebble In My Hand
i am now into
useless things
like this pebble in my head
smooth, reddish, with some
gray veins
a paradox of youth
and senility
i hold it
i close my hands
and hide it from you
you who see nothing
significant about it
it is cold now and
it is keeping me warm
inside my mind
it has become so significant
and as
beautiful as ever
i shall dream about a castle
of pebbles
smooth, reddish, sun like.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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