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Topaz Links - for chance at equus or diamond

Poetry is an art of words, the work of putting thought to pen or key. For me, poetry is special, a way to share my imagination.


For your viewing pleasure, a poem of mine:


Stones of all shapes fit together in a semblance of order.

Many have fallen to one side or the other, but they

still lay in a line. A line that once marked…

what? A farmer’s land, an orchard, a home?

Covered in vines and moss the old stone wall reaches back

into the dense forest just like it always has when I come

to sit here. My eyes travel along watching it curve and bend

as it travels beside the stream bed then up the small hill

to the old orchard. The apple trees stand evenly spaced,

their branches hang heavy in the autumn as if waiting

for a harvester to return. Now the birds fill this role.


How strange it is that I always return to this place,

this one little spot on the wall. How many times

have I sat here to read or write? To laugh or cry?

Here where the only sounds are the wind, the birds

and the stream. Here I have flown with dragons

and sailed the seas in clipper ships. Here I heard

of an aunt’s death, and a cousin’s birth.


Have you ever tried to count the stones

in a stone wall? They are uncountable. Piled high,

one on top of another they hide each other,

touch each other, affect each other. Each stone

in my wall is one of my memories,

memories fitted together in a semblance

of order that makes up… time… and me.