First, I’d like to take this time to thank William Preston for his exceptional work proving weekly prompts in my prolonged absence. His acumen and thoughtful and imaginative prompts brought the best out of our poets. This prompt concludes the prompts he had offered for consideration. William’s work is exception and his continued contributions to this site warranty the opportunity to earn BLOOMS and the recognition they offer. We will forego the IN-FORM POET prompt this week only as I will outline some changes in how POETIC BLOOMINGS will move forward. But for now, Prompt #137: WATER:
Among the things necessary for life as we understand it, is water. It makes up most of Earth, as we learn early in life, and seems to be the best-tasting drink there is when one is good and thirsty. It can be majestic, as seen from the shore of an ocean or a great lake, and intimate, as seen in a rivulet in a meadow. It reflects everything, from a night sky to flashlight. It has tremendous power and exerts tremendous pressure, as anyone who has wet cellar walls can tell you. It is probably the most ubiquitous stuff there is, save for air and dark matter. Write a “water” poem.
WILLIAM PRESTON’S ATTEMPT:
HASTE
Hurry
usually
confounds. Best to wait, or,
as my dad used to say, “hold your
water.”
© copyright 2014, William Preston
WALTER’S WATER WORK:
LYRIC WATER REJOICES AT SEASIDE
The happy dead are in its voice.
Majestic Poet! Might I be as full of song.
Melodies of seafarers past
haunt each true and measured step.
Lilting, ever-lifting; a gift
from the weary mariner to Neptune’s ear.
Accompanied in breath and beat,
symphonic sound of a lunar baton.
Maestro of the night, unwavering.
Building to crescendo, euphonious.
Tympani, cacophonous crash;
an introduction to the score
so written. And hidden within
languishes its familiar song,
lyrical expressions of heart and soul,
left to wash away traces of the moment.
Never ending refrain, sing again!
**Derived from “On Seeing A Train Start For the Seaside” by English poet, Norman Rowland Gale
© copyright 2014, Walter J Wojtanik
An additional poem by William Preston:
William had one more “prompt” slated for use, but it fell within the guideline of Form and was basically the IN-FORM FREE-FOR-ALL from last Wednesday. But the example he provided is worth posting here. All I can say is “Good form, William. Good form!”
A POET’S POTPOURRI
Ofttimes, whilst eating beans and wieners
I’m apt to write obtuse fourteeners;
when gazing at milady’s bonnet
I’m sometimes moved to pen a sonnet;
whilst watching swallows swoop the dell
I might compose a villanelle;
and at the close of winter days
I’m moved to scribble triolets.
I make my points by writing tines
of Crapsey’s quintessential lines
and prone I am to tossing salads
by mixing rondelets and ballads;
when circular reasoning crimps my brain
I write pantoums to ease the pain,
and when my rhymes die in the tank
I settle for a verse that’s blank
unless, of course, I’m up a tree
and must resort to verses free.
© copyright 2013, William Preston
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
This is an older one that I wrote. The form is definitely more tricky for me than a Shakespearean Sonnet. 🙂
Liquid Thoughts (Italian Sonnet)
The smallest drop of clearest rain can make
A tiny pool, which sparkles as it grows;
It catches other tiny drops and flows,
A river now, to meet a sea or lake;
Just so, the smallest thought or sound awakes
The banks of time, and in my mind there grows
A tiny pool that catches thoughts, then flows
To meet the sea, of constant thought partake;
But while that thought is still its own and free
Of all surrounding it on either side,
The tiny drop of crystal rain is lost
Amid the roaring waves that form the sea;
And one day it will come in with the tide,
A single part of that enormous host.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
I’m a bit in awe of this. Your handled the Petrarchan form well, I thought, but the main thing for me is the image of that drop joining the mighty sea and coming back. The linkage of drops of water and thoughts is superb, in my opinion.
Thank you so much, William! You just made my day. 🙂
I’m with William; this is a form I’ve attempted but rarely. You’ve done an amazing job and as William has also noted, your referencing drops of water and thoughts is brilliant…nicely done Erin.
