Tom's Cube

Vitality springing from their heads like greek gods

The team of various parts decend on the small space

Scurrying here and there, taping, cutting, teasing

So often operating in their spaces of self tonight they merge

Into a singular organism with a view on a common goal

Taking bits of each, mixing it and producing the next generation

Rising from the chaos, the tatered pieces, the perfect joke

Swimming hole

She steps slowly into the cold water
Excitement erupting from every pore
Through shivering teeth
behind blue lips she exclaims
I'm not cold, I want to swim more

Thunderhead

Clear hot sky with only a small cloud way across the valley
Temperature falls, air rushing with an edge as the cloud rises
A misty wall appears then approaches, sweeping the lake's surface
Flashes of light, tree shattering cracks and ice falls ever nearer
Rainbow fish now biting and getting bigger, no need to move just yet

Job Interview

He's sitting there, waiting, wiating for the future
New tatoo's ornate his forearms though his roof is gray
Confident patter quickly changes to nervous utterance
As problems of math and technology stare him in the eye
Now he sits pondering the past while we determine his future

Arch Nemesis

In the choicest place of the yard the earth erupts

Pushed during the night by the little mole, again

Never see him but it's clear where he's been

In a war of attrition the victor is seldom the biggest

Honey Bees

The mock orange tree by the window is in full bloom,
dark green leaves behind large grape-clusters of white flowers
Bees work everyone they touch, feelers feeling along the path
Their long tounges rapidly enter the fragrant fleshy folds
Often tumbling with the tiny nectar cups as they pull loose
Though not falling too far before grabbing onto the next meal
The ground is covered with a multitude of browning spent petals
 

Early Morning

The unseen killdeer is softly chirping just overhead
The air is cool and crisp yet moist like a fresh chilled apple
The velvet black sky gives way to a continuum of blues on the horizon
The mossy turf gives easily, all is very still, very quiet

End of Days

With the backlight of a mist-draped egg-yolk sun
the dark blue hills move closer each minute of the Light's retreat
Purple and red rise- painting the underbelly of each cloud layer
Half circle diminishes at a constant pace, igniting a fantastic evening glow

Nightshade

Dark hands drag past the numeric elements of time
Silently the face smirks with the hours of inactions
Sleek gray cabinets and overhead compartments
Stand and hang around the carpeted cubicle walls
Formica pattern-dots of differing blues and silver merge
Reflections from flourescent and cathode tubes fall short
Quietly failing to draw the gray matter to consiousness

Red Bird

Litlle red bird on the edge of the feeder
You appear as a type of finch in shape and size
Oh I wish I could remember your name
But alas it has flown from my mind
as fast your friends from that orange tabby

Peer Group

Six of us sitting around the graveyard lunch table
Sharing a meal with "foodies" and barbarians
The lights are low in the wee hours of night
Each a history, a song, joke or insight
Each a chapter in a new story

Requiem

Sitting on the pews waiting for the review

Gray hair, glasses, canes and hearing aids

A great man has lived and now passed

A young man with spiked orange hair sings

strumming his instrument carefully, prayerfully

The old man would have enjoyed it 

Bark Dust

Thin ruddy splinters in immeasurable number
Smells fresh, aromatic, sweet, earthy and woody
Flies easily in a light breeze as the loader loads it
Filling my nose, eyes and covering the truck lightly
Much of it hot to the touch, steaming even smoking

Chubby Green Worm

Smooth elastic skin stretched over its soft bulbous frame
Segmented like a long balloon tied with several strings
Front and back look much alike but for very small features
In undulations of black legs and rising powder-mint green
The little dirigible slowly drifts its way across the grass

Luke

One shoe on and one shoe off, pocket of rocks 
Music from TV commercial or cell phone ring
He bounces his feet, taps them, turns in circles
Only a handfull of teeth make up his wide grin
Clapping, turning, tapping, bouncing, grinning
Not 2 feet tall, not 2 years old, not a problem

A New Project

Starting in earnest to write a stone each day in July. Below are July 1-3's installments (had some computer issues). Thank you Fiona for ths opprotunity to do this again.

