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Elena May 19
As pebbles are thrown
into the lonesome pond
laughter splashes out
And smiles run and glide
with ripples of liveliness.
Naveen Kumar May 15
There was a tadpole
who lived in a tight pool.
He waited to be a frog
before fainting the winter fog.
To hop in hard land of dry sand
where huge trees stand.

What happened when he hop?
For his unluck, against his hope.
He fell under a giant boot,
instead of on a tree root.
I tried a funny and silly poem for the first time. Please let me know how it is in comments below.
The Foody One Apr 30
I am lost
in the breeze
of endless evenings -

Your laugh,
the playful gurgle
of singing ponds.
© 01/05/20

~ chill out evenings ~
Isabella Mar 24
The sky was an ocean, clouds of foam washing against the mountains.
The sun was a golden drop of honey, casting light upon the emerald grass.
A pond lay still in the field of green, motionless and peaceful.
Calm was the water, and silent was the breeze.

One day when the sun was barely peeking over the mountains and the field was full of an early mist, the wind carried a single drop of water to the center of the emerald meadow.
The droplet fell into the grass and sunk deep into the earth.
For days of sun and nights of moonlight, the water and soil bonded to create roots.
The roots grew stronger by each morning, until one day a bit of a stem rose from the ground.
Hidden by the tall grass, it was still unseen.
The sun nor the moon could see what was slowly growing just before their gaze.
While the sky changed colors countlessly and the mountains woke again and again, something was slowly rising from the grass.

Soon it grew taller than the emerald field, and indeed the sun and moon did see it.
They awed over the astonishing beauty of the small flower.
A body of green and a head of white, the flower stood proud in the center of the meadow.

As the sun was retiring and the moon was beginning to cast its eerie light, the clouds grew violent and a storm arose.
The sky was dark and rain fell.
The grass swayed in the crying wind but the flower did not wilt.
It held still, its roots in fact digging deeper into the earth.

The next dawn was quiet and dreary.
The sun was dimmer, the grass was duller, the pond was still resting, and even the mountains looked asleep.
The white flower was seemingly untouched and even more bright than it was prior the storm, morning dew resting on its delicate petals.

Later the same day, a soft wind came.
Though it was a small gust, it unexpectedly swept right under the flower and pulled it from the ground.
It was carried with the breeze and dropped gracefully into the pond.
It drifted down the river, floating peacefully in the blue water.
Then a current pulled it down, and the flower swirled down to the bottom of the pond, never to be seen by the sun or the moon again.


Many sunrises later, a drop of water was carried by the wind to the center of the field.
When it fell to the earth, it sunk into the soil and felt the familiar roots of a flower.
The water built upon the roots and eventually, in the field stood a single flower.
I stumbled upon a story I wrote in 2018...
As the fox watches in the bushes, He notices two frogs minding their existence.
The fox stares at the water dwellers with ill intent in his heart, but as the fox waits for a time to strike. He soon comes to realize that he would intrude upon a scene he was not meant to see. As the fox retreats from the pond, much to the dismay of his empty stomach, he finds that his companion brought something for both of them.
This poem was suggested to me by a frog lover, I'm sorry if it's not up to what you expected
I dream of love
As two fish in a pond;
I drown only when I am away from you.
I exist only when I am inside
of you
Dani Dec 2019
It sits still
Stagnant
The surface a mirror of misery
Life long gone
Waiting for the rain
But it never comes
It sits still
Still with pain
Still with melancholy
Paralyzing despair
It recedes into itself
Fading away
Cracking and crumbling
Waiting for the rain
Waiting for the tears long gone dry
A settled numb stillness
Waiting for a ripple
Waiting for a change
Waiting
For salvation
Jon Thenes Nov 2019
ripples on puddle

wind increase to tear surface

life below thriving
distress upon pond
the message carved by the breeze
fish below the surface
Mark Toney Oct 2019
koi pond quietude
values and tones of zen stones...
find repose and peace
8/9/2018 - Poetry form: Haiku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
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