This is very moving, Rachel, and resonates so accessibly for me. You capture the power and wonder of rivers so well, I could hear the rushing waters in my heart.
What a great travel story poem, Barbara! I know Acadia National Park well, and know the very spot you are referencing. And I grew up on the coast of Virginia where we could swim in the ocean only bathing suits in three seasons. I confess to never having fully adjusted to the cold northern ocean after all these years!
I turn on the kitchen faucet to wash my vegetables, and allow my thoughts to rest on people who don’t have this ease in their relationship with water.
I remember having to wash myself, my hair, on the side of a street at the community well in Nepal because there were no indoors showers or baths. It is not a bad memory, but one filled with happiness at being outside standing with other women, our skirts hiked above our breasts, washing ourselves in the sun.
My thoughts drift to the idea of carrying water for miles, or having to ration water. To turning on the faucet to discolored, toxic water, like others in the U.S. have had to experience.
I finish washing my veggies. Holding these memories, these thoughts of gratitude, and a hope for clean water for all. And wonder can I do more.
Such a sweet and hopeful poem, Jane. I like the stories you tell within, and your clear empathy for others. Every being deserves clean water, and your offering of this poem is a part of doing more. Blessings to you.
This is very nice, Dwight, and a powerful witness. Our industrial societies have treated water, and all of our natural resources as commodities to be used as we see fit. I'll gather with you in the name of water.
There are huge rocks
strewn on our path,
preventing justice,
separating us.
But water streaming freely
finds a way
around the obstacles,
or with time
persistently erodes the rock.
We are strong like water.
Right with you, Hans. May the water of justice flow!
Love this imagery.
It finds a way around.....yup.
I think I must be part Sea,
a larger part than most must be,
for the moon calls to me so temptingly
as I toss myself about
but no matter how far I reach,
I will keep returning to myself.
A wonderful poem of connection, wonder and understanding. I am quite grateful you return to your wonderful self!
Living on an island
I saw it everywhere
Rising slowly against the curb
Where we splashed in the coolness
Collecting in small pools
In the backyard, in alleyways
Storm after storm
Where the Gulf
Stretched out beyond vision
Hinting at worlds afar
Shades of blues and grays, muddied
From the Mississippi
That carved its path
Thousands of miles flowing from
Minnesota to Louisiana
Where I came to know its power
To cleanse and hydrate
Drown and destroy
In equal measure
Where I feared and desired
All it offered
My head forever swimming in questions, hoping that
Everything and everyone,
And all that we inhabit
Could drink and be cleansed, and
Surrender to its current
As it carries us where
We are meant to be.
This is very moving, Rachel, and resonates so accessibly for me. You capture the power and wonder of rivers so well, I could hear the rushing waters in my heart.
Water for the Cancer
is a thing of beauty.
It restores and purifies,
Soothes the wounded.
Water sparkles and dances
in the sunlight.
It is a tonic, relaxing the weary
sitting beside it,
whether in babbling brook,
or waves lapping at a shore.
In dreams it represents emotions
bubbling under the surface,
revealing to the dreamer
what lies buried below.
Water falls from the heavens
in the form of raindrops
for thirsty, parched earth.
It plays with the leaves
reaching up to embrace them.
Water restores my soul.
I love this poem, Nancy. “In dreams it represents emotions
bubbling under the surface,
revealing to the dreamer
what lies buried below..” what powerful words and lines. I like the way your poem feels seems like healing water, flowing and purifying and revealing.
Thank you, Larry
It is alive.
At the water's edge
I'm able to breathe.
The changeable nature
Above - underneath -
Somehow reminds me
Of the true way of things.
And I can sit with my life -
The uncertainty it brings.
At the water's edge
I know I belong -
Solid and flowing,
And singing Earth's song.
This is very beauitful Sarah. It is a song as well asa poem, and it's tender lines and lyrical cadence soothed my heart in this moment.
