splash of water
a skipping rock
memories are made
A stemless blueberry
Eyes the slope of the bowl
Dodges the hurried spoon
A tidal flow of milk
Frustrates his attempts
Catching a wave
He rides its curl
Rolls onto the tabletop
Milky fingers clutch at it
A stalking spoon
Flips it into the air
A moment of freedom
The warmth of a dog’s tongue
I stood on edge of stream
crystal clear and cobbled,
with stones jagged and rough,
smooth flat and rounded.
How could this rumbled jumble
or rocks and gravel have got there?
Which stone was tossed and thrown?
Which was skipped there by tiny hands
trying for eight skips or more?
Which was placed strategically in
a row of stepping stones for dry-feet
to cross the stream to the other side?
Which stones slid and bounced there,
from way upstream, carried by
the last raging snow-melt torrent?
My path through life has similar
ups and downs, with slips and slides,
rocks and gravel, all rumbled
and jumbled together.
With the legacies of the ways I've found to
skip, step and slide,
to reach my milestones in the
sinuous stream of life,
riddled with scattered stones.
With every tap across the lake,
Ripples are shot across.
The waters cheerily wake,
They wait another toss,
- Then another toss is made.
It is seen bouncing further by.
Waves of merriment parade,
And consume the beholder’s eye.
The lake dances in the moonlight,
A sight where felicity bestows.
There isn’t a happier sight -
Than when we are skipping stones.
Skipping stones across the lake
They skip along and ripples make
Impressions each that slowly fade
As falling stars that fall away
Across the chasms of the sky
Chance be seen by roving eye
But mostly chance forgotten
As if by chance they never happened –
And fading ripples, falling stars
Are transient moments lost in thought
Like chancing looks upon a face
That come and go without a trace –
A child skips stones
Their parents fear they will sink
So, they skip alone
Skipping Christmas,
Always seems like a good idea at the time,
When you are standing in line,
To buy some twine,
And you have yet to dine,
While expecting a parking fine,
If your car has not already been sold online.
The trouble is once you are in a line,
Anywhere close to Christmas time,
A sale sign,
Will pull you back into line,
And skipping Christmas will definitely not happen this time.
You are challenging to keep up with
Mr. Stone,
Yep??
Was it difficult to lose weight
Since your rolling stone success?
Yep?
Since you came rock bottom in the skimming
Are you feeling bolder in the skipping?
Yep
Does winning mean leaving no stone unturned?
Yep?
Is the public in awe of your success?
Yep
Are you down to earth?
Do you use mineral supplements?
Yep, yep,
Are you petrified?
Are you still friends with paper?
Scissors?
May I call you Skip?
You rock!
Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep.
Skipping Stones
I went to an interview with a nervous heart,
My mind racing agile, my thoughts all apart,
I paced and I fretted, I worried and stewed,
But then I saw a skipping stone and my mood improved.
I picked it up and held it tight,
Feeling its smoothness, its weight just right,
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes,
And imagined the stone skipping across the skies.
I pictured it gliding across the water,
Each skip is a reminder to focus harder,
To let blare of worries, to release stress,
And just be present at this moment, no less.
With each skip of the stone, my mind grew clear,
My nerves settled down, my confidence appeared,
I walked into that interview with a calm and steady pace,
And I knew that I had found my auspicious place.
So now whenever I feel anxious or stressed,
I remember that stone and how it brought me rest,
I abide a deep breath and let my worries fly
As a stone sliding grasp, find truth in any way.
"My dear skipping stone," I gently asked.
"What tales lie within your flitting flight,
As you tippy-toe skip over the water so fast?"
What lessons can you tell us, Oh shiny one so bright?"
"Well firstly, it's in the shape of stone."
The skipper's learned response began.
"Choose a flat smooth one, from the wet river zone,
Where smooth stones have collected in the skidpan."
"The next trick is the way you grip the disk."
"Curl your index finger around it, lock it with your thumb."
"Then you're ready for the deft wrist flick,
which will ensure a skip, skip, skip outcome."
"Like everything, it takes practice to get it right."
"A smooth calm water surface helps a lot,
as waves can smite your stone with such delight."
"Gobbling stones is the wave's unfair, cheap shot"
"Life is like a skipping stone's pace."
"A clutch of fleeting moments, a flip of flings in the sun."
"Embrace each leap with joy and grace."
"For skipping time, like ripples, is all too soon done."
With that, the skipping stone grew still,
Its wisdom etched within my being.
The stone sank gently into the water with all its skill,
Revealed to everyone and given true meaning.
i decided to keep my findings to myself
life moves in different directions for all people
likes and dislikes are both similar and contrasting
i was hoping to find a small space to breathe in the neverending movement
what i ended up with is a migraine with nausea on a pavement with hungry ants
when i hurl on said ants, i expose myself to a cold, uncaring public
my strength rebuilds off the inspiration of the general population that keeps on walking
i was praying for another small space for conversation and genuine concern
what i ended up with this time was scrapes all over my already sore body with clotted cuts that will forever burn
i decided to keep my self....to myself....
I wish I were a poet.
I think I am, I know it.
My mind says “don’t blow it.”
I think I’ll give it time.
Poems I’ve read a lot, you know,
I haven’t read enough, although,
to make a mark in time and show
I think I’ll give it time.
This is fun. It gives me rest.
Especially when I read the best.
My soul and heart they do arrest.
I think I’ll give it time.
Sauntering, laughing, skipping, beguiling,
thoughts and words, visions compiling.
As I write, my heart is smiling.
I think I’ll give it time.
TIME’S UP! ??
Mary skipped to a different beat
You could see it in her funny feet
One shoe off, the other on
One sock green, the other brown...
She did her homework in the john
TV, computer, and radio on
Excelled in school at irrelevant classes ~
Shining shoes of cloth and threshing molasses
Thrill of skipping stones
Breaking the village record
Thrills me to the bone
hit skip hit skip hit
relaxation and fresh air
meditations best
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