Tricky it may have been, but you have succeeded beautifully! As you know, I am a devotee of the sonnet, and this one’s gorgeous.
Thank you, Vivienne! I am a devotee of the sonnet as well. 🙂
Beautifully done, Erin. I got lost in the rain and flowed with it to the end. You’ve grown so much within your talent. So happy for you.
Claudsy!!! Welcome back, my friend, I missed you! And thank you for your comment. xx
You’re very welcome, Erin. It seems forever since I was last here, yet feels like home after such a long absence.
I know what you mean. I’m so glad you’re back!
I, like William, love the drops of rain and thoughts linked and I love the term “banks of time.” Very nicely done, Erin.
Lovely work, Erin!
GHAZAL (A = sea..i.e. Water) (B ends with ..y)
bAbA cbA dbA ebA dbA
What in summer is a tidy sea,
in winter can be a mighty sea.
With spring-time days and quiet nights
it can change into a sassy sea.
When tides run high in autumn’s air,
wind can whip it to a bossy sea.
When I’m with you on star-lit beach
the moon turns it to a glossy sea.
For me, year round, what’er the season,
what’er the mood, ‘tis a lovely sea.
This gives me a wonderful picture of the ubiquitous sea.
Thank You Wm – As, I’m sure you can guess…I love the sea.
Another beautifully crafted piece — and use of a little seen form in the west (at least to my knowledge, the ghazal is under-utilized) and so well done. And yes, it’s obvious that you love the sea…a gorgeous tribute.
Thank You, It is kind-a fun little form.
Sumptuous! The ghazal is a form I’d forgotten about, and it is soo effective.
Thank You, Viv – Was checking back through In-form title and relocated this on.
Beautiful, Marjory. This form lends itself well to the subject. Great prom.
Nice to see you Claudsy, Thank you for your comment.
You’re welcome, Marjory.
This is beautiful, and I love the form!
Thank you, Erin. It is a interesting form to use.
Marjory, this is just lovely and set to a beautiful form.
Thank You, Give the form a try, it’s interesting to use.
I love this form, and you did it justice.
Thank You, Sara
Water
“Keep a-movin’ Dan,
don’t you listen to him Dan,
He’s a devil not a man
and he spreads the burning sand with water, ”
___Bob Nolan “Cool Water”
Frost called it a draw: ice versus fire.
The world ends like a love affair;
He was too young, then, to know
what happens when the drama ends
and lips and skin and heart
see flooding elsewhere, while they parch.
Wow. Stunning work.
Whoo-hoo…this sizzles Barbara…very nice!
A great and unusual response to the prompt!
Good take on the subject, Barbara and execution. Makes one think. I like it!
Wow…very thought provoking. Good take on this, Barbara!
Wonderful! That first line is great. You’ve done it again, Barbara
This is wonderful, Barbara!
[…] Poetic Bloomings prompt 137 using all but two of the words from Wordle […]
I took advantage of some of today’s Wordle words in response to this prompt. I think that afterwards I may re-write it without!
WATER – too little, too much
One essential commodity far beyond price
and yet inaccessible for too many thousands
trudging for hours weighed down with containers
from remote muddy pool to primitive hut
for needed but disease-laden liquid.
Listless children buzzing with flies,
gasp and lie lifeless.
Such scenes haunt.
Excess has an equal impact –
storms rage, rivers swell,
inundate rich pastures
destroy roads, bridges
and homes
take lives.
Your poem is what I had in mind, but couldn’t get out.
Yours is a poem of two extremes, Viv, and done in a reverse form of sorts. More words to describe much dehydration, less words to describe drowning. That in itself is poignant and telling. Great work and very effective.
I echo Claudsy’s comment. Stellar work, Viv!
Re-echoing , here.
Water is a blessing and a curse. Beautiful work, Viv. Here in WV, you may have heard, nine counties are without water due to a chemical spill. That brings your poem closer to home.
