Sounding rains judging
Sloshing ocean, rivers, falls all
Croaking frogs help ponds
haiku by Indira Renganathan
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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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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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The frogs [Broaştele]
Up in my poplar moon lays down its nest,
And like a raven night begins to fly.
Its wings throw stars, but these don't get to rest,
They're sipped by frogs, which by the ponds do lie.
Because the frogs engulf such bits of night,
Then in the ponds they dive for having fun,
Stirring the water with their bellies white
In which so many stars melt one by one.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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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
monsoon has set in
croaking breaks the still of nights
brings snakes to old ponds
haiku by John Celes
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Samhain - Night Falls
SAMHAIN – Night Falls
A teardropp falls on the page
upon which I write
By morning it is gone
nothing remains,
gone, vaporised
Billowing clouds
have taken my tear
Raindrops tap on my window
rivers swell, springs rise
merging into the ocean
Did my tear die?
No, at each stage
it gained a new expression
at each turn of the way
I am one with ocean, cloud and spring
poem by Howlin' Dervish
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I am less concerned about them than about the croaking frogs in the marsh.
A Rainy Day
It’s raining cats and dogs,
Frogs are croaking
Here and there.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Crickets and Frogs
Now it is raining
Many crickets are chirping
And frogs are croaking
poem by Asif Andalib
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Rainbow Snake
This story of the Rainbow Serpent is an Australian aboriginal legend and I have re-told it, with the best of intentions, for an international audience. I may have made some changes to the story and I hope my re-telling is true to the spirit of the original versions.
the rainbow snake
see it tickles
the frogs
and water fills the rivers and gullies
and waterholes;
and see the rainbow snake
see it brings forth
all life sleeping before
it is the beginning
and the earth is bare and barren
and the Rainbow Serpent
dear Ngalyod, powerful Borlung
the lovely Rainbow Serpent
she moves across the earth
and where she moves
see
how she creates tracks and dry courses
and huge craters;
and see how the Rainbow Serpent
she digs into the earth and emerges crashing into the air
on the other earth side of the world
and see how she throws up mountains and crags
and hills and mounds
and the Uluru and ravines;
and she calls the frogs
who come in heavy and bloated
and she tickles the frogs
and the frogs laugh
and the waters flow and the rains have come
and the dry lands are replete
with billabongs, rivers, creeks and lagoons
and the mighty oceans;
and the Rainbow Serpent is pleased
and she calls forth all
sleeping beings
and they all awake
and the Rainbow Serpent is pleased
and she provides them laws
and she disappears into another waterhole
and you can see her
you can see the Benevolent Rainbow Serpent
as she travels from one waterhole to another
as she emerges from one and she is in the sky
and you can see her
the lovely creative Rainbow Serpent in the sky
and she disappears soon enough
into another huge waterhole
somewhere on our earth
the rainbow snake
see it tickles
the frogs
and water fills the rivers and gullies
and waterholes;
and see the rainbow snake
see it brings forth
all life sleeping before
poem by Raj Arumugam
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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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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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It is at courts as it is in ponds; some fish, some frogs.
Of the train
The whistles of the train
In the rains
Puts on a hat of black smoke
At its sight the frogs croak
On the edges of a pond
Where shadows of a banyan tree
Gambol with the shades of a Palmyra tree
And butterflies witness the exciting game
Being on their fragrant wings
The butterflies have drunken deep
In the pollens of dahlia and sunflower
Lotus and water lily
And are dank with sensuousness
A train rushing in the rains
Under the canopy of clouds
Throwing up a cap of smoke
Can open up such phantom worlds
Saturated with smoking and croaking
Fragrant sensuousness
NOTE-
This can of words has been manufactured
On the 5th May 2011
And it will remain fresh cool for 160 days
Provided it is kept in a cold dark cellar of the brain
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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The whistles of the train
The whistles of the train
In the rains
Puts on a hat of black smoke
At its sight the frogs croak
On the edges of a pond
Where shadows of a banyan tree
Gambol with the shades of a Palmyra tree
And butterflies witness the exciting game
Being on their fragrant wings
The butterflies have drunken deep
In the pollens of dahlia and sunflower
Lotus and water lily
And are dank with sensuousness
A train rushing in the rains
Under the canopy of clouds
Throwing up a cap of smoke
Can open up such phantom worlds
Saturated with smoking and croaking
Fragrant sensuousness
NOTE-
This can of words has been manufactured
On the 5th May 2011
And it will remain fresh cool for 160 days
Provided it is kept in a cold dark cellar of the brain
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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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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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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Story of water molecules
story of water molecule!
I was ocean and I was in ocean,
When my own waves brought
me to surface, I was happy I got exposed..
And I was exposed to the fresh
air and fresh rays of broad
sunlight.
I stared gaining energy... each
molecule vibrated with and I too,
I was lifted up and up,
With friends and family together
raising in space..
We are cloud and I am cloud away my ocean!
Alas! , air stopped lifting us and
started swinging here and there
and billions and billions of us
were there enjoying together
our swing, jolting and moving
here and there, But the cool air drew our energy..
We came together as we become
poorer and poorer..
We formed a group and dropp and
started
falling together! Some fell on hot rocks and hot
land, quickly went up..
But some fell on grass and plants
got absorbed and trapped there,
some fell on land joined hands
and became steam, We called our
trapped friends to
join us, but they were settled
there and enjoying happiness
and sorrow, making their own
life, some were in trees and
plants, some were in men and
beasts, enjoying their life there.. We streams joined and became
rivers and rolling and falling in
eddies and vortoices,
we enjoyed rocks and falls... And
reached
ocean completing a cycle.. But still most of our friends Were
back and there
still
enjoying their trapped life, some
are in organismsms, some in
lakes and ponds, some as mountain
ice! Oh we are molecule yet Not
differentiated in ocean! We are
neither happy nor feeling pain, Some us dived deep and felt safe
felt escaped the cycle... Some loved and felt bad of our
friends trapped, wanted to go to
call them back, remained on the
surface to go and warn them we
were oceans,
They were, sages, seers and prophets.. They knew they are free, yet
their love, and decide to be part
of eternal play..! We can now say,
we are that, I am that, this and that, but who is there to
listen we are all
ocean we are ocean! Or we are raising, or we are
in clouds or we in lakes and
ponds. Trapped or free, having a
duty towards us, towards others
and the Ocean! I am that, think about you and
feel yourself.... 'I am that '
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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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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The Pond
Cold, wet leaves
Floating on moss-coloured water,
And the croaking of frogs-
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.
poem by Amy Lowell
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