Are you looking for poems about being a rock that gives you the idea of being as strong and steady as a rock? Well, you’ve come to the right place!
Poems about being a rock use this powerful symbol to represent resilience, stability, and unwavering strength. They celebrate the rock’s ability to endure, no matter what challenges come its way.
poems about being a rock Talk about how being a rock isn’t just about being tough on the outside. It’s also about having a solid core—a sense of inner strength that helps you weather life’s storms.
Being a rock means staying grounded and true to yourself. So, if you’re looking for poems that inspire courage, resilience, and steadfastness, you’ll find plenty to enjoy in this collection.
Let these words remind you that, like a rock, you have the strength to withstand whatever life throws your way.
Let’s read some of the poems about being a rock.
The Dream Rock
By Ruby Archer
Amid a rushing mountain stream
A giant boulder stands.
Bright gems of mica o’er it gleam,
And on its breast I love to dream
With mosses in my hands.
The hours flow softly o’er my soul,
More light and swift than foam;
And while the ceaseless torrents roll,
Wild fancies rise from stream and knoll,
And elfin through my vision roam.
They are so fair, and yet so fleet,
I cannot hold their garments fine.
They fade while yet I cry, “Stay, Sweet!”
A farewell glance is all I meet—
An archly murmured, “Not yet thine!”
By Mikhail Lermontov
By a cliff a golden cloud once lingered;
On his breast it slept, but, riseing early,
Off it gently rushed across the pearly
Blue of sky, a tiny thing and winged.
Still, a trace it left upon the stony
Giant’s heart, and plunged in thought and weeping
Slow and tortured tears, he stands there, keeping
Vigil o’er the gloomy waste and lonely.
How Happy Is The Little Stone
By Emily Dickinson
How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn’t care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity…
Strokes Of A Master’s Brush
By Joan Rooney
Lighting and shading, tints and hues,
subtle and varied, some warm some cool
stroked and dripped from a smooth
master brush over rocks upon rocks.
Up And Down
By Hilda Conkling
Mountains reach up skyward;
Boulders reach into the earth.
Mountains are great and strong, are royal when you look at them:
Boulders have their minds on the centre of the earth
They came from.
By Ken Slesarik
My rock is cold,
gray, white, hard,
Are rocks living?
Awakening Monolithic Giants
By Sherry Anne
prehistoric landscape of millstone grit
toiled and turned
awakening monolithic giants
balancing midst summer heather
and red creeping cowberries
Rock Idol stands poised
under baby blue
and pink chiffon clouds.
By Karina Dove
From the sleeping dream stone
a message from the past
rose quartz with turquoise eyes
speaks of things that last
in my hand I grip solid core
unlike fossils deep in caves
shadows under silent cliffs
teardrops from silver moon days
stalagmites dripping crystal rain
Turquoise a blueing canvas
bits engrained in stone henge days
patterns from stars over seas
etched in a geode daydream
postcards from totem clouds
water, sky, earth and fire
Celtic circle, a rooted desire
A face of the ancient of days
embedded from Eden’s heart
waiting just waiting for a hand
to dig deep in red clay sand
decipher what the omens say
I see a portrait of Mother Earth
sonnets the archangels sang
and unicorns tread underway
By Kitty Lou
My Brother said, I had rocks in my head
I swear, he did, that’s what he said
I told him that it wasn’t true
There might be some rocks in my shoe
Perhaps a few more in my rocket
Always have some in my pocket
A tiny pile under my bed
But absolutely none in my head!
By Daniel Ricketts
Particles of minerals deep within our earth:
folding, bending, rusting, thrusting.
Overlooked and so obscure
a mere spec to glance over.
Studied by science,
uncared for by the masses.
who lets us walk upon their backs.
By Barbara Gorelick
He set them dancing across the water,
A special talent he seemed to have.
I looked on with pride,
And not a little envy.
His skipped seven times,
Mine went “thunk”.
Were old now and slowing down,
But I’ll bet that brother of mine..
Could still skip seven times
And mine would still go “thunk”.
If These Rocks Could Talk
By Maureen Mc Greavy
“Do you remember when the earth
“Ha! I remember when God
was a woman.”
“Oh my, you’re right;
I forgot about the sex change.”
This is all about poems about being a rock.