The Reflection of God
Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.
Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.
It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.
But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.
Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.
When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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Little Ripples
On a tranquil sea.
Are they really that calm?
Can I cross them,
Like a bump in the road.
Do I find the strength
Like in youthful naivety?)
To speed on through
Till one overtakes me
In my mind.
Little ripples.
They scare me so.
I keep swimming day by day.
Eyes just above the ripples.
Little ripples, Little ripples
Be kind to my mind!
The salt water relaxation
Is taking me away
From earthly cares.
But how many more ripples
Can I surmount?
Before I give up
And just become a memory
In peoples minds`.
poem by Peter Vealey
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The Image
Written by: richard marx & fee waybill
Hope you dont believe a word
Of all the things I know youve heard about me
Really just a pack of ies
You see the truth before your eyes around me
Hard to keep it straight
The real from the ruse
Probably way too late
What can I do, but its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Would it be too much to ask
That you could just gvie me the chance to prove it
Or would it only be a waste of time
To try to make you change your mind and use it
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ripples In The Water
Once a week I go to Battery Park
To recharge my life's batteries;
I watch the ripples in the water
Made by the tugboats pulling their cargo.
The many ripples remind me
Of the city and its multi-ethnic background;
A panorama of life on the subway
As I travel on my way to work.
Since my retirement, I journey not to toil
But rather find myself by the riverside,
Relaxing and energizing my thoughts
As I observe, the ripples in the water.
poem by Hugh D. Wright
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A Chinese Takeaway - for David with thanks
The ancient sage, beset with too many thoughts
for one human lifetime,
chooses carefully the place to sit
beside the lake,
under the even more ancient twisted pine
with the view of distant cliffs
where the stork’s cry echoes;
gathers his thoughts.
Out of mercy,
the breeze gently ruffles the surface
of the lake;
the sage, reminded by the ripples
of the stillness of the lake,
smiles from a mind that’s now the lake
reflecting the blueness of the sky;
reflects, beyond the blue,
the space in which immortals live.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rippling Waters
Rippling Waters
By: Adam M. Snow
Let the water ripples;
as our reflection is shown.
For it has tripled;
for we are all alone.
Let the rain dropp upon rippling waters;
showing us our past and our future.
For we are no longer curse;
for it shows what we once were.
Let our reflection in the ripples show;
how our love gently flow.
For our touch is also smooth;
for there is no need to lie for we know the truth.
Let the moon beam upon our reflection;
showing us there is no affliction.
Let our reflection in the ripples show;
how our love gently flow.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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I Never Had Time To Explain Myself
there were stones thrown
on the water and so there were ripples
like the pain
the pain goes on and on
like circles spreading beyond a certain point
of my tolerance
my tongue forms some words like hammers
to hit the nails right on their faces
to break the monotony of destruction
without rivets no dovetails but
the story has become like a code of the samurai
to you, and you swing your head like arms
in disbelief how can all these be true he is not like this
and you become like a bone in my throat and i like
to remove every obstruction one by one
but i do not have the pleasure of keeping you
my hands inside my pocket are mine alone
the pebble inside it is warm and smooth
my treasure and like my conscience i keep it
inside my heart. I keep seeing ripples and then
i do not mind how many stones how far they spread.
i owe no one and no one owes me
i am an island and i wish there are no boats docked on my shore
any time, somewhere, any more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Capture It
The crashing seas
A box of bees
Capture the Crashes
Capture the Buzz
A skateboarder's stunts
Simply having fun
Capture the Stunts
Capture the Fun
First day at school
First swim in the pool
Capture the Uniform
Capture the Ripples
There's an Image for Everything
Every Occasion
Capture the Image
Capture The Moment.
poem by Rachel Marlow
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Sleep
I can't describe the feeling when
I'm in my bed asleep and then
I wake up with a vision blurred
And all my efforts are detered
To reconstruct this image lost
There're certain things my mind must do
and even though they're very few
The image glistens like a gem
Repairing is not one of them
So I'm awake though in my mind
The image thats so unrefined
is calling to me from the deep
and tempting me to fall asleep
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pool That Once Was Clean
it is the mirror
of your clean shaven face
the image of grace
and beauty
was once yours
until you put
the ripples on the clear pool
until you throw
the first stone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Close My Eyes
I close my eyes.
I see your face.
The image of you
I can't erase.
I toss at night.
I cannot sleep.
My thoughts of you
Go too deep.
The night becomes day
And time moves on.