Thank you Larry - so lovely you heard the song too ☺️
My hanging basket
Gave me a withered look
Till I gave her water
Then she forgave me
And unfurled her fushias again.
My soul
Gave me a withered look
Till I left the house
In search of water
Then she unpacked her sadness
By the garden fountain
And filled up her canteen again.
This is beauitful Jess, and I like the plant and soul analogy--and it struck me how forgiving how both our plants and souls can be!
Water
I have stepped barefoot into every body of water on whose shores I have stood,
River, lake, or ocean.
Or gone in knee-deep, or dove in and swum out over my head.
Some were the warm waters of the south—
In the Caribbean, in a pristine bay in St. Lucia, where I mirrored a manta swimming below me
Or off a sailboat in St. Bartholomew with peacocks screaming in the distance
Or skinny dipping below a waterfall in Maui.
But most were northern waters—
In the frigid Pacific off the rocky coast of Northern California at the bay where Francis Drake put in to shore
Or wading in the early morning tidal pools of Maine’s Vinalhaven Island
Or stepping into a cold stream in a rustic campground in Quebec Province
Or slipping into a lake in Nova Scotia at night to join the laughing loons.
And of course at the Atlantic’s edge where it breaks onto the New Jersey shore
every summer of my girlhood til now,
and swimming with my long hair trailing behind me in the waves.
Perhaps the waters are calling the water in my own watery body home.
I remember a mountain tarn in Maine’s Acadia National Park.
Heated after a strenuous hike I came upon the tarn
left by glaciers.
I shed clothes and dove into water still seeming to shimmer with glacial ice.
When I climbed out, my golden toe ring
(bought in The BVI, dipped in a gin and tonic at sunset by the captain of a small sailboat, and put on my second toe—but that’s another story)
had dropped off in the cold water and sunk to the bottom of the tarn.
To await Golum searching for The Precious.
Meanwhile the curious fish swim over it and carry my water spirit in their fluttering fins.
What a great travel story poem, Barbara! I know Acadia National Park well, and know the very spot you are referencing. And I grew up on the coast of Virginia where we could swim in the ocean only bathing suits in three seasons. I confess to never having fully adjusted to the cold northern ocean after all these years!
An afternoon on the lake.
Sparkling blue
Clear and inviting
The water calls to me.
I lower myself in
And float like a star
Held in it's embrace.
Surrounded by glittering blue
As far as the eye can see
Sun beaming down
The waves gently carry me
Carry me back
Back to me
And the shore.
This is lovely Claire. I felt the rivers call, it's tender emrbace, the motion as it carried me forward.
The permanence of water
Whose vapors steam
And rivers stream
Whose ice cracks
Into raindrops
Let’s me be me
In all I am
A picture of
transcendence.
Very Nice Margaret! "Let’s me be me/In all I am/A picture of/transcendence." That is so good. A transcendant poem for sure!
I turn on the kitchen faucet to wash my vegetables, and allow my thoughts to rest on people who don’t have this ease in their relationship with water.
I remember having to wash myself, my hair, on the side of a street at the community well in Nepal because there were no indoors showers or baths. It is not a bad memory, but one filled with happiness at being outside standing with other women, our skirts hiked above our breasts, washing ourselves in the sun.
My thoughts drift to the idea of carrying water for miles, or having to ration water. To turning on the faucet to discolored, toxic water, like others in the U.S. have had to experience.
I finish washing my veggies. Holding these memories, these thoughts of gratitude, and a hope for clean water for all. And wonder can I do more.
Such a sweet and hopeful poem, Jane. I like the stories you tell within, and your clear empathy for others. Every being deserves clean water, and your offering of this poem is a part of doing more. Blessings to you.
Water
Moves heat for weather.
Polar, hydrogen bonding
Both acid and base
Near universal
solvent of nutrients for
Biochemistry
When solid it floats
Insulates liquid below
Where life may endure
First Fiat Aqua
The miracle molecule
For Fiat homo
Very nice, Joe. I like it when science finds its way into poetry--they seem to belong together.