I just read about that in the newspaper. Dreadful.
It really is! I’m thankful to be in a county not affected.
I’m glad to know that, Debi.
Powerful message, well written.
An Occasional Illumination
The Thames pooled to flood,
left a lifeless haunt by the storm.
Winter 2013
was a scene at sea,
barring the flickered eyelash flirt
of street lights jolted
to occasional illumination.
Litter flowed the riverbanks
like lovers intent
on each other’s needs,
strolling peacefully, through a dawdling afternoon,
but damp hope looms a flood now.
Priceless, the flooded churches,
the graveyards, the vicarage,
the old woman downstream
who still bales the flood
from her basement,
and the water’s still rising they say.
But such is the price
of living on the river,
and that eternal temptation
of the water’s wash.
[used a few wordles on this one, too]
Oh, good one, Misky. Britain hasn’t been spared this season and what you describe is what I’ve seen in photos and news feeds. Yet the intimacy that flows through your words enhances the immediacy of the knowledge. While I loved the poem, I don’t have to enjoy the actual subject behind it. Great job.
Nice Misky…I’d forgotten about the flooding of the Thames…it seems parts of the entire world have been under water this year….simultaneously. Good piece.
Amazing imagery here, Misky!
Everything is so vivid here; might as well be a movie. Wonderful work.
The third stanza for me is so moving. You have captured the mood of man at the mercy of nature.
[…] for PB with a few Wordle 143 […]
WHEN LIFE WAS A RAGING SEA
When life was a raging sea and I
A mariner caught in a ship destined
To sink in the devouring ocean waves,
You appeared as one descending from
A door carved out of the bluest sky
The prayers I ranted in those frigid waters
Reached heaven and angels took pity
And somehow you were there with me
The two of us floating towards land
My life spared, my heart beating again
All the while I flailed my arms in fear,
The blue ocean grown black and cruel
Lost its sparkling allure, but now it
Sparkles in your eyes and my palms
Upraised to God for mercy, were filled
With salvation––all of me!––”The cup
Is the body,” you whispered as you kept me
Afloat. “Still, if you had lost hope, surrendered
To the arms of a drowning death, I would not
Have saved you. Love is for the hopeful.
#
A thoughtful and teaching poem. A lesson in hope, a lesson in faith. It accomplished both quite well.
Nice Misky…I’d forgotten about the flooding of the Thames…it seems parts of the entire world have been under water this year….simultaneously. Good piece.
So beautiful!
Majestic, too.
UNCLE FRANK’S CREEK
We watched the children we were back then
walk barefoot in Uncle Frank’s creek
behind his house, and we laughed
with them, wished we could go back
even for one quick Saturday,
but they wade in the water of our memory
and we swim in the raging now the best we can.
#
So very true and well expressed. Wonderful.
Memory’s creeks seem to be like that, don’t they? Either sere, or over-flowing their banks…no in-between ever…good one Sal.
Superb nostalgia, tempered by the “raging” now. This is a bit breath-taking.
This is amazing, Sal! I feel like I’m there with you. Wonderful!
Love this esp. It meets me where I live.
So beautifully stated. I love the last two lines.
CHANGES
We never step in the same river twice.
Our world undergoes constant change
And we who live within it change as well.
We grow older, hopefully wiser.
Our world undergoes constant change.
The blade of grass in the dewy morning
Is a different blade when the sun rises
And later when the moon shines in darkness.
And we who live within it change as well.
Only a snapshot can capture the moment,
But that snapshot too will age and yellow.
Nothing is exempt from time’s passing.
We grow older, hopefully wiser.
We bend backwards; we bend forward. We change.
The waters may appear the same blue, but
We never step in the same river twice.
#
Ah, I really enjoy this form whenever I encounter it done so very well. You’ve captured the form and the sentiment bleeds through with each line, picked up and floated forward to capture the next, and so on.
