The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
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Sunday, 18 December 2011
Submitted to dVersePoets Poetics : Out the sketc boook
Trembly as rocker arms
were the formerly rock solid rock dwellers,
the Rockabillies of Rockall, when
their rock-bound, rock-hewn homes
took off, rocketing skywards,
past a small boy fishing for rock salmon.
Fuelled by their heavy rock oil deposits,
their rock caves and rococo palaces,
together with the rocks containing them,
had suddenly grown lighter than air.
With their own heads lighter than Brighton rock,
they leaped now from their rocking chairs
and rocked 'n' rolled
to avoid hitting rock bottom.
Out, round their rock gardens they rolled,
out among the rock plants and rock tripe,
(not to mention the rock roses),
joined by a few rock rabbits
and even the odd rock-borer,
together with flights of rock pigeons.
They well knew that it wasn't rocket science
or even rock mechanics
that would rocket them back to earth,
for in the stables the rocking horses
that would tow them back rock-by-rock
(with the help of a few rock lobsters)
were already champing in their rock shafts
when for good omen a roc flew by.