Poems on the topic: rock

Poems on the topic “rock” on Poets.by.

ContemplativeDave Bonta

Moss gatherer

my legacy is a green rock one of the finest in the forest gentle as an ill face swelled with pain
ContemplativeDave Bonta

Time Lines

and the deer came on long legs between the trees and clashed antlers with a sound old and dry as the wind gnats danced as if summer had returned for one day only everything must go through a gray mist that may have been in my head i measured the mountain with my body pacing it out i walked among birches nothing but blank pages overtook milkweed giving birth to clouds
ContemplativeDave Bonta

pre-dawn creek

raccoon lifting a rock lowers the pitch
ContemplativeDave Bonta

The Hollow (24)

salamander under the lifted rock that frozen moment turtleheads self-consciously closing my mouth borer-killed woodpecker-stripped white ashes left behind the salamander’s tail goes on wriggling
ContemplativeDave Bonta

The Hollow (10)

birch roots turned stilts a hollow in the shape of a stump desire path deer cutting across this trench of a trail raised high in a claw of upturned roots an ordinary rock smooth sandstone the empty seas of the first great extinction
AngryDave Bonta

Piety

My ready rage, a creed I put on to see how it is: thin whip, rock and candle on the ground. Denied wonder, I suffer to maintain a lie.
ContemplativeDave Bonta

Rock oak

Rocks where an oak has sat for 200 years— a lizard flashes by.
AngryDave Bonta

Return

A rock raised up by the roots of a wind-thrown oak— nothing unusual, just a dark red chunk of bedrock gripped by a trio of roots with black cracked bark— I saw it had been washed clean by who knows how many storms & still held aloft, as if in some parting gesture toward the celestial
InspiredBalachandran V

A Traveler True.

A traveler never forgets The trees that gave him shade. A traveler never forgets The streams that quenched his thirst. The paths he trod The winds he rode The grass he slept The rocks he leant. To remember and to be grateful Is the way of the traveler true. And – The trees and streams, The paths and breeze The grass and rocks- They too, will remember him. As he passes-
ContemplativeMichael Heller

* * *

in the mountains just before the full moon sets another grey rock
ContemplativeRobert Frost

Plowmen

A plow, they say, to plow the snow. They cannot mean to plant it, though-- Unless in bitterness to mock At having cultivated rock.

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