Four Men at Table

Four men gather at the table in the diner
One orders oats and toast with a few raisins
A cup of hot water to wash it down
Man Two  has a small dish of non-descript fruit
He also has toast and a cup of hot water with lemon
Three and four both had the special with links and bacon
Three had Four's sausage and Four got Three's bacon
Three drank dark coffee dark, no creamer no sugar
Four drank several glasses of ice water including Two's

Strawberries After the Rain

Next to the garden a line of stones defines a little patch of strawberries
Vines extending out to fill the space and then some, new plants everywhere
Small red fruit hangs just out of site beneath the dark green leaves
Little pill bugs and smaller slugs take refuge in the ripest and lowest ones
Behind them the raspberries stand erect against the house, spreading as well
Only small white flowers at their ends along with delayed green promises

Blue Jay

Sky blue blending to white
A dark feather resemling an eylash above his eye
Larger than the robins and starlings that he easily chases off
He eats his fill of the seeds laid out and scatters the rest
An orange tabby lays nearby in the sun, unmoved

Turtle and Koi

Next to the backyard pond, a new deck,
wide boards of eastern oregon yellow pine
smooth and clear, nothing wiggles or creaks
The owner remarks of the number of screws
Next he speaks of the future and impending decay
Meanwhile the water continues to fall over the rocks
Manatee sized koi drink the oxgen rich solution
and the turtles sit still, just soaking it in, just being

Living Room

A white vaulted ceiling above irregular walls splashed with yellow
Leather and dark wood furniture meter the spaces between all
Around the room the relations sit, eat, drink, absorbing the air
Two small children climb, dance, shriek and observe good theater

Little Vine

On the quiet trail in the woods by the lake below the mountain
Around the branch of a young madrona sappling by the old maple
The soft pretty vine displays a simple orange flower of five bells
Leaves of variant pastel greens lined in pairs like eucalyptus
Extending roots along its winding path, barely touching but not

Darkness

Somewhere between white, yellow and pink the street lights glow and reach out in nearly touching circles 
Few sounds rise from the ink, a ways off a light muffled gong notes the early hour while wet powerlines sing
Some kites or swallows or other dark bird chirps and swoops just overhead, just outside the visible space
A brake light glows at the extreme corner of view then pales then fades completely, consumed in dark peace

Quiet Place

The room is dark, sound not penetrating through the molasses
A small flick of a switch and the walls explode with texture and form
Yet silence still hangs in the air, just below the reach of the fluorescent tubes
Pages of an ancient book turn slowly, bringing a grand symphony to the inner ear

A Small Stone

A  round stone sits still on the waters edge
Unmoving it changes with the falling sun
Shiny gray as the rain drops coat its surface
Fire bright orange as Helios flames on the horizon
Turning dark as peepers sing to the rising stars

Pile of Sticks

A knee high pile of sticks from the plum tree rests against the shed
Rain falls from the overhang, lands soflty and runs down the stack
Bright dark-pink petals spring from cuts and  little twigs throughout 

Fat Quail

Eight feathered creatures scury across the near-desert floor
Colors brighter than expected and overweight for this time of year
Picking at seeds and insects, moving fast at every sound
The big one stands high on rock or stump, watching for coyotes or little boys

Night owl

A ghostly presence flies up from the drive
Feather's fluffed and reflective in the headlamp
Narrowly missing the tempered glass
It glides above the factory lot
Circling against a dark sky

Desktop

School bus colored pencil with broken lead and a nub of eraser
Sits upon an octagonal face alongside a half dry finepoint pen
Smoke-gray tape dispenser with most of a roll lies on its side
Snapshots of my three, their spouses and grandchildren
Pieces of notes left on a scrap of paper at all angles and fonts
Office noises, a phone rings over the wall, someone giggling

New Source of Stones

A new round of stones will soon begin and this blog will be the place to find my little rocks and will also connect with all the others "in the river". I plan to adhere closer to the definition of stones as laid out by the project than I did before. The discipline will be good.....