Throw a stone

Came to me when i was skipping stones in a pond

A Little boy throws

A stone in the lake

And causes ripples

On the tranquil surface

Or does the stone

Not plunge

But go                                  

Skipping ahead to

The centre of the lake

And silently does drown

Into the very lake

It has now conquered.

Reviews

[Just Manoosh]

I love the change in direction this piece presents half way through, never has a question been raised so elequently. Mx

[Marie]

This was another wonderful piece of writing.

[Gandré]

very sweet. i am fascinated by ripples. always.
great small poem. emily is an angel. she sent it to me.

[R J Askew]

Something magical about throwing stones into water...a kind of ageless mystery. We all do it once in a while two. Like any title starting with a verb. Enjoyed this as it evokes water i have thrown stones into, some of which have skimmed. And I suppose we are not unlike stones...some of us hit the water and immediately vanish with a ker-plunk, whereas others of a lighter nature skip across the waters defying the elements for a their brief moment of success until they, too, sink out of sight.

[Samith Pich]

interesting. slightly metaphysical. i wonder what happen if you provided some breaks by splitting this poem into two or three stanzaz?? perhaps after 'tranquil surface' and 'skipping ahead'. i'm sure you could've tried experiementing with the structure but overall it's simplicity is a plus. keep it up Santulan.

[Andromeda]

great perspective. really great! love it!

[James K. Blaylock]

Wow, I greatly enjoyed this piece. Thanks to Emily for sharing it with me. And thanks to you for sharing it with us all.

[AK]

I like your perspective in this. Thanks to Emily for sending it to me!

[Cdnsurfer]

Interest piece you have written here, filled with a curious metaphysical query. Quiet, contemplative. Wonderful piece. Thanks Emily for sending this my way.

[Pema Dorje]

... a sweet surmise a lingering as if staring at forever with the eyes of a child ... this is the eyes of a writer who carried upon the ripples of the imagination dives also deeply for the pearl ...

Neither the voice that speaks shall have your Heart
nor can you hear that uncommenest of tongues;
... for the language of the Soul is silence ...
You shall know when you have been unspoken,
you will feel it Divine!
Peace is that wordless cry ... happy holidays Santulan a wondrous write