She lets one fall
into the nearest water;
shallow or deep,
it doesn't matter.
The ripples move
from static centre
- rapid or slow -
the water changes.
He hurls one fast
across the smooth surface;
sinking or skimmed,
it's linear travel.
The splashes fade
- the stone gets smaller -
distant or near,
a pebble's taken.
Hand in water
grasping curved smoothness
- pebble or word -
it ripples again.
Comments
maggyvaneijk | May 10, 2010 - 21:42
What a great poem, subtle and sweet on the outside and clever on the inside.
Moonlight | May 11, 2010 - 10:19
I really like this poem.
tcook | May 11, 2010 - 15:43
I like it too - but do you mean it's or its? Both work!
Ewan | May 11, 2010 - 18:52
Thanks very much for the cherry Tony.
The comma preceding means that, for me, it has to be it's for it is.
Dynamaso | May 12, 2010 - 03:09
There is something particularly zen about this piece, Ewan. I like it a lot.
Ewan | May 14, 2010 - 17:41
I forgot to thank you Moonlight for your kind words. :-)