This Stone

 

 

This stone is riddled

with ridges, sharp dimensions

that fall off if touched too hard.

Shaped like a mountain, and if a mountain,

it would be impossible to climb

to its pointed peak – soft and flat on one side,

coarse and pimpled on the other.

 

This stone is blue

like a fog coming in, covering a clear day.

White in spots, silver in others with

a hole dead centre. If you blow into it,

it whistles, and you can’t see how deep it

goes because this stone is thick and heavy,

a landscape on its own, a planet

really

with unexpected turns

and contrary directions.

 

Shiny dark blue here, then

a whole cloud rises

and overtakes.

I don’t know if it is a crystal or a stone or

a combination of both.

It sings and it has a face,

several faces.

 

If you hold it away from you it looks like

a robed man holding a stick, and then,

turning it over,

the back of an old man sitting,

gazing out over

a river or more likely,

a secluded stream.

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Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2026

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Synchronized Chaos” October 2026

https://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-18/

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You can listen to the poem below:

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