I’m posting this poem as I think it quite fits with my next (and last) Lake District Chronicles post, which will be live next Sunday. Another of my poems written whilst at university, this was inspired by how the simple act of skimming a stone can drastically change the appearance of the water. Let me know your interpretations!
A pool lays secluded
beneath the weeping willow
whose tendrils tickle the surface.
The silent kingfisher perches,
cleaning his feathers, as minnows
begin their calm procession.
Where the water is shallow
you can see the glint of gold
in their scales. A lost time
when the world was serene.
Then you started skimming stones.
The smack as the perfect flat stone skips across the surface,
small explosions as it crosses the standing water.
Ripples spreading out, battling to reach their widest scope,
rolling over one another until the large rings merge –
fade to the tranquil mirror
but the stone still rests at the bottom.