Ode to Stone

Open your eyes.

Look closely.

Open your ears.

Listen through my years.

I am the older brother,

the grandfather,

the man-in-the-moon.

I am the railroad track,

the sled runners,

the highway.

I am the sturdy roof and walls,

keeping out intruders,

wild animals,

heat and cold.

I am the hearth,

the circle that holds the fire,

the circle around which you gather,

with marshmallows and stories.

You mine me for my best qualities,

refine me,

put me to work where I am needed.

Heat and pressure and time

often make me more beautiful,

stronger, more complex.

For the most part, I am quiet.

I am rarely perfect,

but crystal glories may hide inside me.

When I am older, broken, small,

children pick me up from streams,

find me in fields of green and gold.

Sometimes they tell me their dreams.

When those of short lives carve me,

or make their mark on me,

I am still who I am.

I am here to serve.

I am red, I am beige, I am black. I am gold.

I can build or break down.

I am the source of mountains and mighty legends,

living giants, teachers, protectors of the North.

I am the path and the cave,

the foundation, the crust,

soft at the ultimate core.

I am the bridge and the wall.

I am here to serve.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Midnight Pantoum

When the writing's so exciting
it's so very hard to sleep.
Thoughts like seabirds keep alighting
flying high and diving deep.

It's so very hard to sleep.
Mini pen with flashlight tip
flying high and diving deep -
taking notes at rapid clip.

Mini pen with flashlight tip
the most necessary tool,
taking notes at rapid clip
as kids learn in middle school.

The most necessary tool -
take an open, quiet mind.
As kids learn in middle school,
words would flow as stars aligned.

Take an open, quiet mind.
Thoughts like seabirds keep alighting.
Words would flow, as stars aligned.
Then the writing's so...exciting!

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Ode to the Road

Open and free
congested and rowdy
multiple lanes of confusion
I find myself where you are.
My life navigates
on your surfaces and edges
some pitted and rutted with wear
others comforting as velvet.
By signs and numbers
under stars and streetlights
you guide and welcome my way.
Your maps are metaphors
crisscrossed like synapses
and layers of memories,
layers of mysteries.
I roll along on your hills
where the bottom drops out
along stretches where I can see clearly
to the shimmering horizon ahead.
I sip with you on coffee and smoothies,
sing and pray with many voices.
You take me where I choose.

Deer do not understand you.
Skunks are drawn to you.
Mosquitoes are surprised.
You accept 18-wheelers and baby shoes
deluges and rainbows just the same.
I try to be patient,
extend your compassion
to other lost travelers.

Sometimes I hear poems
through the rhythm of the tires,
the beat of the street.
Sometimes I am saved by angels.

You take me to unexpected
trials and delights.

You raise more questions
than you answer.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll