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Stone Path Review Artistic Journal

Our mission is to create a path and web across the planet joining and linking artists from any background, working in any medium to form an open, safe, and non-exclusive forum. By providing an online community to share expression and promote cross-cultural arts, while offering personalized positive feedback to submissions, we are a journal created by artists for artists.

Please read the writings and view the images from the wonderful artists who trust us with their work.

Recent Posts


Poem - Across The Sea

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Across the black sea I see nothing with these eyes
and I stand here not as I see myself
and not as I desire to be
but as the being accepted by the water.

Across the see littered
with fragments I am
but a whisper cast from
mountain tops.

I hope with every last
shred of this being
that you are out there
waiting with patience

for my return from one
field and when I land
in the black waters I am
able to swim now free of myself.


John Haines - A Winter Light

A Winter Light, by John Haines

We still go about our lives
in shadow, pouring the white cup full
with a hand half in darkness.

Paring potatoes, our heads
vent over a dream—
glazed window through which
the long, yellow sundown looks.

By candle or firelight
your face still holds
a mystery that once
filled caves with the color
of unforgettable beasts.


Photo below shared from Alaska Dispatch News which features a piece about writer/musician John Luther Adams and being influenced by John Haines.
J Haines JL Adams 3x2


From TWENTY POEMS, Unicorn Press, 1973


Poem - As I

As I watch the April sunrise across
the turbulent waters I am reminded again
of my place beneath cedar and pine
while sitting on the rocks with two puppies.


Poetry - Mark Doty – To Jackson Pollock

To Jackson Pollock
Mark Doty

Last night somebody murdered a young tree on Seventh Avenue
between 18th and 19th—only two in that block,
and just days ago we’d taken refreshment in the crisp and particular shade

of that young ginkgo’s tight leaves, its beauty and optimism,
though I didn’t think of that word until the snapped trunk this morning,
a broken broomstick discarded, and tell me what pleasure

could you take from that? Maybe I understand it,
the sudden surge of rage and the requirement of a gesture,
but this hour I place myself firmly on the side of thirst,

the sapling’s ambition to draw from the secret streams
beneath this city, to lift up our subterranean waters.
Power in a pointless scrawl now on the pavement.

Pollock, when he swung his wild arcs in the barn-air
by Accabonac, stripped away incident and detail till all
that was left was swing and fall and return,

austere rhythm deep down things, beautiful
because he’s subtracted the specific stub and pith,
this wreck on the too-hot pavement where scavengers

spread their secondhand books in the scalding sunlight.
Or maybe he didn’t. Erase it I mean: look into the fierce ellipse
of his preserved gesture, and hasn’t he swept up every bit,

all the busted and incomplete, half-finished and lost?
Alone in the grand rooms of last century’s heroic painters
—granted entrance, on an off day, to a museum

with nobody, thank you, this once nobody talking—
and for the first time I understood his huge canvases
were prayers. No matter to what. And silent as hell;

he rode the huge engine of his attention toward silence,
and silence emanated from them, and they would not take no
for an answer, though there is no other. Forget supplication,

beseechment, praise. Look down
into it, the smash-up swirl, oil and pigment and tree-shatter:
tumult in equilibrium.


Shared from https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/jackson-pollock


Poem – Revolution Rooted in Ancient Lands

40 Days become 40 years
and the revolution/transformation
I began culminates from the
mountain peak.

Into the valley life flows
as the new sun rises
over the range.

Caribou continue their
thousand mile trek across
vast swaths of land
following their ancestors hoofs.

I teeter on this ridge and see
beyond the glacier fed waters
and the crystal sky and fall
into the ancient land where

the marathon first began,
where the fields were first built.

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Poem - Sun Rises

Sun rises over mountain peaks
after 40 days of darkness
and despair.

We sing, dance, and cry
while the mountains darkness
subsides and the peak, birthplace
of our gods, appears.

Alaska-20100729-20100807 150


Poetry - Jim Harrison - Return

“Return” by Jim Harrison


The sun’s warm against slats of the granary,
a puddle of ice in the shadow of the steps;
my uncle’s hound
lopes
across the winter wheat,
fresh green cold green.
The windmill long out of use, screeches
and twists in the wind.
Spring day, too loud for talk,
when bones tire of their flesh
and want something better.


http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jim-harrison


2016 National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month is upon us. We will be posting selections from writers that we have been influenced by over the years, including John Haines of course. If anyone has suggested writers and personal favorites please share here as I would love to expand my library and keep poetry alive and relevant.


Poem - Carl Sandburg - Fog

This reader suggested poem is “Fog” by Carl Sandburg.


The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


Poem shared from the following resources.

http://carl-sandburg.com/fog.htm
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174299


Poem - In the Aftermath

In the aftermath
we become introspective
and concerned with immediacy,
the ones most near, and once
settled, we look up beyond
our fate here and hope for hope.

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