Marvelous use of the form to reflect the movement of water. Terrific!
I agree with Claudsy. This is a beautiful, moving piece of work.
Beautiful use of this form and a well told story to boot…I agree with Claudsy entirely…could not have said it better….
You’re on a roll today. Lovely!
I’m entranced by the tension between “same blue” and same river.” Very thoughtful pece, in my opinion.
‘Nothing is exempt from time’s passing.’ So true, and thought-provoking.
THIS WATER THAT’S HOLY
(for Anna Coppola: 1936-1999)
These are the tears
Wrung from a body
Stretched on the rack
Of a torturous disease.
I saved these tears
This water so holy
That flowed from the eyes
Of my sister, a saint.
#
Profound and poignant are the thoughts and images held within these two short stanzas. Lovely.
Yes! Such a beautiful tribute.
From a Dry Land
My boyfriend from Wyoming
came to Pennsylvania for a visit.
As we crossed a ditch, he asked,
“Is this Shannon Creek?” I laughed
and pointed to a puddle saying,
“Yes, and that is Mirror Lake,
or, at least, they would be in Wyoming.”
Having lived in Wyoming–both sides of the state–I can truly appreciate this poem, Connie. I chuckled and remembered my own experiences there. Great job.
Yes, those who come from drier lands really have no perception about places with lots of precipitation, do they? Good poem Connie, as always.
Love this! 😀
This is wonderful. It recall for me the first time I saw the Santa Ana River in southern California: at that time of year (mid-summer) a little creek under a long bridge. Another time, when it had rained for days, the same creek almost went from side to side in its channel. In the U.S. Southwest, water is not only what is, but what might be.
[…] …. Written for Poetic Bloomings. […]
Water Ways
She spills best here,
fills her veins with indigo-inky
strains of song. She belongs
along these sapphire shores,
breathing in blue and knowing
too that heaven sighs
in turquoise tears.
We’re all three-fourths liquid,
but perhaps after all these
salty years, her heart lies
deeper, steeped in murmured,
mirrored sky.
(Photo to match, on my blog. Just click “whimsygizmo” above.)
😉
Sorry, wrote another poem today, which means my logo will automatically go to that one.
Here’s the direct link to my water poem, for Tahoe photo:
I loved your poem for the day, my friend. I left you a comment. Great alliteration.
Love that “heaven sighs in turquoise tears” something I’ve always suspected….going now to check out your blog.
Oh De, this is just gorgeous! And so is your photo. I always love your work: it’s so peaceful and lovely. 🙂
Wow – well worth the trip…beautiful photo…thanks.
This is magnificent, utterly magnificent.
left a remark on your blog.
I love ‘turquoise tears.’ I can see them in my mind.
Yow! Gorgeous, and very, very aqua. What beautiful choices of phrase.
It’s been a long time since I slipped in toi add two cents and to admire those who’ve left their words as change. I’ve been surprised this morning by the major changes here; the new look and the new tone, plus not seeing Marie Elena greet me.
I’m not surprised by the quality of contributions I’ve found on this page. It heartens me to know that while some change is inevitable, quality hasn’t been one of the changes notice. I’m glad I came by, if only for a quick moment. It’s good to see everyone.
Watery Mirror
Day shine lingers on rising mirage,
waving fingers to tantalize
one’s brain with illusion’s barrage,
painting wishes from desperation
to give hope, to massage
one’s faith in future existence.
Running, panting, seeking relief
within illusion’s slippery grasp,
brings anger at hope’s silent thief.
Just gorgeous, Claudsy. I love “massage/one’s faith in future existence.”
Aw, thanks so much. I’m glad I haven’t lost all my poetic fingers. It’s been a long while since my last poem. Hopefully now, I can spend some time with verse–or rather make time for it. 🙂
Please do. This piece is quietly powerful.
Thanks so much, William. I’m glad you liked it.
Clauds, this is beautiful! Way to make a comeback. ❤
Thanks, Erin. I’m happy you enjoyed it so much.