And soon
Another day is gone.
I close my eyes.
I see your face.
The image of you
I can't erase.
Can't break the cycle.
Don't know how.
If I swore I would
I'd break that vow.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Yes, you.
If you have a voice
And you choose not to use it
Because it is convenient…
Because your image reflects
A check mark…
A stamp from the small souls
On the surface of your head...
Then please reexamine it
From the inside.
Do not try to further build an image
By visiting a country in the great continent…
The problem is right here, darlings…
As soon as you step on their ground
And play nice…
They can see right through you.
Because you are representing
The small souls that destroyed their mother land.
So stop building a nice image for yourself
Your shiny ego…
And start questioning the root of the pain.
poem by Erica Borges
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Crane
A neighbour finds a crane noble
who neither warns nor boasts.
Ripples, hindrance to scheme,
trigger the neighbour's dream
of visiting a lake, as needed,
but living in the sky
where nobility's required:
'An albatross, you know,
would flop around down here;
should always only fly.
I disdain the ripples.
I keep my thought on high.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Winter
Winter comes
with A Winter’s Tale
of all that has gone before.
Ulysses toasts his feet before an Ithacan fire
dreaming of Ilium.
Letting go.
Letting go gain and loss.
A winter’s tale –
words upon a page,
ripples upon a mind
like ripples upon a sea.
The wind drops
sea becomes calm.
Where are the ripples then?
Mind lets go.
Where is Ilium?
Où sont les neiges d’antan?
Did anything happen?
Does anything happen?
Où sont les neiges d’antan?
In this flat calm of total peace
can anything exist?
poem by Brian Taylor
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Spectral Images, Images of the Light
I am no more than a thought
spinning itself through god's mind
no more than a memory of what was
an experience of the present
a visionary glimpse into the future
I am no more than a spectral image
image of the light
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Ripples bubble
Every one who is born, strives to make ripples
In the world of whirlpools, as large as could they be,
Though with the tides of time, sooner or later,
All the ripples are wiped as shorter as could they be.
10.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Look Home
Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights,
As beauty doth in self-beholding eye ;
Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights,
A brief wherein all marvels summed lie,
Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store,
Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more.
The mind a creature is, yet can create,
To nature's patterns adding higher skill ;
Of finest works with better could the state
If force of wit had equal power of will.
Device of man in working hath no end,
What thought can think, another thought can mend.
Man's soul of endless beauty image is,
Drawn by the work of endless skill and might ;
This skillful might gave many sparks of bliss
And, to discern this bliss, a native light ;
To frame God's image as his worths required
His might, his skill, his word and will conspired.
All that he had his image should present,
All that it should present it could afford,
To that he could afford his will was bent,
His will was followed with performing word.
Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest,
He should, he could, he would, he did, the best.
poem by Robert Southwell
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Walking And Fishing
an early morning walk is like
a fishing venture where you sail with your boat alone on the waters
you wait and some ripples come
and then you remember
you catch fish, you stumble upon a stone
you take hold of each, and then the ripples are gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The age of image.
The people who know you
Are the canvas on which
Your image, good or bad,
Is drawn rightly or not.
Mind! The image you built
Will die with the canvas
When it’s torn or worn out.
Yet, each one wants an image.
Don't we desire leaving
A child for our copy,
which will not last long though?
02.01.2009.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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One Hundred Ripples
One hundred ripples I mark today
One hundred steps along my way
One hundred steps lead to the pond
One hundred trees there do surround
One hundred birds nesting among the trees
One hundred bees filling the air with these
One hundred bees buzzing about in the air
One hundred flowers are pollinating there
One hundred flowers provide the aromas sweet
For one hundred bouquets given to lovers as treat
One hundred lovers walk the winding pathway
One hundred times to find romance there each day
One hundred times they will reach to explore
One hundred pebbles found along the pond shore
One hundred pebbles carry wishes through the air
One hundred ripples on surface creating there
One hundred ripples then spreading out will begin
One hundred waves soon lapping at the shore again
One hundred waves providing the means for
One hundred more pebbles to reach the shore
One hundred pebbles scatter along the pathway
One hundred steps retraced at the end of the day
One hundred small steps... this latest poem was conceived to denote
One hundred little ripples... spreading from 100 poems I wrote
poem by Mary Havran
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Christ is the most perfect image of God, into which we are so renewed as to bear the image of God, in knowledge, purity, righteousness, and true holiness.
quote by John Calvin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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