Those readers who will have seen my Armistice Day poem, Collateral Damage, last 11th November will probably have guessed I have a strong pacifist allegiance.  As one with early Quaker ancestors in my motherline  perhaps those tendencies are written onto some chromosome. In the land of my birth this is Memorial Day weekend.  Which led me to contemplate the memory in the word memorial as much as the monuments we make to the dead. Living as I do in a mythic part of Ireland that was home to megalith makers, my mind began to roll over a few rocks. (“What is it with you about rocks, Bee?!” I can hear My friend Mick query.) This is the Poetry Daily for Memorial Day weekend.


What is it within us

so millenially deep,

this need to mark in stone,

to resurrect rocks to stand,

to surround and ground our dead?

Stone memory of them

who have become bone, ash, dust,

who have become the light

that once danced in falling star

that met magma, became man.

Here lies someone, who’s ours,

even those nameless remains

we remember, mark rock.

Stone makes us immortal,

takes us back to the cosmic.

Copyright 2019 Bee Smith

3 thoughts on “Memorial

  1. Outstanding, Bee — yes, this is ‘IT’ about humans and rocks! I always love simply handling/touching them: there is an instantly deep vibrant transmission and recognition of timeless fellowship.
    As a kid, I thrilled to find the reason for this ‘plugging into unity’ in the myth of Prometheus’ brother Epimetheus’ fleeing with Pandora. The pair toss stones — ‘the bones of our Mother Earth’ — behind them to engender protection for their escape. (Edith Hamilton’s version, I think!).
    It’s even more clearly expressed in this fine poem. Thanks, and I thank the universe for You!

    Liked by 1 person

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