Poetry Prompt: THE OLD, ROUGH STONE AND THE GNARLED TREE

Friendly Fairies cover

This post is part of a series of weekly found poetry prompts. If you have an idea for a found poetry source, email Senior Poetry Editor Beth Ayer.   


Write an erasure poem from the short short illustrated story “The Old, Rough Stone and the Gnarled Tree” (it’s about an old rough stone and an old gnarled tree) from  Friendly Fairies by Johnny Gruelle. Among many other things, Gruelle was the creator of Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy. Friendly Fairies is another sweet gem from Project Gutenberg.

Please share the text of your poems in the comments and/or a link.

14 Comments

  • November 6, 2014

    Connor Grogan

    a gnarled stone to nibble some was startled.
    the stone will root and grow gone some other place
    root and sent from that time on. green shoot grow
    enormous in the air! gnarled Stone said, ” see how
    the limbs were bare!” “I shall be myself again!”

    three hundred years passed.

    Then men came.

    the sun beat down the shade the gnarled
    shade and kept warm. “Oh dear !”
    “I come back and scatter!”

    little creatures grow lovely.
    many never did. And never again did
    sigh “We never know we are!”

  • November 7, 2014

    Lewis Oakwood

    Rings

    The rings in the trunk of the tree,
    – three hundred years.

    Summer days/Winter cold,
    drop on, until….

  • […] Found Poetry Review gives us the short short illustrated story “The Old, Rough Stone and the Gnarled Tree” (it’s […]

  • […] Erasure poetry, text from Friendly Fairies, The Old Rough Stone and The Gnarled Tree by Johnny Gruelle, written for Found Poetry Review (FPR) […]

  • November 8, 2014

    Misky

  • […] week Found Poetry Review has a wonderful short story prompt for extracting your ‘found’ imagination. My […]

  • November 8, 2014

    P McClelland

    A gnarled old tree –
    beneath its branches
    an old rough stone
    dislikes the tree
    leaves in summer
    hide the blue sky
    in winter, limbs bare
    snow and rain fall upon the stone
    one night a heavy storm
    a crash
    morning comes
    the gnarled tree lies upon the ground
    hot summer days
    the sun beats down
    stone misses shade
    wishes for rustling leaves
    to keep him cool
    winter comes, stone misses leaves
    that fell and kept him warm.
    Years pass
    great old stone lies all alone
    and sighs, “We never know
    how well we are until we lose
    the things we need.”

  • November 8, 2014

    Old Rebel « mediumblackdog

    […] response to the Found Poetry Review prompt the Old, Rough Stone and the Gnarled […]

  • November 8, 2014

    SF Jones

    Old Rebel

    Great years take root
    and grow.
    Lie for some other place.
    He pushes himself,
    hides my view.
    Limbs bare / fall on me.
    Heavy morning rings
    with axes cut and
    carried away.
    Shade me,
    protect me from years alone.
    Come again until we lose.

    © SF Jones, 2014

    In response to the Found Poetry Review prompt The Old, Rough Stone and the Gnarled Tree.

    View the full blog entry here:
    https://mediumblackdog.wordpress.com/2014/11/08/old-rebel/

    • November 9, 2014

      Carol A Stephen

      I see you found the axes as well! Love this!

  • November 8, 2014

    K. B.

    A great squirrel
    thought up an enormous
    tree.

    He hides from view
    and the cold.

    “I shall be
    three hundred years!”
    that silly squirrel thought.

    Years and years passed
    “I wish another squirrel
    would come”
    he thought.

    But more years passed.
    Never again did a squirrel
    keep him company.

  • November 8, 2014

    Carol A Stephen

    Here is mine:

    Second Theory of Petrification

    Rough stone beneath—
    Years upon the stone
    grow into tree.

    Some other place,
    tiny shoots in the stone
    grow into the air to the blue sky.
    In winter snow and cold rain fall
    on rough stone, a tree lying on the ground.

    Count the rings in three hundred axes of hot summer
    the sun beat down the old stone to tree.

    The great stone lay all alone
    knowing little creatures would
    sit upon old stone, keep him company.

    And stone to never know need.

    Carol A. Stephen
    November 8, 2014

    • November 9, 2014

      SF Jones

      “Three hundred axes of hot summer.” Wow! Fresh and beautiful word combo.

  • November 9, 2014

    Carol A Stephen

    Thanks, SF and for the follow on wordpress. I’m now a follower of you as well!