Have you written a poem today?

Question

*****

SEDIMENTAL JOURNEY

I go to the rock shop, some

call it the riverbed,

not for me, this place,

no water will

be sleeping here,

tonight.

I told the clerker,

“A fine, flat stone,

water-washed smooth and round,

held between my thumb

and forefinger, just so.”

He knew exactly what

I wanted.

He asked about the color.

I asked for something earth-tone…

I took my new rock

down to the pond,

where Gertrude and Rochambeau…well,

no need to be tacky…

Anyway, I took my rock,

which I had paid several minutes for,

and I ****** my arm,

when I let her fly,

she skipped across,

much in the same way

as mon Général’s had,

those so many years ago…

*****

Answer 1

Rock skipping on a summer afternoon.  Contests - who could get in the most skips - the longest skip, etc.  Stones selected with care - must be the right flatness - round was nice - and just as smooth as ice. After finding the most perfect stone - one had to lose it - to the river.  Loss - in order to reach a goal ♥

Answer 2

And if you threw that rock today would a visit to the ER be in order for your shoulder?  It would be for mine!  Liked the 'clerker' and 'paid several minutes' for...very creative.  But I am expecting a finishing of Gertrude and Rochambeau's tale! lol

Answer 3

No I haven't, but you have and it is meaningful and poetic as usual

Answer 4

i found your rock

i took it home

threw it in the garden

now it sits alone

throw another

the one i got says it has a brother

Answer 5

My grandfather taught me to skip rocks, I wonder if I still can?

This is so beautifully descriptive I can see you let let it fly!

Answer 6

Yep, I sure did.

You couldn't get away with ****** and I've seen a** hole on here several times lately.

I stopped counting after 6 shoulder dislocations and had surgery. It's titanium now.

Now this IS odd. ****** shows up when you click to answer the question.

Answer 7

I very much like the creative title and the way in which you describe choosing that rock. Some memories are both sweet and painful at the same time. I know a place like the one you describe in your poem, although it doesn't resemble your pond at all.