The Gifts Of Medusa...
we may think that those she turned
to stone
hate her, but how do we know?
we haven't hears yet
any stone talking?
sometimes i wonder
stones are happier for whatever happened
i need to know those stories before
the turning
for sometimes i think
that Medusa is a gift, there are those
who, in reality, have become stones
but never really come out
in the open.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Gift Of Medusa (clerical Correction As Requested By Candice Salazar, , , Thanks)
we may think that those she turned
to stone
hate her, but how do we know?
we haven't heard yet
any stone talking?
sometimes i wonder
stones are happier for whatever happened
i need to know those stories before
the turning
for sometimes i think
that Medusa is a gift, there are those
who, in reality, have become stones
but never really come out
in the open.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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Stone Exchange
She knocked and entered
I have a gift for you
What he said
You can't do
In her hand was
A stone
Was she going to throw it
Who knows
She was so unpredictable
With that she smiled
And said this is it
A stone
A simple stone
Purple brown and grey
She placed it on the table
I took it out of my heart
Our hearts
For us
And every morning since
They exchanged stones
From their hearts
Soon they had
A little pile
Of freedom
poem by Harriet James
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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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Turn To Stone
The city streets are empty now the lights dont shine no more
And so the songs are way down low turning turning turning
A sound that flows into my mind the echoes of the daylight
Of everything that is alive in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
The dying embers of the night a fire that slowly fades till dawn
Still glow upon the wall so bright burning burning burning
The tired streets that hide away from here to everywhere they go
Roll past my door into the day in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Yes, Im turnin to stone cos you aint comin home.
Why you aint comin home if Im turnin to stone?
Youve been gone for so long and I cant carry on,
Yes, Im turnin, Im turnin, Im turnin to stone.
The dancing shadows on the wall the two-step in the hall
Are all I see since youve been gone turning turning turning
Through all I sit here and I wait I turn to stone I turn to stone
You will return again some day to my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Stone and Peacock
Lend me a stone
I'll lend you a peacock
What you see in the picture, In reality you'll not
When our reality be in those pictures? ?
Look into the face of the sun
Seven colors seems flying, like a peacock
I once asked the sun
Seven horses drawn, Chariot of your, where to heading? ?
'Into the battle', replied the sun
In the battle, don't grief of what you lost
Look deep into the faceof the sun
Those stones were shaping swords sharp and shiny
Sun did borrowed it from my great grand father
Today I'm out into the battle ground
Its time now, I need that sword back
Look very deep into the face of the sun
Those stones were shaping my Great Grandfather's swords sharp and shiny
You lend me that stone
And
I'll lend you a seven colored peacock………
poem by D'menz Veen
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The Wishing Well
With my back turned
I hurl stone after stone
Into the wishing well
Disturbing the frog's sleep
In its libidinous dreams.
My moon had fallen into the well
My pail could not bring it up
I continue to dropp stones
Someday the water will rise enough
To bring up my beautiful moon.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Stone Dead Forever
(originally recorded by motorhead)
Get on!
You think you see me, in the glass
You think you hear me, better listen fast
I think I see you, gone to seed
Think your reason, is your guilt and greed
Youre out there on your own
Your face is turned to stone
What ever happened to your life?
Stone dead forever
All right!
Youre a financial wizard, yeah, a top tycoon
Youre a sweet long lizard, with a silver spoon
You know youve never had it, quite so good
And you didnt know, that you even could
Your time has come to own
Your touch turned to gold
What ever happened to your life?
Stone dead forever
All right!
Its been a long time, its been a long long wait
And you caught your fingers, in the pearly gates
You better leave your number, and well call you
You know your problem, aint exactly new
Your time has come today
Your face has turned to hay
What ever happened to your life?
Stone dead forever
Thats right!
Yo!
[aaah...]
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem (‘It Doesn’t Look Like A Finger...’)
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather of broken glass
It doesn’t look like something to eat it looks like something eaten
It doesn’t look like an empty chair it looks like an old woman
searching in a heap of stones
It doesn’t look like a heap of stones it looks like an estuary where
the drifting filth is swept to and fro on the tide
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather with broken teeth
The spaces between the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a revolver it looks like a convolvulus
It doesn’t look like a living convolvulus it looks like a dead one
KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY FRIENDS USE THEM ON
YOUR BITCHES OR
YOURSELVES BUT KEEP THEM OFF MY FRIENDS
The faces between the stones are made of bone
It doesn’t look like an eye it looks like a bowl of rotten fruit
It doesn’t look like my mother in the garden it looks like my father
when he came up from the sea covered in shells and tangle
It doesn’t look like a feather it looks like a finger with broken wings
It doesn’t look like the old woman’s mouth it looks like a handful
of broken feathers or a revolver buried in cinders
The faces beneath the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a broken cup it looks like a cut lip
It doesn’t look like yours it looks like mine
BUT IT IS YOURS NOW
SOON IT WILL LOOK LIKE YOURS
AND ANYTHING YOU SEE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU
London Bulletin, No. 2 (May 1938), 7.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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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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Stones
unless you use a hammer
a stone is a stone
with its steadfast character
cold, shapely and colourful
a consciousness
linked it to the centre to my heart
we are one
if there are enough men
who have more characters
than these stones!
