The Story of a Pebble

One of the earliest pieces of advice I had received regarding writing was to pick up a rock or a pebble, imagine the life it would have had and write down its story. I'm really not a romantic writer, so I don't much look for meaning in rocks and pebbles, but when the objective is to write one poem everyday, a writing exercise is a good way to make myself think.

Pebbles live at our feet, die at our feet and get carried away with the waves at the beach..right at our feet. Who would have thought that a deeper philosophy would have guided a poem about, well, rocks. Here's the latest. 

In another stream of thought, I think my latest rebellion against rhyming and structure have resolved to an e e cummings' mode of expression. Very little punctuation. But, like the man said, you have to know the rules to be able to break them. 

here we go

the story of a pebble

you know me.

you've kicked me across the walk to not rip your shoe

you've thrown me across puddles to see how high i could jump

you've seen me carried away in grains with waves

reduced from rock to pebble

facing the wind, and falling to ground,

from shades of gray to withering yellow with age.

you've met me many times.

i remind you of who you are somedays, because

i am, like you, stuck in my body to grow old.