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Marc Dillar Nov 2024
I am a droplet. Just a small droplet.

One day, I fell into a lake.
The water didn’t crave my presence,
but there I was—
falling.

With a soft smack, I broke the silence.
I shivered the surface and I started to send ripples outward.

Tiny waves fanned out toward the shore.
The lake barely remembered I had landed—
but I kept stretching and growing.
One ring, two rings, three rings…
Each of them was a promise slipping from the center,
making its way in a widening circle that brushed the skin of the water.

How many of these rings have I cast since the day I landed?

I have no idea.

Sometimes I think,
maybe the fish don’t care,
maybe the reeds just nod, in their indifferent sway,
and maybe the water laughs at my ambition.
Because who am I to think I can make any difference in this lake?

But isn’t it something—
how even a single droplet interrupted the calm?
How it pressed its will into the water and bent the shape of its surroundings?
How it insisted:
Look, I’m here, and the world has changed, however small.

Call it hubris.
Call it naive.

But here I am—
just a glistening speck, dreaming of shores I’ll never touch.
Hoping to be felt.
Knowing I might be lost, soaked up, swallowed,
lost to the lake before anyone even sees the last of my rings.

Because one day, my final ring will fade.
And the lake will still be there,
as if I had never fallen.

Still, I choose to believe—
that somewhere, I will make a lily quiver.
That somewhere, the landing of a dragonfly will shift because of me.
That one of my ripples will carry a story farther than I’ll ever know.

And maybe that’s all there is after all—
a brief moment
when stillness breaks
for a droplet
that dares to be
more than just wet.
Something lurks in the forest of veils,
A place far from the war,
Which 'we' prevail.

A ripple of unrest,
Within the blankets of truth,
Hanging in the dripping branches.

What is a which hunt, without a lie,
One to convince us were doing good for 'us,'
A blatant killer,

Is among us.
Now I stand between sides, thinking, who was really correct?
ben dover Jan 31
i knew what i was destined to do,
to be,
to see
the surface of the water had broken
splattering liquid across the lakes surface
causing more and more ripples  
making my impact
only to slowly drift away losing momentum
slowly one day being forgotten...
making the water clear once again.
i wanted to make a poem called clear
Heidi Franke Nov 2024
Are you of perfect
Circumference for
A captain in the sky
Voyaging vagabond at night 'til morn'

Walking under the
End of season elms and sycamores
The branches as oars in water
Tilling below shadows come, shadows go, as you stay steady
For I was the water in a rippling stream and you were a solitary sturdy force above
Emulating my gait and gaze

Light hanging with every branch
Into my water
As you lay your supermoon
Beam into our futures
Until you come  again
Leaving your soup of hope in Everything you touched
Even souls

Where will the future be at your return
With hate or love,
Or something in between as a sturdy captain should, be there once more for all the visitors below
Beseeching you for navigation
From on high to below
Altruistic by sight, your perfect shaped stone in the dark of night
Walking my dog at 4 AM under the supermoon Nov 2024 in North America. I envision a world without hate and corrupt vengeful misogynistic leaders. Spread loving kindness and make altruism your guide.
I can feel it in my soul,
a ripple stirring within.
In the deepest crevice,
there's a whisper trying to shout, "It is done!"
So why should I waver?
That storm has passed, and the sea is calm.
I watch the sun descend in a quiet declaration of what’s to come,
its golden light and gentle embers painting promises.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2024
These thoughts of you,
are like the smallest pebble to the grandest mountain,
everything holds a certain value, contributing to
the intricacies of this existence.

And there must have been
an unpleasant disturbance in my heart; as if a pebble
was thrown in my eye’s still waters- causing many ripples.

Oh, it’s perfectly strange;
not quickly recognizing your own tears
anymore;- some people do cry better in the rain.
Malia Jul 2023
I spill over my skin
So messy, so messy
I am a puddle
You are a stone.

As you 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉
Into me,
It ripples my entire
𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝖔𝖋 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘
All while you can’t
𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰
New stuff from old poems!
Meandering Words Aug 2022
throwing stones
into the lake
i discovered
the dog
likes to chase
the staccato splashes
as the surface
of the water
is broken
with inexpressible joy
pebbles were tossed
individually
and by handfuls
as i watched
the playful bounding
for over
half an hour

unfortunately
i had not spotted
the fisherman
further along
the water's edge
rolling eyes
and shaking head
as wave
after wave
of rippled chaos
disturbed his lure
and line
scaring away
anything
he had hoped
to catch
lua Aug 2021
i ripple
with each touch
from your fingertips
in constant motions
that glide
hover against my skin
i tremble before you
goosebumps litter my flesh
and yet you say
you're not a god
but your eyes tell me otherwise
each pupil holds the sun and the moon
in warm pools
and with each flutter from your downcast lashes
paints my waters in glints of gold.
bulantubig is the 17th century classical tagalog word for orange/yellow, and it literally translates to moonwater (bulan = moon, tubig = water).
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