The Stack of Stones
The stack of flat stones
was piled much higher once.
It formed a rough stairway
all the way to heaven,
till someone took it down
to pave their patio.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
  Photo Opportunity I watched the man crossing the path underneath the cascade of the waterfall. It had been part of the route wine was carried from the high lands, to be sold on the coast. Back in the old days, that was. But the old days weren’t very long ago. He seemed confident as he placed a foot carefully in each of the footholds hacked into the precipitous rock face. He gripped the thick metal hawser attached to the rock with strong metal rings. Gripped it firmly and proceeded slowly one step at a time. I had a camera and I thought that it was a picture he would like to have when he was dry and safe back on terra firma. Then I thought, suppose he falls, falls into the waves, to be smashed against the rocks far below. I didn’t want to have such a picture, a picture of someone’s last moments and I thought, to take it may jinx his journey and even cause him to fall. So I never took the picture. But it made no difference. The man fell anyway. https://coldrambler.blogspot.com/2024...
Read more
Image
  Frog She looked into the pond where the frog, sitting on a lily pad looked back at her alert   its eyes meeting hers. She remembered the story about a frog, how it became a prince when kissed. She thought of the sleeping beauty and how she awoke to the kiss of a prince. So, it seemed that kisses and princes must have some connection. The frog was very still. She thought it may be   still enough to kiss but she couldn’t quite reach though she tried and tried and tried while the frog stayed there still waiting.   And then it spoke. “I’m no prince,” it said. “But I’ll come closer, I’d still like a kiss.” https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/
Read more
Image
    Sparked He looked down at her. Eyes deliberately  downcast. lips not expecting to be met. So it was a surprise when she kissed him. His eyebrows twitched with the charge, There was a spark. The spark. The spark that lay in a devil’s kiss. The spark that would ignite the fire which would consume him. https://feversofthemind.com/2025/03/29/poetry-from-lynn-white-inspired-by-jim-morrison-the-doors/?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR0KVeP19MJQvZ64h7xtahP_ehn5Npfm5DjXs_3a_NZZWqgZTOcKLMc9tgU_aem_jWgRGPvyEI6kPAKPdabzcg
Read more