A toad
why cry all alone?
get out and meet somebody
the frogs are croaking
for companion, why arent you?
get out, and get to know somebody
anybody is better than nobody
even a toad waddling in the pond
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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On The Pond
if i were to choose
whether
i be this flowering lotus
or the croaking toad
on the pond
i will choose
as a matter of compromise
both
a croaking flowering lotus
sitting like a toad then
splashing on the pond
pleasing everybody
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Rain
in the rain my friend
you have been croaking with the frogs
and what i hear
is the symphony of crooks
still waddling
in the muddy creek of corruption
if you invite me
i could have sang so well....
(hmmm)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Laughng Toad
The smell of lavander
Bees humming rounds its tall soft tips
The water flowing over the rock
Trickles down my eyes
Shallow ripples; koi pond's surafce.
Chlorinated water; unlucky toad's fate
I saved it! I saved it!
Released from pool to pond
Where he shall be
Free to bathe
Laugh as toad's laugh
Returning in pride
I search for him
Make sure he is clean and laughing
All I see is the resident frog
A gluttoned frog
Two protruding legs
Of my laughing toad
Raised upwards to the heavens
Jutting from the fatted
Frogs mouth.
I emancipated; hence enslaved
Intentions dont determine
Outcome.
poem by Vincent Cibelli
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The Croaking Toad And The Leopard Frog
The croaking toad and the leopard frog,
Were drinking beer on a hollow log.
And the croaking toad said, you're my best bud,
Man you can really hold your suds.
And the leopard frog replied in kind,
Another friend like you, I couldn't find.
You're my best friend when skies are grey,
You're by my side come what may.
I'd rather drink my beer with you,
Than catch blue bottles the whole day through.
Let's drink one more to the breaking dawn,
While we listen quietly to the crickets song.
But the croaking toad said I must go,
I'm very sleepy and the cock just crowed.
I'll see you tonight for a cold one or two,
I really love this black swamp brew.
And the leopard frog said I'll be here,
With my styrofoam ice chest sitting near.
Just bring some peanuts when you come round,
With beer they taste so good going down.
6/8/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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To The Frog Clan
This shall be the symbol of my clan
The slime of my ancestors
For those whose claim for life and prosperity
Is as prolonged as the length of the list found in the clan’s tree
This frog is your frog
It is part of the multitude
Taking the power of the ten rivers
Its croaking
Is the uproar against the loudest blur of the reigning rains
You are the frog like us
From water to land to grasses to marshes to trenches
Of this earth
We shall remain as the true descendants of the great frog
By our nature
We shall not go hungry
By the power of the longest tongue
By the secret poisons of our skins
By our rounded views
By our slime
By the strong clinging of our ties
We shall all be saved
From the great flood
May our dead ancestors
May the great frogs
Lead us to the most secure pond of our future lives
And may the frog in us
Give us the great leap
The great jump
Taking us to our dream
Our clear cool waters
Teeming with mashing marshes
And there
Dear loving frogs of this clan
Let all our croaking be one.
Let all our croaking be true.
Let our croaking be love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sound Of The Rain
do not mislead me with the
point-of-view of the frog
you croak and you say this
is how something beautiful
sounds, how ugliness feigns
i tell you i like the rain and
the frog likes it too, i am
one of those frogs bathing
and jumping on the pond,
but do not mislead me with
your sound, it does not sound
like the hush of the wind,
it has no color of the moon,
i am one of the frogs of this
pond, but i do not wish to
sound like you: i am in love
with the sound of the rain,
and this is the one that makes
me stay. It is not you, your
sound is not gentle, it is
rough like the skin of the
teething toad. I love the
rain, the way it sounds,
and that is enough
for my suffering.
Dripping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Give Poetry A Bad Name
The frogs should not have croaked a lot
when everyone is fast asleep
Aristophanes after all is right
These frogs should not live like the Clouds.
On the other hand
THe Philosophers should cling to being
Philosophers
Stay with the embrace of Reason and Not
Embrace the Strong Arms of Emotions
For Emotions belong to nothing but the
Realm of Poetry
aH! Lysistrata shall now wage her own
War against the Men
Claiming as she does
Her sole right to Eroticism
Honestly, i still love to hear the frogs croaking
In the Pond
I for the meantime loves to Keep
The Philosophers dwell in their Own
Cloud Point of view.
If Lysistrata obliges
One night with Her would be enough
After which, I shall work hard to
Give Poetry its Own Right Name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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P.
in the same manner
i never expect you to take me
to you,
lighten my load
and please me
with your ways
swan-like and
peacock colors
there is the solitude of
your pond
the pale blue in your
clouds
there is the reality
of the croaking of your
frogs
the imaginary place
has welcomed me
like i am a part of you
since
no regrets i take
you as you take me
in this marriage
of our arts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Its Croaking Shows Its Presence! !
