Fluid yellow tinted strokes

Color sunbeams on time

They fade into a distance

As a rotating globe defines


There and then I sat

Looking into the skies

Lost in the painful memory of it all

Where do I begin?


Memories skip their stones

Over shallow muddy waters

Once an ocean full of life, now

Consumed by moral squatters


Is this life??

Where exactly do I belong??

Does anyone out there care about me?

Does anyone care to reach out for me?


The birds echoed their response

And the crickets sang a cadence

The whistling breeze responded

As did the whispering trees


I didn’t have anyone

But the singing birds,

The singing crickets

The whistling breeze

The whispering trees


All made me feel

Fully accompanied

Full of life


9 thoughts on “SKIPPING STONES

  1. Like skipping stones in Spring, waiting for summer to begin. A world creaking in sounds, but who is listening now. So come walk with me, to the far reaches beyond seas. Where we share a world often not seen, full of people that live life so keen. Out beyond the scratches of city spaces, on a trek between the fields to further places. To a world sung in song, through the music we belong. Our feet amongst the moist laden dirt, to an inland sea of sand earth. People out of reach, beyond the city scratches…. Kind of felt like writing the above after reading, just a short run beneath the Spring Sky so blue.


  2. Now really like this poem. It talks of me, you see the trees always whisper to me, show me faces with their leaves. I would like to know where inside me head when this was written…


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