Dave McClure
A Stone of No Importance
There is a stone of no importance: grey
and warm in sunlight, black and cold by night,
wet in the rain, reddish by evening light;
its properties dependent on the day,
on ambience. Volition has no play,
nor will. It does not move, though Science might
demur predictably, begin to cite
particulate vibration. Others say
that Life is all-pervasive. This, if true,
negates my first assertion, opens wide
the doors to those religions that imbue
the nescient world with consciousness, as plied
through aeons past, by many peoples, who
spoke to the stones, not one of which replied.
Dave McClure had written sporadically all his life, but became hooked about ten years ago when he started contributing to a number of on-line forums and workshops. He writes in English and modern Scots, mostly in form, and with no particular life theme, preferring to ring the changes in subject matter and style. If he ever “finds his voice” it’ll be time to stop. He is currently living and working in the Middle East where there is plenty of raw material for his taste for the surreal. A lot of his poems end up here.
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