brown pebble

i have a pebble
smooth and brown
with a sheen
but unpolished
it sits secure
in the palm of my hand

we went to the garden
just the two of us
i carried a spade
and the ashes
the day was fair
and no breeze blew
my father made
this sheltered space
down among the roses
and here i dug the heavy earth
no marker for this grave
i picked up a pebble
held it
a secret no-one shared
we said a few words
we stood in silence
my mother turned away

i have a pebble
smooth and brown
with a sheen
but unpolished
it sits secure
warmed in the palm of my hand

small
significant
so easily lost

In the Museum

The museum is full of wonders
Egypts’ grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Greek curves and lines,
expressing divinity,
intricate windings of Saxon silver
with the feel of a faerie glen

My eyes become tired of looking.
My feet start to ache from the floors
by the time I pass through the Celtic collection
where a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles my steps.

Entranced and longing to hold it
smoothed in the palm of my hand,
so small, so simple, so pure,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone, the size of a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
in eternal, lasting embrace.

ripples

pebble falling

floating into hidden depths

it settled on the river bed

to rest there

long and lasting

rolled only by the river

moved by natures forces

while the ripples hit the bank

and rippled back again

 

where do the ripples go?

how far would they continue

if there was nothing

to contain them?

would they go on and on

beyond my power of seeing?

 

words are just like pebbles

reaching hidden depths

they too have their ripples

bouncing off each other

spreading outwards

in ways we never know