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THE LONG STONE WALL

As the winter nears its end
and time of new leaves fast approaches
on the southward shifting wind
the chore of clearing stones encroaches.

So one more fieldstone on the wall
to join with all its settling brothers,
this one the heaviest of all
but not much more than all the others.

This year's stone drops right in place
as if the spot were made for it.
In the past some others lacked the grace
to achieve such perfect fit.

I pause to wipe sweat from my brow
beneath a warm late winter sun
comparing how the wall looks now
with the day I'd first begun.

Strange how each such random rock
has found a perfect place in there
be it mere pebble or large block
each now bears its own fair share.

Ere long my wall shall be complete
just as I approach the setting sun
but now while our tired hearts still beat
I'll turn toward home and my loved one.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
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Last few words: 
Seems I've developed a habit of writing this type poem each year about this time lol..........stan
Editing stage: 

Comments

Is it a dry stone wall like the ones on Dartmoor, Devonshire,
where they are so, to let the winds howl through them and not knock them over;
or is it a Inca-like wall, the kind some Victorians built too,
each stone fitting as if sculptured to fit in its place;
or is it a wall with mortar in between?

Whatever the wall it was a heavy job,
and when finished I am sure you are satisfied,
the birds perhaps too can build a nest in it,
and many others,
flowers can grow in the cracks
the ivy leafed toadflax, as it does in Devon,
primroses too grow there
and of course stone crop, with its yellow stars
not to mention the myriads of mosses
that crest the stones and make the whole fit into nature once again.
But then you may have a different climate from England.

Thank you for the breath of fresh air, its snowing a blizzard here
and no walls could be built in this.
All stone is contrasted with the white,
that can be lovely as the colours become emphasised.

Nordic cloud.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

I would welcome a bit of snow here as we've had none this winter. The wall is an unmortared wall of memories lol. Thanks for visiting..........stan

author comment

Some of the old stone walls in Britain are wonderful, not only the airy dry stone walls of Dartmoor, but those of say, Derbyshire, each with it's accompanying field; or the lake district, where they climb the steep hills and have stiles built into them; or the Cotswolds where they are of Jurrassic limestone and have fossils in them, they are also used as roofing tiles, so the villages built entirely of those stones seem so whole, and Bath with its long rectangular buff coloured stones building their amazing crescents, and even Roman baths, yes Britain has such a great variety of stone each area building in their own, Aberdeen in great neat cut squares of solid granite.

I was born into a house of stone with stone floors on the first floor, cold and hard, and probably hard to clean, but solid :)

The walls of Bristol I have hundreds of slides of, they are so colourful like parts of Scotland with the sandstone that weathers in fantastic colours stripes and patterns. We love stone. Prehistoric specially.

I like your wall of memories, a good metaphor Stan.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

I have done some stone work in my time including a stone wall on the home I live in now. But this poem isn't really about stone walls........................stan

author comment

We clear each field as we progress through our lives and build a barrier with the stones it is a learning curve, that many can only hope for.
To be able to show your children the wall without having to go place the stones, this is where a good parent teaches life.
Back to the old days, My Mother Bless her use to talk of stone picking in the fields for One Penny a day, and having to walk five miles for milk and many things that she told me that gave meaning to the grace that held her all her life and the things passed on to her children that gave such a meaning to the way things are for us today.
Thanks for reminding me of the changes and the struggle that made me, Yours Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

all life through struggle is nothing new
we have our own share..
some are born with golden spoons
many on blades of grass
many when the moon is shy
and about to die …
while few in the glory of sun bask
we pretend we wear an invisible mask,
to hide our shattered bones within us
most see the darkness of life,
others only enjoy spice
they are the optimists of the day
Oh! Many pessimists you may say
an isolated few seem to be cats whiskers
know all kind
as they know fuck all..
yet the world continues
as white tea, one brews!

loved

Life can indeed be a struggle. But without struggle would we really appreciate the good times? It appears I have once again been too subtle with my underlying theme....................stan

author comment

I know you mean the metaphor but i can't help being
reminded of the things of nature that are a part of my life,
and which you conjure up so well Stan.

Love Ann

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

I guess we both use nature in metaphors don't we ? I am just seldom sure if underlying message is coming through lol.........stan

author comment
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