Against your angry words
like a worm she writhes,
astonished at the rising of her hard rock secret
set in memory’s amber.
Beneath life’s chirping rays
darkness covers her me place,
where angst rots fecund
and quiet fosters balance.
Rock lifted,
secret exposed.
What’s easy vanishes.
Like a worm she writhes.
She speaks in scattered syllables,
denying any deal
denying any lie.
Stop. Here.
Put back the rock.
Brenda Warren 2015
Note on the title* A leaverite is a rock that you should put back. You should leave ‘er right where you found her. A leaverite. My dad told me about leaverites to discourage childhood’s bulging pebble pockets. My pockets continue to bulge.
Visit The Sunday Whirl
undercaws 
oh yes indeed… the happiness of finding rocks that pleases one… had no idea there were rocks we leave alone… well, yes, i guess that can be true…. my yard is filled with every size rock i pick up and bring home…. and i love love love your rock poem…
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Funny thing about those rocks, when you get them home, the brilliance of their color seems to have faded. My friend, Glen, would say, “They are just nice to have around.”
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Yes, for years I picked up rocks…it seems as I was out walking, the rock would blink at me, and say it wanted to go home with me…now not so much.
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Love “She speaks in scattered syllables,” – nice.
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This is utterly exquisite: “astonished at the rising of her hard rock secret
set in memory’s amber”–wow, just breathtaking. And I love “leaverite” and your explanation of it! Though my pockets are always bulging too 😉
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Chirping fosters indulgent secrets bringing easy deals in the amber sunsets of our lives while stopping me here to rot as I speak my hidden past. Just for you Brenda Warren because you know.
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❤
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A poem full of strong metaphor.
I love your explanation of Leaverite: I’ve trudged many a mile with a backpack full of beach pebbles and pretty rocks, my own findings or my children’s – I wonder what happened to them. (the stones, not the children – I know about them)
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What’s easy vanishes.
Like a worm she writhes
Always the case when exposed they just fritter away. They will then be defensive in many different ways!
Hank
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I love “leave her right” where she belongs, but like you, my pockets are always bulging. Amazingly enough, I did find places for all of my favorites, when I moved. Bet you did the same,
Elizabeth
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I like the idea of respecting that a pebble has its place in the world and should remain there. Sadly mankind is not fond such rules and many others of course..
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So much to love in this poem – wisdom, humour, knowing – i like that you still have bulging pebble pockets…when they grow into stones they can be planted and fixed
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I really like the idea of memory’s amber.
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