Claudsy, I’ve missed you here but knew you had been on other endeavors. Welcome back… and what a wonderful poem you’ve written. I think that last line is brilliant.
Thank you so much, George. Such a compliment. It feels good to get back to poetry. It’s been too long.
NIce to see this beautiful written poem from you, Claudsy.
Aw, thanks. I’m so glad that you liked it.
Peace
Let
me rest
in stillness
In water that
calms.
I like this. It expresses so well a single hope, a lingle prayer. Good one, Henrietta.
Claudsy… I was just thinking about you the other day… ! Thank you… your interpretation was Exactly how it felt writing it… like a beautiful, serene prayer…
I’m glad, Hen. I meant it about being like reading a hymn.
…Soo wonderful… ❤ !!
Lovely and soothing, friend. 🙂
Thank you, dear friend… as is all of your loving work here… ❤ !!
This recalls for me a good soaking in the tub.
Soothing… yes… Thank you, William…
Nine calming, soothing words. I feel better just reading them.
Ohh… what a lovely compliment! Thank you, so much, Debi..
Blue
Even
from space,
it shines
aquamarine,
sapphire,
cloudy opal,
hanging like
a pendant of
possibility,
a gem swirled by
wind, rain-fed, with
sunlight sufficient
for breath, living
bauble of wonder,
teeming with
mortality,
the blue planet,
home of
water.
Terrific, Jane! I wasn’t sure at the beginning where you were going, but I had to find out. I’m so glad I flowed with you to the end. It was perfect.
Nicely penned Jane…I agree, it is a marvellous planet…home of water.
I think this is so beautiful, and the shape accentuates the “pendant of possibility” allusion. Wonderful (as per usual)!
Just gorgeous! I was captivated through the entire poem….this is why I love you. 😉 xx
Thanks so much, Claudsy, Bill, and Erin. I so appreciate your kind words.
Oh, that brings to mind the lovely picture of our planet from outer space. I love this:
shines
aquamarine,
sapphire,
cloudy opal,
hanging like
a pendant of
possibility,
Smooth flow of thought, and wonderful imagery here, Jane.
Holy Water
By David De Jong
Carry me over the torrents and stones
Refresh my soul and nourish my bones
Shelter me afloat on Your deep abyss
Blanket me surrounded in fog’ed kiss
Bring dew to my meadow and make her bloom
Flood love to my heart, may it be Your home
May I flow beside You in lurid or dreams
On storm swept seas or along joyful streams
You are my Water, the Giver of Life
My stream in the desert, my calm in strife
Beautiful, peaceful, powerful. I love this, David!
I’m with Erin…such a deeply moving poem David. Just beautiful.
Those last two lines sum your hymn up beautifully – spiritually.
Thanks all – been away from home and keyboard for some time – feels good to be back.
Water Magic
“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” ~Loren Eiseley
You only have to glance at it,
as sunlight glints on its expanse.
Magical enchantment rises
and then, your gaze just cannot quit,
because you’re beckoned to the dance.
You laugh. You laugh at its surprises
and by its shoreline you will sit,
in contemplation, dream or trance.
All’s revealed. There’s no disguises.
Water magic’s celebrated
as you’re wholly captivated.
###
The form is Trilonnet.
I don’t think I’ve encountered this form before. I love it, as a form and in this poem. I especially like the phrase, “beckoned to the dance.” Water, indeed, often seems to be dancing.
Oops – actually I messed up. The Trilonnet should have a fourth triple stanza before the final couplet. I’ve written several poems in this form (sans the 4th triplet) so I’m now undecided as to whether I should rewrite it correctly – or treat this as a new form (and thereby leaving it as is.)
In any event, thanks for the kind words. 😃
Oh, yes; kinship with the sonnet. i missed that. Still, this poem works so well as is.
Corrected version (true to form):
Water Magic
“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” ~Loren Eiseley
You only have to glance at it,
as sunlight glints on its expanse.
