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elysabeth faslund

Rookie (11/23/49 / Thibodaux. Louisiana)

Rocks in the Stream


Bright water, sun water, sluicing round
Grey rock...
Grey mists, gay mists, bouncing back
As rain on
Grey rock...
Is the rock etched...
Does it celebrate wind, waves,
Glad to be grounded
To the Earth...
Is it of the Earth...or,
Merely effected by
The air it lost the ability to breathe...

As once rocks, inner occupants, breathed
Little waves, little mists...
Crawled paths on ocean floors...
Displacing mud to fossil...
In...out. In...out...breathe...
Hearing, feeling, summons, 'Come here
To regret land...come here.'

Grey rock, smothered...contrived...
Were you the first deceived...
First owner of the Great Lie?
First mocked.
First murdered.
First resurrected to
Death?

Submitted: Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Edited: Friday, April 29, 2011

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  • Rookie - 0 Points Gregory Collins (12/16/2007 8:23:00 AM)

    pointing to the sound of the rocks in the river, i think rimbaud got me to listen, nice piece elysabeth, as always i leave you thinking (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 29 Points Robert Howard (12/13/2007 9:13:00 AM)

    I love the language in this poem. Its syncopated rhythm and assonance strengthen the tough realities at the central core of the poem. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 62 Points Theodora Onken (12/11/2007 11:44:00 PM)

    Do believe that Ms. Elysabeth could make anything work, shes that brillant!
    Best wishes, Elysabeth,
    Theo (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Tom J. Mariani (12/11/2007 9:03:00 PM)

    Talking to a rock? Your poem makes it work. More than work. I too would like to interview these 'inner occupants.' You have already done it for me and raised questions for the reader to ponder. Thank you.
    Tom (Report) Reply

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