I take my boat out on my lake
for quiet when I'm on the brink,
and as I look back at the wake
the churning water makes me think
of stones tossed in a smaller lake,
perhaps a pond, I don't know when
or where I tossed those pebbles in
and why I got the feeling then
if ripples were like thoughts, I'd know
just how they grew and then I'd see
not just some scientific fact
of object & fluidity,
but thoughts as echoes of ideas
without which there would never be
the change from small subjective to
the large of objectivity.
I throw some crumbs into my lake
to watch the fish come up and bite,
there never is enough, like children
over sweets, they shove and fight.
Again I think those fish are like
ideas that tumble through my mind,
there's never room enough for all
of them, and there are times I find
that there's a lake inside my head,
some places deep and others shallow,
some pure and clear, some filled with muck
where some thoughts bloom and some lie fallow.
And when a storm disturbs the calm
of lake and mind, fish and ideas
take refuge so far down I hope
they can't be snared, but I have fears
that fishermen with tempting lures
will net them all, and tell their tales
of fish they caught and thoughts they thought
that grow, until they're big as whales.
They never seem to realize, nor
give to anyone, a sign,
that all those fish they call their own
are not from their lake, but from mine.
Most everything is better shared,
ideas, fish stories, lots of things,
for sharing is the gift that brings
to all, what hoarding never brings.
However, and with modesty,
(I'm not the first one to have said it),
there are times, that, for my ideas
I'd like my full share of the credit.