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"Sticks and stones can break my bones / But words will never hurt me." Perhaps you, like me, received that dubious couplet as consolation for being teased as a child. The title of this introductory note is not a mistake: this special issues contains many stichs, many lines of poetry, and many stones recurring as the radif. I trust that these stichs and stones will break no bones at all.
One would think that stone has little potential to express a range of emotions. These twenty-three ghazals will show you the true potential of stones to convey feelings. Enjoy!
I am the sill, the lintel, and the door. I am stone.
Enter here and journey to the core. I am stone.
Spume spun from swirling stardust, crystallized from time,
Earth-bone, moon-mother, cradle of sea and shore, I am stone.
I am an adamantine mask, carved with glyphs that tell
Of snake and jaguar, deity and war. I am stone.
Opalescent, metamorphic, folded, rifted, rent,
I am the fool's gold and the precious ore. I am stone.
Buttress, spire, monument, crypt and hidden vault —
I am the fount, the altar, and the floor. I am stone.
Uprooted, ripped and tunneled, pulverized and burned — yet deep
Beneath the slag and ash heaps, I endure. I am stone.
I lie here on the poet's palm, a ring for Jenny's finger.
A charm, an earthen talisman — or more? I am stone.
All text and design © 2009, by Jenny Ward Angyal, and Gene Doty.