frogs leap and take flight
lily pads shift under weight
the still surface breaks

If this was a poem,
Would you read it?

And if this was a song,
Would you sing it?

And if this was a paper map showing you how to get to Rancho Cucamonga, California,
Would you be inspired by it?

Or just put your joint down already?

Hovering along the river.
A sacred water nourished by water lilies.
The sun kissing each petal evaporating the translucent water drops.
Visiting each lotus, wisdom lies in this pond.
Admiring the serenity and beauty each flower illustrates.
Gaze altered by darkness below.
Discovering the river’s bottom.
The complexity of each flower hides beneath the surface.
Countless lilies firmly rooted in dampened mud.
These magnificent flowers stem from malevolence.
Exploration of each lotus consumed by shadows.
These abused souls have endured untold suffering.
Resurfaced from unbearable knowledge.
Appreciating the resilience of this water garden.  
The buds that persisted despite horrific surroundings.
Examining this pond of loti, praising their bloom.
A water of survivors.
Radiance of inspiration.

© Jl 2015

We own a pond;
mottled bluebottle,
flecked in freckles
when the sunlight
skims the surface
between the moss.

I dip a finger inside
and stir. A nebula
swills, swirling like
a whisk of spilt oil
from a water spot
sometimes found
underneath a car.

My fist plunges in,
embalming a gulp;
moss bandages
around the orb that,
withdrawing in drips,
I see a new world
set alight upon it.

Large and wide
Deep and Cool
Filled with the purest water inside
It was our village's hallmark pool..

Stone lined walls on all sides
WIth steps going down to the water
And stones for washing clothes
Which also doubled for scrubbing our feet..


Live with fish and water snakes
Who were friends with us kids,
Frogs who would sing chorus during the rains
and ferns green and bright on the walls.

With overhanging trees on the banks
We came running and dived into the water
somersaulted and torpedoed
and swam in all fashions and styles...


Swimming and diving from the banks
We played "catch me if you can"
from the time we are back from schools
Till it is dark and when calls come from our homes.

With swollen finger tips
and red eyes, but
After the long swim and bath
Having dinner right away and
slipping into a good night's sleep...

Days where there were no TVs to watch
Days where there no homeworks to be done
Days where what mattered most were friends
Days which take us to the sweet childhood..

Gone is the pride of our village
there are no kids who play in the water
For there is no water in the pond
except for a few months during the rains

Kids are no longer kids
They have TV to watch
Phone and computers to play
Virtual friends to play with

Lucky we were
to have such beautiful childhoods
Such memorable friendships
Such adventurous rainy seasons
....

She sat watching ducks
on the pond,
I lay beside her
watching clouds pass.

She still wore
her school uniform
as did I having got off
the school bus
and came right
there to the pond.

Yehudit was silent
-a miracle in itself-
birds sang
from trees nearby,
traffic noises
were audible
from the road
over the way.

Still got the huff?
I said,
looking at her
sideways on.

She turned
and glanced at me;
bright blue eyes stared.

You were with her
all through lunch hour
and not me,
she said, and what's
she got I haven't?

I live near you;
she lives near school
miles away,
I said.

And? So what?
Yehudit said.

I don't get to talk
with her except
at school,
I said.

You were more
than talking.

I watched
as she turned away,
her hair brown
and on her shoulders;
her bra strap edged
through the cotton blouse.

She sat in a provocative way
and you were
too close to her,
Yehudit said.

I studied the way
her figure narrowed;
her *** was neat.

I saw you from
where I was sitting.

I saw you,
I said,
gawking at us.

She turned
and stared at me.

Does that kiss
at Christmas
mean nothing to you?
Yehudit asked.

I recalled the kiss
and moonlight
and stars
and the choir sang
carols to people
in the houses.

Means a lot,
I said.

Didn't seem like it
lunchtime when you
were all over her
like she was a *****
on heat.

The school tie
was untied
and pulled away
from her neck.

Her ******* pushed
against cloth.

She hasn't your humour
or your figure,
I said.

She lay beside me
and turned
and stared.

Is that so?
She asked,
eyes wide and blue.

Yes, of course,
I said.

What else can a boy
say or do?