The croaking echoes through the neighborhood,
the blasting croaking echoes as braying,
sometimes as barking, another time as whistling,
the sounds of croaking may crack our heads,
in the tropical region where it rains,
every other day and musical begins,
with the mono syllabic cricket,
house lizards join them occasionally,
The frogs repeats one day and one night,
as the Native American folklore says,
brother sun agreed and the bear hibernated,
the frogs repeat one day and one night,
it may not be alive the next day,
unnecessary croaking,
is being heard by something,
that slithers and hungry,
its croaking showed its presence,
right to the mouth of that reptile.
In the middle of the meetings,
some of us croak to show our presence,
Croak the wrong information,
out of our peanut brains,
sometimes we croak in the viva verse,
mostly something the invigilators unaware,
fail us then and there,
keeping quiet, sometimes good,
people assume that we know many things,
Politicians croak,
clergies croak,
our teachers croak,
our parents croak,
our children croak,
you and I croak,
our nature make us to croak,
most of the times we get caught,
because we croak a lot.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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On Clear Pond
ON a clear pond
not far away from the house
there live two
frogs
who blend well in their
croaking
during the rainy season
contented on a lotus leaf
for a home
and few moths,
bugs and
flies for their
meals
they are happier on this
simple terms
together
there is no marriage
for them to
boast
but it is still death
that does them part
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Proud to be a frog
I am proud to be a frog, though I know not why.
The green of my skin, so utterly devine;
as to what others say, (to which I am blind)
'You are proud to be a frog, though we do not know why'.
To look at the toad or turtle, they are a shame.
They are slow and weak, their legs poorly shaped.
If you dare to look closely at the great frog race;
we are quick and spry, objects of envious hate.
To the toad that is brown or the newt that is orange.
Their ugliness is a disgrace, no more than a sore;
and as to what I say, (to frogs it is right)
'We are proud to be frogs, all apart must die! '
poem by Shirow Walker
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Frog For a Day
When we croak,
were dead,
on the other hand,
when a frog croaks
he speaks to
nature and is
so cheerful,
When we croak
were silent, and so
still, not cheerful
at all.
Frogs are always
croaking and so
happy,
People are always
croaking and so
sad.
For once it would
be nice to be
a frog for a day.
wrote 4-9-07
Most Of What I Have Is
Anger, bull anger, dragon anger
Tiger anger,
Strong anger of twisters,
For the one I truly and truly love,
The desert and the volcanic ash
The ungiving, the unyielding
It is like,
A dead pond
Murky, brackish water,
It is the dwelling of
A porcupine-fish, just that,
It does not even swim
Or tried learning the art
Of swimming
It is my pain
This is my pain that I painted
On a piece of paper
One dark line in black
At the end at the rightmost tip
Is the red
Tip of iron-hot jagged-edge acetylene torch fire
It is aimed in my head in my heart
It is anger
That is angry to itself
And so everything in this pond dies,
The moss, the lilies,
The tadpoles the catfish the last catfish
Of this pond
Died the other day the frogs Stopped croaking since
The toads found warts on their throats
It is anger
A blizzard
Burst my eardrums
She may sing the songs
Of love to my deaf
Ears
Perforated Eardrums of anger
It is anger That keeps me alive
Its only desire Is to kill This anger this looseness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I am less concerned about them than about the croaking frogs in the marsh.
The Crickets and Frogs
Now it is raining
Many crickets are chirping
And frogs are croaking
poem by Asif Andalib
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A Rainy Day
It’s raining cats and dogs,
Frogs are croaking
Here and there.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Yellow Frogs
On this rainy day
The yellow frogs are croaking
To find their playmates.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Apple for a prince
Nice apples can be red and often green
and sometimes something in between
Frogs are nearly always green
Soon you'll see what I mean
I took a bite and now the worse
as this apple had a curse
Im now a frog with little chance
of finding my desired romance
Sunlight came and sunlight go
Poor frog doesnt know
To lift the curse he needs a kiss
Can a princess take a risk
Ill try and reach her from the ground
Maybe she'll hear my croaking sound
Please be kind to frogs you see
As the one you spot may be me
poem by Alan Draper
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Sounding rains judging
Sloshing ocean, rivers, falls all
Croaking frogs help ponds
haiku by Indira Renganathan
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Listening to the moon
Listening to the moon,
gazing at the croaking of frogs
in a field of ripe rice.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Yosa Buson
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