An old pond —
Of a diving frog.
An Old Pond
a frog leaps in
The Old pond
the brook stream out to the valley that looks
old and clumsy, where the old pond
rooted the crystallized water mixed with
droplets of rain
sweet melody flows with therapeutic chime
echo the silent moment of day; calling the
little Dragonfly to catch the beautiful flower of
Lilies as the jiggle frog spare high notes for
a choral rendition of song to lie
window looks open wide and see the monsoon
rain wait to play, now the moon wind has
just come as swing the twig of the sun down to
jump into the pool and the beautiful frog enjoy
fall back the roof that leak, the sun has reach the
meadow and say goodbye, leaving the pond
a sweet memory for everyone, the old that
return the new to become the only one pond
as you water the old shadow of the new glory; the
point has yet to flame the beginning of the new
and wonderful cloth of shinning vessel of
crystallize spirit living in you
witness the frog in the old pond; same melody
sang as the water flows into the stream of unending
face of today..........be on your way
Truck backs up - old pond
croaky exhaust mimics fart
frog glares in disgust
The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Old pond frog preserved
Frozen in cold immortality
dries up in long drought
if you can!
an old man
sweeps leaves and
upon the grave of
an old poet
upon a frog
that once jumps
into the pond
the last one
in the middle of
the green ocean
in this poem
Kimo's About Nature In The City
The thunder branches, crackling down blue-white,
on the inner eye the power
of God is lingering.
At the old pond each raindropp circles out wide
before a fish gleaming gold
brake through the calm surface
With the first cold rain shower that is falling
steam hisses in snow white clouds
reaching up to heaven
No croaking frog or cricket that screams shrill
can be heard above the noise
of a train and lorries.
A Spotted Frog (The Politician)
There he sits
A spotted frog
He grins from ear to ear
Waterbugs quake across the
The spotted frog sits
Stone-still on his perch
Silently stalking a humming dragonfly
His eyes shimmer
His mouth waters
His tounge is itching to snap out
And snatch the poor bug's life
His prey draws closer to his
All of the sudden
The urge is too strong to contain
His tounge snaps
The dragonfly silently flaps his last
Wingspan, breathes his last breath
The frog has devoured the innocent
There he sits
A spotted frog
Silently stalking another dragonfly
The urge to hurt and devour
Too strong to subdue
None is travelling
None is travelling
Here along this way but I,
This autumn evening.
The first day of the year:
thoughts come - and there is loneliness;
the autumn dusk is here.
An old pond
A frog jumps in -
Stabs the darkness
Clouds come from time to time -
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.
In the cicada's cry
There's no sign that can foretell
How soon it must die.
Poverty's child -
he starts to grind the rice,
and gazes at the moon.
Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.
Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!
Coyote and Frog (Native American)
Coyote and his friends walked to a pond
But found Frog and his clan now living there.
“This pond is small for all of us, ” Frog said.
“ Find water of your own. We cannot share.”
“If you will let us drink our fill and bathe,
I’ll get you a warm blanket and a blue stone
That’s bigger than your fist, ” Coyote offered.
When Frog agreed, Coyote went for them alone.
Frog took the gifts and led them to the pond.
Later as they left Frog laughed, “Good trade! ”
In fact, Coyote stole the gifts from Thunderbird,
Now furiously tracking prints the thief had made.
Coyote returned next day to find the Frog clan dead.
He took his people to the pond. “Good trade, ” he said.
Haiku Rule is No Rule
all the haiku rules
are no rule except
the three liner
i would concur
you can turn things
create another realm
with your words
so long as they jolt
the heart to things as banal
as a frog jumping
into an old pond
strike the mind
to give it another
for its existence
how could there be rules
when the world paints itself
in a thousand languages
throws as many idiosyncracies
as would civilisations draw up rules
for each of its endeavours
remember picasso, van gogh,
how they rule the canvas
and our 'rule abiding' selves
with their no-rule colours and strokes
how could there be a rule
when water like my core
could run in all directions
when this mind could jump
from moon to sun
and a far flung planet
in one second
when these eyes ould
see stars, planets, and suns
in this physique alone:
sun, planets, stars
all over my body
holds its facts
like a beautiful blue
of wild flowers
tightly in her tiny fist.
