Tuesday, March 12, 2013

The white stone

Walk on a rocky beach
seek a single stone
a white stone worn
smooth and buffed
by large hands using
the sea to sand and
grind, and shape and
contour, flatten.
The stone bears a name,
my name, the name
I do not know.

This poem is submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems submitted, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph by Sue Rawlings via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Maureen said...

Really like the image of "large hands using / the sea".

Natasha Head said...

Puts me in mind of the eternal. Centuries of histories...hands...the constant smoothing and moving of the sand... love stones...especially beach rocks...my imagination tends to run away with all their untold histories.

Brian Miller said...

we are all stones being worked by that water and those hands arent we...into something...with a name we dont even know yet...smiles...nice write sir...

turtlememoir said...

beautifully thought and written - someday we'll know that name...

Patricia said...

I love all of this... thanks Glynn. So beautiful.

diana said...

Love this. Love it. Thank you.

aka_andrea said...

finding yourself when you are not even looking...you never know when the lessons come.

Sabio Lantz said...

Hmmmmm, interesting!
"the name I do not know"
I will look at polished stone in a different way now.
unnaming ourselves is a wonderful practice.