Magical enchantment rises
and then, your gaze just cannot quit,
because you’re beckoned to the dance.
You laugh. You laugh at its surprises
and by its shoreline you will sit,
in contemplation, dream or trance.
All’s revealed. There’s no disguises.
You’re in nature’s orchestral pit;
You hum along, your one great chance.
Unscripted time improvises.
Water’s magic’s celebrated
as you’re wholly captivated.
###
I say, create an offshoot of the Trilonnet…maybe a Trilonneta…it reads well the way it is…interesting form in any case and you’ve done a nice job. I agree with William. The water does seem to be dancing.
Wonderfully done, David. It flows as a hymn would. Perhaps that is its purpose.
RJ, I’m will William on this one. I’ve not seen this form before, but I like it, and it reads so smoothly. Thorough enjoyment. Thank you for introducing us to it.
Beautiful form, beautiful poem! I am always automatically drawn to water; I think there is some magic in it.
The ocean and a sparkling lake takes me to that magic place. Lovely, RJ
I love this poem, and the form it is written in. Have not seen this form before.
MIST
-A speck at the rim of the quiet sea sent a golden thread to me. Through the mist, the speck became a sliver and then an ascending globe emitting a beckoning beam.
-I boarded the beam. The mist deepened then turned to golden droplets of water. The temperature dropped. Pulsating crystals of ice, each bearing a rainbow speck, undulated through space.
-The crystals multiplied. The colors grew, and I rode a rainbow that stretched as far as the eye could see.
-Whirling above the rainbow’s glow were flecks of snow, each fleck matchless in its beauty, size, shape and reflected colors.
-I danced with the flakes in a waltz of the stars to the music of the wind. As the rhythm increased, I became a spinning top. With outstretched hands and head flung back, I rode the currents, dodged the stars.
-The rhythm accelerated. Through the resounding thunder, in exhilaration, I rolled and flew while pelted with flakes of snow mixed with crystals.
-The rhythm slowed, sound and movement subsided. The rainbow faded. The rain softened.
-Beneath the suspended mist, I lay and watched the moon.
Hope to be back later to read and comment. What-all I have glanced at is a wonderful offering of poems. Off to a meeting just now.
Lovely. Reminds me of Disney’s Fantasia.
That works for me too, Wm 🙂
This is lovely, M. And I love how you end it. 🙂
Thank You, Erin
The Dating Game
Cascading drips
fall away
like dominoes
as she
deletes
their numbers
from her phone.
I love this. I recall a time when a “drip” was a nothing date. This sounds like the purging of same.
Amazing description!
Good one, Michelle!
Before Caller ID it was tricky-er to avoid the drips! getting sisters to answer the phone helped. 🙂
WATER * RIVERS * LAKES
Winding down
Around the banks,
Through valleys and
Entering sleepy towns on
Rushing current wings.
Rolling gently over rocks
Into crevasses singing like
Violin strings around
Eddies which hide the fish behind
Rocks too large to move,
Silent in their stillness.
Landing or starting in
Areas of quiet water
Keeping the same borders,
Entering and retreating on the
Shores on the slippered feet of lullabies.
This IS a lullaby. Lovely.
Yes, it is. It’s so peaceful, with such a sweet melody.
Flimsy Whimsy
Autumn sky of such a blue
I must dive right in
tilt back my head and float
on the jetstream
let the currents
take me
where they will
brush off the foamy clouds
that splash me
cannonball into the milky way,
then somersault
without a splash
into the sea of tranquility.
Waves of blue, slippery hue
of daydreams and whimsy.
Everything about this makes me smile, beginning with the title.
Yes, I can hear this one set to music Michelle…gorgeous for rocking small ones to sleep.
Very sweet!
Beautiful – I’ll dive along beside you. 🙂
Precious Water
Heated for a shower
Scalding for a hot tub
Lukewarm for a puppy’s bath
Cool mist of waterfall
Cold glass of relief
Cool stream of serenity
This gives me the feeling something is hanging there, like a sword. Ice, maybe?