The physics of water makes a strong case for divine intervention.
Amen to that, Joe!
This one flowed into consciousness this afternoon.
Waters of life flowing down
from a secret place high in mountain pass,
the true source covered by remnants
of ice age tantrums.
^
Bringing healing waters to soothe our souls,
to wash away the demons we have unleashed,
the fears and the doubts we can’t relinquish;
Our compulsions of fury and fire,
volcanoes of the heart erupting into chaos.
^
We stand at water’s edge,
tiny particles of cellular molecular design,
small next to the oceans that connect us,
beings of a thirsty planet.
^
A quiet, gentle prayer comes to us,
from some well of wisdom centuries old.
May we be vehicles for peace;
May we be angels of love;
May we lift every voice.
May we carry the light handed to us at our births,
Into the deepest shadows.
^
Tonight, standing by this ancient river,
its roaring thunder like descent,
an avalanche of tears shed by Mother Earth.
^
Here we pray for forgiveness,
for all the demons we have unleashed;
All the times we stayed silent
while others suffered.
The days we let hate and bitterness lead us,
rather than an organic, redemptive love.
^
May these healing waters bring a new day
to our home, our actions, our heart.
That compassion and kindness are what be left behind,
as the waters recede into memory.
We never step into the same river twice. Well spoken, Larry. Thank you for sharing
Thank you Steven!
Lovely Larry. I really like what all your prom invokes.
Thank you Jane!
Water and all of its many healing aspects ring so true throughout this poem. Well done, Larry!
Thank you Nancy!
THIRST
As a kid, after a summer softball game,
I raced to the fridge, grabbed a can of cold soda,
and held it against my neck to cool off
before savoring every cold, sweet sip.
As a parent, with my kids at a theme park,
bottles of water glistened in baths of ice.
If there had been but one left,
any price would have been a bargain.
In the film, Wild, a woman trying to “find herself”
is on a hike along the Pacific Coast Trail.
She is so thirsty when she wakes up one morning,
she licks the gathered dew on the outside of her tent.
At this moment, in many parts of the world,
people are bathing, dumping waste of all kinds
into rivers from which downstream people drink.
There are no vendors selling bottles from baths of ice.
At this moment, in many parts of the world,
people are digging wells to locate fresh water,
and building river waterwheels to generate electricity
to light dwellings and to refrigerate food, drink, medicine.
And at this moment, people are growing crops without poison.
They see water as a sacred gift, one that will assume
the shape of any vessel into which it is poured,
including an ocean and a tall glass of cool water.
At this moment, wherever you happen to be,
let us gather in the name of water, give thanks,
and offer protection to this sacred substance
in which we wash, cook, swim and baptize.
In so doing, our bodies will be hydrated.
The thirst of our souls will be hydrated.
Our thirst for justice, hope, health, purpose and peace
shall soon be quenched. To which I say, Cheers!
Dwight Lee Wolter
5.28.25
This is very nice, Dwight, and a powerful witness. Our industrial societies have treated water, and all of our natural resources as commodities to be used as we see fit. I'll gather with you in the name of water.
Tasteless and colorless,
Water isn’t often
A chosen beverage,
Although half of the body
Consists if it
And all other drinks
Are based on it,
Not to mention
That we literally
Can’t live without it -
To be dehydrated
Is to die.
A wonderful proclamation, Korie. Most of us don't drink nearly enough!
Day 28 - Water
Is it the creek,
lake, or ocean,
or all of the three,
washing through
my veins, pulsing
with the rhythm
of mountains
carried to the sea?
Was it those
younger days
spent by the water
that hold me
steady? Even as
I unsteady my gait,
those mirrored
sunsets fasten
my soul for the long wait
that is this carried
journey; splash!
is the joy inside.
If pushed hard enough,
water guts u & your stuff.
Kinda like i did.