ROCK ROOM
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Kate
My Old Recording Studio
Mom Wrote me a letter with this poem in it saying that kate had written it and she was only eight years old. Apparently she knew that Mom had written a poem about the rock room and wanted to try her hand at it.


Kate's Rock Room Poem 2.jpg

Rock Room By Jean Cole (But Really by Kate Mooney) There is a room that I stay in when I visit my son, and oh, how nice it is. It's a room with lots of rocks. My son Tom calls it the rock room. Oh and that's the very room I stay in when I visit him. And that's his own little room in his own little house in pretty Arizona. How nice it is to look at all the different kinds of rocks. But I wanted to tell you this, it is the very room I stay in when I visit Tom. And of course you know, it is called The Rock room. Rock Room By Jean Cole Sometimes I sleep in the rock room.     It is peaceful there and safe,          a place of security.     Fish fossils line the walls                 and hide in closets.     Rock instruments lean companionably            against stereo systems, their noise            muted.     Against the wall lies a bed of such comfort            one is tempted never to leave.         This refuge is only available at certain times     These times are always the times that I need it.     In addition to inside, the outside is filled with           swaying branches, soft breezes and night music.     Such music comes echoing from the rock instruments           but filtered through the leaves it leaves a softer sound. THEN THERE APPEARS TO BE A LONGER VERSION. PERHAPS IT IS I, TOM, WHO IS THE MASTER WHO VISITS TWICE A DAY.     Sometimes I sleep in the rock room.     It is peaceful there and safe,          a place of security.     Fish fossils line the walls                 and hide in closets.     Rock instruments lean companionably            against stereo systems, their noise            muted.     Against the wall lies a bed of such comfort            one is tempted never to leave.     During my first rock room stays, I was very ill.            The rock room master visited me            twice daily -- before work and after work.     My weak, transparent arms were grasped            each day by a rock-hard arm and fist,            lending strength.     The rock strength seeped deep into my body,            maintaining my sanity, my health            and my love.      Now each time I visit the rock room I remember.      Now it is a place of assurance -- of reminders that            always there is a strength greater than mine,                 Now each time I sleep in a place of safety and love.     Today I am three-thousand miles away, but I can still            feel the strength in that arm, beckoning me back,            telling me there is always a place for me in the      Rock room.     This refuge is only available at certain times     These times are always the times that I need it.     In addition to inside, the outside is filled with           swaying branches, soft breezes and night music.     Such music comes echoing from the rock instruments           but filtered through the leaves it leaves a softer sound.

computer my old recording studio (1).jpg THIS IS THE ROCK ROOM. I DON'T KNOW WHERE A PICTURE OF THE ROCK CABINET IS THAT'S THE PICTURE KATE DREW. Old Recording Studio8.jpg OH, LOOK! I FOUND A PICTURE OF THE ACTUAL ROCK "CABINET." Rock Room Cabinet.jpg and I found a better copy: Kate's Rock Room Poem 2.jpg