I get another feeling, one of tranquillity actually…very nice.
Indeed, all water is precious. This is a gem, Sara!
Thanks, Erin.
Thanks so much, William, Sharon, and Erin. I appreciate your comments.
I decided to try the form that RJ used, the Trilonnet. It’s a beautiful form.
Waterfall (a Trilonnet)
You see that shimmer on the gentle sea,
Two stars reflected, joining at the points,
A waterfall of love in silver light?
Well that, once, long ago, was you and me,
Hearts fused together, mind and soul joints,
In tune, a waterfall, one aim in sight;
Like rain we let our passion scatter free,
We surged together, wave of heart and joint,
We rushed, a waterfall with sparks of light;
We fell, we broke, dashed by a mighty sea,
A rainstorm came, we faltered in the noise,
We rushed, a waterfall engulfed by night…
You hear the water fall, the roar of pain?
That’s you and I, we floundered in the rain…
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013
Or rather, 2014. Still getting used to that. 🙂
I think this is wonderful, both in the form you use and the picture you paint.
Thanks, Will! 🙂
Worshipping the Mighty North Saskatchewan
Here I am come down to your shore again
at a point difficult to access
But where I most need to be …
Your pathways have washed away to ruts
Slick with mud and reeds, knobby outcroppings
I almost missed the beach entirely it’s so narrow-
If one can call this pebble-strewn section of your edge
a beach
Being away from you for most of the summer
I missed the Biblical rising of your waters, the rains
I hear fell incessantly almost every night and many
days as well
Perhaps insisting on this ingress was foolish
The mosquitoes are the size of Sikorsky helicopters
and vicious as pit-bulls – even with copious amounts
of bug juice applied liberally, I am being bitten
pretty much non-stop
Still, the serenity that is your blanketing water
is the sanctuary I seek and I sink down
on a slimy stump, determined to drink you in;
I am suffused with gratitude for this private place…
In the main, it is closed to the public,
I come here at the indulgence of someone close to me…
The cliffs climbing vertically from the other shore;
I know they are part of your charm for me,
so completely unexpected the first time I saw them—
They are doppelgängers to Scarborough’s Bluffs,
the ones a block from where I grew up in Ontario—
I remember initially how I just kept sitting and staring,
afraid they might disappear if I let them out of my sight.
Even now, years later, I am still startled anew
every time I see your cathedral-like chalky walls,
feel I should drop to my knees and give thanks.
This day I find myself peering into your shallows searching—
At first, I tell myself I’m just checking out the floor of the river
but then I see one, then another—tadpoles.
Moving languidly, there are tadpoles, lots of tiny tadpoles;
It is nearly dusk so I’m not expecting to see any
of the miniature frogs that populate this area –
they’ve usually dug into the silty soil on the river bottom
by this time of day
But the tadpoles are a welcome sight … a relief
That means at least, there are frogs,
the scientific bell-wether that tells me you are thriving.
You serpentine as the sun deserts the sky,
your tawny scales lie flat as you coil lazily
by my vantage point, the wind barely breathing.
Once the sky gives up day for good, I check my pocket
to make sure I have a flash-light—I will need it if I hope
to climb out of here later— it occurs to me:
I am shit-out-of-luck at this point if I don’t have one.
No sooner do my fingers wrap about the tiny light
when I notice you have become an ebony ribbon,
as dark and enigmatic as your unfathomable depths.
As always, I am surprised by how much I am able to see
by existing light …
Yet, you seem loath to give up your sources; I have never
been able to discover from where your natural light comes
Oh, if Luna deigns to appear, it’s easy enough
But this night, she rose and set as quickly as the suggestion
of a breath
Plus, she was but a crescent, as slim as a hangnail
So, no light source Luna tonight
Still, I can make out your shores clearly and the silhouettes
of the alder and ash leaning far out from your banks …
Their undeniable scents fill the air as well
I see the wind has picked up, planting diamond chips
row upon scattered row on your surface,
As you roll by, I hear you whispering breathily to the dark …
The night-sky is uncommonly clear, most likely blown that way
by the same breeze driving you now
Constellations are pressed with text-book precision overhead
and the planets dangle low, looking close enough to pluck.
