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Posts Tagged ‘pond’

At the Pond

At the pond with Gramps I
did not know what I was
becoming, I thought it would
be like that forever, that I
could always catch bullfrogs
and fire-bellied newts with
my small hands, Gramps
guiding me over my shoulder.

Years later the pond changed,
I caught catfish and large-
mouth bass, my fishing line
that connected me to the web
of every living thing, to the pond
Gramps fished on his childhood
farm, Gramps confined to a chair
I could still march up the hill and
tell him the days fishing stories,
I thought it would be like that forever.

That I crossed that pond in every
way; in a small rowboat that leaked,
by foot around its edges, by a
young brave swim, in my mind,
was proof of it all, of
early earth when life began to
more developed creatures to
a place, a pond teeming with
all that makes life pleasant.

In his eyes I from boy to young man,
some potential he saw in youth,
in my eyes Gramps from old to older,
strong to frail, life to wisdom to rest.

To know Gramps gave time as
if he were the pond, as if he had
an infinite mound of sand in some
hidden room somewhere that he
could fill up the hour glass with,
fill up the pond with creatures to
fish for after he had gone, fill up
my head with infinite cherished
gifts, birds and frogs and snakes and fish.

 

Kyle McHale        2014

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The Sleeping Pond

Just out of reach of this world,
There lies a simple sleeping pond,
It will sit, and it will stare
At all who try to enter there.

Around it a protective wood,
Far off from any working map,
A wood of old green growth and deep,
Cradles the pond so it can sleep.

Sleeping well under an old spell,
The pond lay dormant, quiet still,
Behind the reeds that slowly sway
At waters edge through night and day.

Though creatures roam round all the scene,
But hidden down and blending in,
They keep the water’s secret close,
For they all fear the sleeping most.

A place only the lost can find,
Then further still the blue ponds spell.
The last who wandered off the map
To find the ponds secret trap,

Was a fairy with flapping wings,
Beautiful and innocent.
Where was she exactly going?
Once off course, without knowing,

The creatures let her pass to see
All the place and enchanted wood,
For they all know the thirst that comes
When one arrives by blue pond sun.

Thinking it safe for it to drink,
Those tiny hands took up a cup,
And put it to her tiny lips,
Such beauty in small finger tips.

At an instant she fell asleep,
Then lied so peaceful on the ground.
Creatures not phased by fairy sleep,
Came in to set the beauty deep

Into the old blue sleeping pond.
They watched her slowly sink down in,
So beautiful they watched her fall,
As her hand wished farewell to all.

For three slow days she floated down,
While turning slowly like the earth,
With no more fairy thoughts to sing,
A lovely type of hovering.

Water having her thoughts and wings,
At three days end she found the truth,
Softly landed on a pile,
As lightly as a dreaming child.

The selfish water had it all,
A mound of sleeping things to keep:
Humans, elves, fairies and nymphs,
Monsters, souls, and ghosts, a prince.

All have found the sleeping secret,
The one the forest creatures keep,
All drifted down that three day fall,
Not knowing what their sleeping saw.

No one leaves, no one leaves, to tell
The world what happens there,
The pond wants all to slumber down,
To dream with water, not the ground.

No chance at all of an escape,
The creatures guard, the water sees,
The pond has all their dreams and thoughts
For fear its secrets may be lost.

Kyle McHale      2010

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