A POND’S-EYE MORNING VIEW
Right of the center
of the cosmic stage,
the rising sun disrobes
its horizon and announces
the arrival of another bright day.
Wading towards a pond,
a family of cute ducks,
Stretch and wiggle
their yawning wings.
The chloroplast bodies
of fueling algae around the pond,
capture the shining rays of the sun;
energizing the multi-life community:-
In the pond’s park of lily pads
and varied shapes of rocks,
aroused young frogs hopscotch
from one landing to another
Barking and running the pond’s banks,
a swaggering beagle chases a thirsty squirrel
back up the trunk of its tall sage resident-tree:-
Up on the street atop the pond’s hill,
car horns blast as rushing drivers
pass by—chatting on cell phones—
using front windshield mirrors,
getting their faces ready for the day:-
Thus, our morning view,
as my dog and I continue
our ramble around the pond :-
There was a house.
There is a house.
There was a kite.
There is a kite.
There was a clock.
There is a clock.
When I
dig the earth
with a spade,
the earth falls into
the spade’s memoir.
The spade falls into
the earth’s memoir.
In the pond nearby,
a blue water-lily
does not fall
into anything.
It
calls out to the kingfishers,
saying,
Come,
have some fish and go.
Sitting on the sofa
the silence separates them
like ripples in a pond
ever spreading wider
never reaching the end
she's heard all his jokes
he knows all her ways
there's nothing to be done
as they've no more left to say
damned if they do damned if they don't
can't live together won't live apart
they've outlived their love
it's enough to break your heart
out in no man's land
perfect cabin setting
makes a house a home
Just for a day I'd hide the clock,
And in my bamboo rocking chair,
I’d gently rock and rock,
I’d pay no mind to what others might have to say.
Each minute of this day, I'd do things
in my own way.
I wouldn’t take or make a single call,
I'd turn my phone off and leave it way
down the hall,
I'd go back to an old-fashioned way,
Writing letters to convey what I had to say.
I'd feed the koi in the garden pond.
And watch them dance and play.
Beside the jasmine blooms, upon the
soft grass, I’d lie,
With eyes closed I’d make a wish for chaos to pass me by.
Chaos would never say goodbye and
so I mustn’t delay,
Just for a day I would take back
freedom, come what may.
I’d gather the dreams silently waiting
by the doorway,
And never postpone enjoyment
for a far-off day.
And from the great, big blue sky,
I’d grab my piece of blue before
the pond runs dry.
by Zyrool
7/26
We are like stagnant water, never moving, never flowing.
Trapped in silence, where shadows gather low,
A quiet pool that holds the dust of yesterday,
Unstirred by wind or whisper from above.
Yet deep within, a gentle call invites us forth,
To leave the stillness that weighs upon the soul.
We should be like a river, always flowing, ever changing,
Carrying light through valleys green and bold.
With every turn we yield to grace's guiding hand,
Washing clean the banks where sorrow once held sway.
We dance with stones that shape our path anew,
And nourish fields where hope begins to grow.
Grateful hearts, we thank the One who breaks the dam,
Who turns our quiet depths to living streams of praise.
No longer bound by what refuses breath or life,
We flow in freedom, bathed in mercy's endless days.
In humble joy we journey on, refreshed and free,
A testament to love that makes the weary whole.
For in this sacred motion, ever changing, ever true,
We find the beauty of a soul made new.
I sat beside Pop, plainly seeing how his stroke had taken so much~
his body slack in ways that broke my heart.
He lay still as a winter pond, unable to care for himself,
hands folded, breath a thin thread, his daily whistling a memory.
His silence opened like a vast, pale sky, holding both ache and
something brighter, a quiet radiance rising where his words once lived.
His silence held more than sorrow—it held a depth I could almost touch
as if his spirit had stepped forward to speak for him.
But his silence was anything but mystical—it was earthly, hard and heavy~
a reminder of everything he could no longer say or do.
But that steady, unbroken smile rose each day to greet me~
because smiling and loving me was something he could still do.
little duck dawdles
looks at the pond for a face
face of white beauty
yellow feet of joy
sunshine of warmth from the sky
self growth mighty high
ruddy duck swimming
turtle resting on a log
polly wogs wiggle
My haiku pond sits
in the corner of my garden~
small as a teacup,
deep as a breath.
Frogs sit like syllables
on lily pad commas,
punctuating the stillness
with soft green thoughts.
Dragonflies skim the surface,
writing bright, brief lines
in their iridescent ink~
three beats, then gone.
Even the reeds whisper
in measured cadence,
counting their own shadows
as the wind turns the page.
What’s in it?
Only what belongs in brevity~
a ripple, a pause,
a moment that refuses to hurry.
Why?
Because every pond
needs a place
where the world grows quiet enough
to speak in seventeen heartbeats.
I love the ducks
on the pond in the park
drifting along paddling their webbed feet.
Dappling ducks feeding in the shallow water,
on aquatic plants, small fish and insects.
Amazing how the ducklings swim right after birth.
Koi glide beneath green shadows,
their fins like drifting flame;
the pond breathes slow repose.
Soft ripples blur where each one goes,
no two paths ever the same;
water lifts where each koi rose.
Out in the forest, deep still water’s sleep
As through the bushes soft flowers peep
A reflection shines of bushes nearby
On top of the water like a quiet Angels sigh
Light brown Acer’s stand proud and tall
Forming a guard of honor over the small waterfall
As the water trickles making small ripples of light
As the Sun shines on the water, a reflection so bright
High trees are standing overlooking the scene
Remembering how many people, nearby have been
Fish swimming endlessly, no cares at all
Only disturbed by the leaves that may fall
Still waters run deep. Or so they say
As the Sun goes to rest at the end of the day
Soon darkness falls, all in the woods falls asleep
And the night animals come out and silently creep
All round the area, hope they do not fall in
Because at night that would be such a mortal sin
So on wards and upwards, this situation exists
For tomorrow is a another day, in this woodland, Pond tryst
shadows in the pond
tadpoles stitch the water’s edge~
spring begins to stir
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first glance, the pond is glass~
a stolen mirror, holding sky.
No wind, no ripple, no trespass
of sound. Only the patient eye
of water, deep and undisturbed.
Then—a pebble,
small, but sharp
breaks the skin sending circles
spiraling outward in frantic motion,
each one a question asked too loudly.
Next a leaf falls~
brown and brittle
gliding quietly across
the pond’s surface, murmuring.
The pond swallows it whole.
Later, a storm:
rain needles stitch chaos
into the skin of the water,
a thousand interruptions,
a thousand tiny wounds.
But below~
where light bends and surrenders,
where the cold is a constant companion~
nothing moves.
The dark is still and stoic.
The deep does not answer.
And when the storm tires,
when the pebble sinks,
when the leaf dissolves into silt~
the pond remembers how to hold the sky
without trembling.
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