Stoned

I love stones. I never had the luxury of collecting certain stones such as diamonds or  rubies. I once had glass though;  not a mirror; mirrors are just wrong but I did love the Rolling Stones. They say “A rolling stone gathers no moss”. I never knew what that meant but my guess is that if you dance very fast through this life, you smell better. Is moss like mold? If not I’m wrong. But I do know about being stoned. I drink a few bottles of wine and I’m in the gutter. Well, we don’t have gutters in Hawaii but if they did, and I could drink that much, I would be in the gutter. I did drink one glass of wine tonight. It was red like a ruby, and it made me feel well- stoned. So, here is a poem about another stone, an opal but it’s not a funny poem . It was a time when I was down and out; sort of like a virtual gutter. I wasn’t out because I lived in a sort of glass house but the owner threw stones at me. Didn’t I hear that if you live in a glass house you shouldn’t throw stones?  Well, this man threw a lot of stones but not the kind that I liked. I stayed in a spare room in his house because he stayed in his own room where  he gathered and collected  those stones.   He moved very fast but he was still mossy; I mean like really old. He was also insane. I didn’t hold that against him. Maybe I should have.  I was left with a big stone in my heart and a small one on my finger that meant we were through. It was a promise ring. I promised I would leave with a  broken, glass heart yet keep an intact mind. I got the bigger, better deal. I moved very fast out of his house, gathered a bit of moss, and a lot of poetry. 

OPAL

Changeable as the moon

The opal reflects you

Signifying colors, depths and moods

From milky white to Peruvian green

Ashen with rage and jealousy

You are smooth as silkworm

With clever comebacks

Never clear, always opaque

Then the clouds part, and with daybreak’s  burst of light , you shine like fires mind,

then suddenly cool with opals quickness

I can’t quite catch you

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