Mableton Author Poetry

It is a sure bet that not many of my friends are aware that I once made a stab at writing poetry. Have also penned several short stories, a couple of which were published in the Lake Champlain Journal. What I am about to share with you was a poem that was published on the "Blueberry Hill" Poetry website, way back in 1989. Let me know what you think of it.
Ode To A Stone

Erupting from the bowels of the earth eons ago,
the monolith abides in the place it came to rest.
An impassive goliath, insensitive to life, status quo,
impervious to natures attacks and erosions test.

He is naked, grey, lifeless, forlorn,
and few find beauty in his massive face.
Still, life has sought to suborn
his countenance, and beauty doth embrace.

Tis a countenance washed by thousands of showers
then blown dry and sterilized by Sol's rays.
This stolid sentinel expressionless glowers,
standing watch o'er apocalyptic days.

He retains the appearance of strength and youth
though close examination of every side,
evinces stark evidence - convincing proof -
in venerableness he doth preside.

The greenish grey lichens of old age cling
to crevices lining his face,
giving a hoary quality to this aging king,
still only a prince in evolution's pace.

The mossy fungus adorning his shoulders
lend a cape of artistic quality to this fellow.
Truly, he is beauty compared to younger boulders
and this cape make his features mellow.

Microscopic examination of these features
reveal a most interesting perception,
a host of minute living creatures
dwell in the shadow of his protection.

They cavort neath his belly and crawl on his back,
and, if threatened by predators,
they seek refuge in a crack.

Though massive indeed and seeming obtuse
and barrier he may seem to be,
this boulder has yet another use,
indiscernible, yet plain to see.

He is a bulwark against soil erosion
who's appetite consumes nature's fertility.
At his backside flowers splay in profusion,
their eathen beds held in his security.

Tis true this magnificent obelisk
is only a compaction of minerals lacking lifeform,
yet, a minerologist might take the risk,
to seek hidden beauty within his form.

The grey of his granite face doth belie,
the sheen of silica hidden deep inside.
With imagination, I might even imply,
in his heart a diamond doth reside.

Whether it does is of no importance to me,
though it is nice to imagine it there;
he hath even greater significance you see,
but this is a secret I cannot share.

See if you can guess the secret?

Realizing I had no ability or future in writing poetry, I started penning short stories and then books. Although I frequently like to play a joke on folks using our bathroom by composing poetry on the roll of toilet tissue. As a T.T. (toilet tissue) poet I believe I excel...

I hope to start getting some feed back in the form of reader comments from everyone who reads my postings.

May you have joy in your life and share your joy with others.