Wednesday, 16 November 2011

Quiet Life - Stone Story No. 3

Stone Story No. 3

quiet life

Stain of sunset, summer grass,
or clay banks in the cutting
between our house
and Falls Creek Road;

the track we called The Lane
with its thistle, broom,
gorse and long, wet grass
rotting in winter frosts.

There is too, a hint
of darkness,
of damage, of wine
or the beginning of rust,

as if this stone has skin
and breathes changes
that float like smoke
on its surface.

Then I see why it is the stone
to tell my story.
There, a short figure in a hat
and big, warm boots,

who stands in the mist
with her hands in her pockets
as if she does not believe
this is her life,

this thing as large
as a dragon that breathes
and burns in clouds of gold
such fire, such silence.

Kay McKenzie Cooke


Lydia said...

Oh, I have to print and save this post. It is a meditation in itself.

as if this stone has skin
and breathes changes
that float like smoke
on its surface.

Kay Cooke said...

Lydia - Thanks so much. I am really enjoying hearing what the stones are saying to me (if that doesn't sound too too weird!)

Arnab Majumdar said...

I could feel myself, floating out of the body of the short figure in a hat, turn around and look at her looking downwards at her warm boots.

Her hands are still buried in her pockets.

Arnab Majumdar

Kay Cooke said...

Arnab- Thank you!

Clocking Out

 I have been neglecting this blog for some months. I think perhaps I should face facts and accept that it is indeed time to retire this blog...