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Literature Text
I’m an opal -
not white opal, that
milksop poser that jewelers
pawn off as top shelf
nor the breathtaking
black opal with its brilliant
exploding color.
No, I’m a boulder opal,
Koroit,
Yowah -
a plain brown stone
unassuming
unspecial.
But in the right hands,
the rough falls away,
and turned to the light
my rivers of fire
burn.
not white opal, that
milksop poser that jewelers
pawn off as top shelf
nor the breathtaking
black opal with its brilliant
exploding color.
No, I’m a boulder opal,
Koroit,
Yowah -
a plain brown stone
unassuming
unspecial.
But in the right hands,
the rough falls away,
and turned to the light
my rivers of fire
burn.
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I have re-done this poem many times now, and this is as close as I've gotten to pleased so far, but I keep struggling with the ending.
Many thanks to =arkansawyer for critiquing it for me.
The picture is a boulder opal pendant that my mother made me. It's quite a rare stone in that it's the mirror image of another one - two halves of a yowah nut. My mother has the other half. Very rare to find two such closely matched opals.
Many thanks to =arkansawyer for critiquing it for me.
The picture is a boulder opal pendant that my mother made me. It's quite a rare stone in that it's the mirror image of another one - two halves of a yowah nut. My mother has the other half. Very rare to find two such closely matched opals.
© 2008 - 2024 Blueskye27
Comments69
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That's freakin' beautiful! Thanks for pointing it out to me, I'm sorry I missed it the first time! 