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Hard As Stone
the setback with
this racial thing
is too many men try
to have a hand in it
and most try to get
the upper hand
it always feels nice
to be at the side
that makes you feel
good though not
necessarily right
a stone can be used
for so many metaphors
like a character solid
as a stone or
a head cold and
unfeeling as a stone
many choose to be the latter
if we have more men with
characters hard and beautiful
as stones, diamonds, rubies
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Sight Too Sad
I walked the cemetary grounds and saw
the names engraved on stones.
I knew underneath the dark green grass
lay old and brittle bones.
How they died it did not say
just that they had gone away
on a certain date, now long forgot.
All of the stones a sorry lot.
Few had flowers. Most had naught.
Some were planted anew.
But most were desolate on the ground.
Their visitations all were through.
Who were these brave souls that had lived?
I would never know.
I walked the stones that lay in rows,
pacing to and fro.
I came upon a stone so sad
turned upon its side.
I picked it up and righted it,
looked and then I cried.
It belonged to a baby that died too soon
and never got to see
a smile on my face when she was born
when she was taken from me.
Cemetary grounds are repositories
and never do they tell
where the ones that are buried there
now reside and dwell.
So, I now don't venture to these grounds.
They make me feel too low.
Would it not be better to cremate the bodies
and let their ashes blow?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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Its A Miracle
It must have happened sometime in the night,
No one saw the stone be rolled away.
When the grave saw morning light,
The skeptics and friends all had to say,
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle happened today.
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
My soul is like a tomb in constant night;
Till one day the stone was rolled away.
Then my heart saw morning light,
And no one alive can explain it away.
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle happened today.
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
Now, now wont you see,
What Im trying to say?
If you believe, it could happen today!
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle,
Its a miracle happened today.
Its a miracle,
What a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
Its a miracle,
What a miracle,
Its a miracle happened today.
Its a miracle,
What a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
(its a miracle,) you know its really a miracle,
A miracle, a miracle,
(its a miracle,) you know its really a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
(its a miracle,) you know its really a miracle,
A miracle, a miracle,
(its a miracle,) you know its really a miracle,
He took the stone, and he rolled it away.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lake, The Fountain
by the lake so still so calm
sky-blue cloud-white
more sky than water this autumn day
the air so still above
there a tree leans over the water
as if in thanks
and here a gathering of stones
awaits the offhand lapping of the wavelets
bringing out the many colours of the stones
that remember mountains edging the horizon
with light and shadow through the day
over there a fountain plashes over worn carved stone
fed by a mountain waterfall wild fountain tamed
throwing up a million new-mined diamonds
droplets sparkling like a chandelier
the sun catches turning air and water
into unceasing dance of somehow joy
the still lake the dancing fountain
telling with water two stories
stillness in joy
joy in stillness
as two white-robed nuns who whisper laughing
laughing whisper
in the cool of the evening
beside the fountain
before prayer
and holy silence
poem by Michael Shepherd
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People In The Valley
Written by dewey bunnell, 1975
Found on hearts.
Some came down to hang out by the river
Others were waiting to find the night
We stood long just waiting for the picture
Looking at people to see what was right
Soon came the people
From over in the valley
Hundreds of them walking
Towards us in the rain
Then we turned around
And hid out in the alley
Met along the stones
Down tomorrow day lane
Take away the road and no one will remember
How many journeys we hedged in the stone
Friends around will take away the wonder
Sharing a moment of being alone
Soon came the people
From over in the valley
Hundreds of them walking
Towards us in the rain
And we turned around
And hid out in the alley
Met along the stones
Down tomorrow day lane
Ba ba ba ba ba ba ...
Ba da da da da da ba, ba da da da da da ba ba ba ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Alone
She died in a house
Empty and alone.
They found her there
As cold as a stone.
A stone knows its place.
It stays on the ground.
But it's never alone.
Other stones are around.
But a woman alone
Who simply dies
Is out of place
'Cause no one cries.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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