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The Turning Stone (the result of a challenge by a real poet, Kara Karll, Where the river bent to kiss the road A motion did I spy Upon the road I often walked From the corner of my eye I whirled round to confront The object then unknown And found there newly lain, to me An unfamiliar stone The shadows cast upon the face Of this lone rock a frown Curiosity compelled of me To kneel upon the ground At first with fingers did I probe Then only with my eyes At once, it turned, untouched, unbidden Much to my surprise It turned again, the other way The front became behind I saw no pattern yet I knew Here was an active mind The morning passed to no avail My effort to decode The hidden motive behind this stone's Turnings in the road Until a passing breeze did help And a raven upon a tree As the noonday sun encouraged us Together we found the key The stone, we learned, was moved to here From its place within the river And sought to be returned to there By any willing stranger To the place he perched with family At the bending of the stream To the exact spot he lay before With his brothers lined abeam Where he befriends the liquid currents That willfully toss the water And befriends the static-bonds of earth That keep the grains together Without him there the currents did Run loose among the dirt And tease the static-bonds who flee Downstream away from hurt To quell the boisterous, brutal taunts The earthen banks endure He spun his body in a plea Assistance to procure For though he could rotate about He could not roll away Without some help this was his fate Fast fixed to where he lay I peered within the liquid curve To the grainy riverbed For proof I sought there in support Of what the turning stone said A void I thought I saw beneath No rock where one should be For nearby rocks were lined abreast But none there did I see And so by evening's waning light I laid him at that place Where I surmised a stone had lain Where seemed the merest trace The splashing then became a gurgle The muddy water did clear I knew at once that I was right To think his home was here At that the breeze and raven left The sun slipped out of sight Leaving me with cooling dusk To speed my homeward flight When living draws me to that bend Where river kisses ground I'll stop and gaze, and every time The stone will turn around While the shadows form upon his face A smile, he'll slowly sway Once more he'll spell his thanks to me Then slowly turn away
Copyright 2003 by John A. Eyon |
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