All is alive
whether it be sky
cloud or river...whatever.
Nothing is ever
only a thing.
We visit & re-visit
the old pond
who greet her
she were one of their own.
She waves regally.
Speaks to them
fluently in frog.
Even stones become
“...the stone peoples! ”
She likes them
“...’cos they are so quiet! ”
“Their quiet is like a big noise in my head! ”
trying to smuggle
her favourite cat
into her bed
snuggled up inside
as if she were
pregnant with it
(it scratching & meowing
to be born)
(caught in the act)
“Cats is peoples too! ”
We give in to
her superior logic
as she do.
To Anna Three Years Old
My Anna, summer laughs in mirth,
And we will of the party be,
And leave the crickets in the hearth
For green fields' merry minstrelsy.
I see thee now with little hand
Catch at each object passing bye,
The happiest thing in all the land
Except the bee and butterfly.
* * * * *
And limpid brook that leaps along,
Gilt with the summer's burnished gleam,
Will stop thy little tale or song
To gaze upon its crimping stream.
Thou'lt leave my hand with eager speed
The new discovered things to see--
The old pond with its water weed
And danger-daring willow tree,
Who leans an ancient invalid
Oer spots where deepest waters be.
In sudden shout and wild surprise
I hear thy simple wonderment,
As new things meet thy childish eyes
And wake some innocent intent;
As bird or bee or butterfly
Bounds through the crowd of merry leaves
And starts the rapture of thine eye
To run for what it neer achieves.
But thou art on the bed of pain,
So tells each poor forsaken toy.
Ah, could I see that happy hour
When these shall be thy heart's employ,
And see thee toddle oer the plain,
And stoop for flowers, and shout for joy.
Straw sandal half sunk
Straw sandal half sunk
in an old pond
in the sleety snow.
Translated by Robert Hass
An Old Pond
petals spread all-round
form at random
whirling by heat
spread by wind again
deform into something new by nature
A Summer Picnic
an early summer's day
we drove along on a gravel road
far back into the country
to enjoy a picnic
while snapping a few pictures
wildflowers, buttercups and dandelions
then a lone horse by a fence
farther on a field of jersey cows
by a red barn, with an amazing blue sky
then we arrive at our favourite spot
we stop by the old pond
to enjoy our picnic with a show
so enchanting the peacocks dance
for the white queen with blue eyes
Life's dirty. Life's unclean you know. It's birth, it's sex, it's the intestinal tract. One big squishy, unsanitary mess. It never gets any cleaner either. You know, dust to dust, worms crawl in, worms crawl out, right Even though we know that, we still walk the walk, we still live the life. We're like a bunch of little kids. Little kids, you know, we jump in this big old pond of mud and we're slapping it all over our face, rubbing our hair all down our backs and we're making these glorious, gooey, mud pies. That's us.
A cold autumn's night
Sink deep in their yellow skins, autumn steams on.
Spent memory will depart, so will my youth.
My new steps flow in tautness, oh, so restive.
Life’s beats swayed its frosty chants, mine swathed along.
Stilled water in frozen pond, glommed for truth and warmth.
Once summer olden dream returns, haste on her way.
Across the old pond, the kind bell shaded cold wind.
Small passions for now, soon mint snow sprinkles fresh hopes.
Soaked deep in their orange skins, autumn will soon end.
Swilled of heavy angst, hovered thoughts, hard-nosed firmed breath.
I sat in dense silence, then hummed a hearty prayer.
Graduation is anon, tomorrow shall bond.
Omnibus and the Excursion
They are singing and dancing
in this luxurious vehicle
going on a picnic to a historical place
where the ruins are still remained.
They count the pillars of the decayed castle
while the heroes slept quietly.
King's old pond almost dry and no water
only they hear the frogs chatter.
Queen's shattered mirror reflects
the kaleidoscopic picture of life.
Horses skeletons and all the remnants are standstill.
All are quiet on their way back journey,
snoring, some awake but drowsy
the bending mountain road is very risky.
The chauffeur too sleepy
and the bus descending steeply?
To my dearest father who met an accident and left all of us when I was only eight years old.