"A Rippling Pool of Gibberish" poem

More about "A Rippling Pool of Gibberish" poem

A Rippling Pool of Gibberish
It sat in the courtyard, round and still,
A pool not fed by stream or hill.
No lilies bloomed, no koi would swim—
Just echoes soft and language dim.

Each ripple spoke in whispered sighs,
Of broken codes and lullaby lies.
“Blarn,” it sang, “and tikkle-sheen,”
Reflections warped in glassy sheen.

Scholars came with pens in hand,
They tried to map, to understand.
But syntax drowned and rules gave way,
To nonsense shaped like light and clay.

A child stepped near, her fingers bare,
She touched the pool with quiet care.
And every gibber echoed true,
As if the pool already knew.

It did not ask for sense or frame,
It played no role, it named no name.
Just syllables that danced and fell—
A liquid tongue without a shell.

So let it ripple, soft and wide,
With meaning lost, and self beside.
For some deep truths don't rhyme or fit—
They shimmer only when we quit.

In my opinion, this piece is a reflection on how meaning is often found not through structure or logic, but through surrender—an embrace of uncertainty, play, and instinctive feeling. A rippling pool of gibberish becomes a metaphor for the subconscious, or even art itself.