Simple Stone

April 29, 2009 at 12:58 am (Poetry)



A ruby of medium red
where some long ago dragon bled.
Imagine the fight:
The dragon slung his head
and there,
each precious drop from him,
became jewelry; a blood red gem.
Or an oval of medium blue:
a sapphire, from a witch’s brew.
She stole a piece of the sky
leaving a hole that we decry.
Like water solidified into stone, a diamond
A crystal boldly imagined itself beyond ice:
 a wonder, a pebble, a promise,
        A simple symbol,
 a woman’s bright future on a young girl’s hand.
Of them all, my love, an oval of opal,
Disneyland in a ring. A lovely fairytale in solidified glitter:
     “Once upon a time, this rock was shed in fairy dust
when bees hummed bass as fairies sang until the magic gummed together
into a stone, the song saved for all time, now worn on someone’s hand.
When we invent the iPod to play these rock songs
there will no longer be wars, no longer be hunger or sadness.
gemstones are magic, you see.”
Like granite
Buildings that last forever.
Where philosophers or senators raised their hands,
hard to imagine these buildings still stand…
      “Friends, Romans, Countrymen…” their sandals upon stone.
The words somehow forever recorded there, perhaps,
If we could find the needle intricate enough to make these stones speak.
A rock, a simple thing,
but yet a playground for silly minds
who would make up stories,
with and without rhymes,
or spend fortunes to decorate
their hands and necks
with stones of blue, of green, or of fairy specks.


© 2009 C. Harter Amos

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Tumbling into Oblivion (for Gayle)

April 18, 2009 at 1:04 am (Poetry, RefleXions)


In the thickness of fog she had no beginning or end,
     only a humbled bubble, she twirled,
 round and soft.
      At the edges of her vision,
           a ghost; dismal and dull.
Then came the jingling of a bell:
        an angel, she thought, warning of hell.
Curiosity overcame her fear
as she stood up to peer into solid grayness toward the sound
where suddenly in front of her a hound bent on some cause,
self-sent or spirit-led,
stopped for one moment to raise his head
                as if he understood the trip she travelled on.
     With tags jingling, he left, heading toward silent oblivion,
                everything, again full of emptiness,
                               she was gone, dear sister-friend, tumbling into nothingness.


© 2009 C. Harter Amos


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My Blood Reaches

April 8, 2009 at 7:44 pm (Poetry)

Red Blood Cells


My blood reaches
           for the warmth of Spring.
The smell of green onions
           beneath a willow dancing in the breeze
The coolness of freshly turned earth
The sensual party of turning soil over seeds
            Sowing, to reap
My blood reaches
            Toward the sun
My skin, a million zillion happy cells
    soaking up the warmth
          that feels like life
                health, happiness
          directly from some Universal center.
I will ride the black horse into the edge of the sea
Letting my feet dangle, relaxed.
And beneath the roar of wind and salt water
Is the beat of my heart in rhythm with the moving sand.
My blood reaches until it is pink beneath my skin,
My face flushed.
Myth and Mare and Me.
Today I’m allowed to write me with a capital “M”.
It’s spring and we all expand.
We feel the burning, stirring desire to “do”, to move,
        to touch the face of the sun in Spring.


© 2009 C. Harter Amos

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