Basalt column - stoic, solemn,
square-jawed face all chiseled grace -
extruded from the molten core,
the bass line of this river place.
Granite boulder, so much older
than an ancient redwood tree -
tossed and tumbled, rolled and rumbled . . .
now solid as a middle C.
Tiny pebbles, you’re the treble -
sparkling high notes in my hand.
Pounded by the tides and tempests,
turning sooo slowly into sand.
Rock of ages, eons, epochs …
keeping time for all to see -
new and flowing, old and knowing -
part of our Earth’s great symphony.
It’s interesting to me to take two unrelated things (in this case rocks and music) and combine them in one poem; it’s kind of unexpected, and sort of like what a political cartoonist does for humorous effect.