I am drowsy, falling asleep practically but still, I find it difficult
to leave your side;
It’s grows stronger every time I go away and then return,
You feel like coming home to me:a benediction, a blessing, a prayer.
S.E.Ingraham
I’ve come back to this several times; it invites re-readings. It is loaded with imagery, some of them startling, like those helicopter mosquitoes and the constellations “pressed” overhead. Marvelous.
I agree. Describing the mosquitoes as sikorsy helicopters and viciuos as pitbulls – how graphically harsh to depict such natural beauty…
Like William, I read this several times. Your imagery is breathtaking, Sharon. This whole poem breathes of magic and serenity and coming home. Beautiful, my friend, just beautiful! ❤
Like William, I have come back to this several times. The imagery is incredible, and the ending, perfect.
ditto. 🙂
Well here’s a love song if ever there was. Fabulous.
SEVENLING, WATER WIZENED..
Water, wizened in the shapes of flakes
or hoary in the sweep of snow,
or swirling in the northerly blow,
or sharp, in icicles abaft the house,
or slick, in mirrors on the sidewalk,
or rendered stony in great blue slabs,
leaves me wondering; will it weep?
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Very descriptive! I like the form as well.
Very nice William; one of my all-time favourite forms…great last line!
Beautiful writing in this form, William.
WINTER BEACH
Water, wending wide
on incoming tide,
splashes upon the stone beach;
rendering a shine
and leaving a line
of debris I cannot reach.
How often I’ve dreamed
that all of it seemed
a mirage, and nothing more.
But no, it is real
and my hopes congeal
on sands of a distant shore.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Wow…this is a very thoughtful poem, in my opinion. The idea of hopes congealing on a distant shore – startling imagery. Wonderful job, William. 🙂
Here, Here!
Wow…the pairing of truths in the last portion of each stanza is powerful, William. Excellent writing.
Brings to my mind the novel “Moby Duck” (yes, Duck not Dick)
Ohh… such Gorgeous work in a favorite subject of mine… Thank you, friends…
🙂 !!
!! 🙂 🙂 !!
Peace
Peace
What a precious feeling
An inexplicable gift
A state of conscience
It feels like love
Peace
Can’t find your own
I’ve got so much
A gift from my God
From Heaven above
Peace
Available to all
Free for the asking
The price already paid
When Jesus gave His life
Peace
Now and forever
Enough for everyone
Drink from the Living Water
Go, and live in peace
© 2014 Earl Parsons
Sniffles
(a triple Lune)
“Oops,” said the cloud to
the puddle,
after it had sneezed.
To which the puddle
answered, “Ah,
dry up already!”
“Be careful what you
ask for,” the
cloud reminded him…
Ellen Evans 1.13.14
a “water” poem for PB
Whee! Love it!
A winner!
I wrote this a few years ago, neven been posted here though. Thought it was a good fit for the prompt.
Cherry Valley in the Early Morning
My truck stops in its tracks,
as though overpowered by
the vista spread before us.
Each droplet of the morning
mist, frozen in
time to every place it touches.
Liquid crystals turn
the valley into a
shimmering fairyland.
Indeed only dreams reside here.
Each frozen drop, reflecting
the power
of all creation, drinks
shamelessly of the sun’s
entitlement,
hesitates, becomes more liquid
than crystal. Now sliding from
the tree branches,
telephone wires, street signs,
signal lights, roofs of buildings…
Every possible place where
the mist could rest—
even the undersides
of things. For although
the mist has no strength to
call its own, it’s ability to seep
through every hole
and fill every space must
surely be a power.
In my trip down to the
valley floor—no more
than a few minutes,
countless of the magical garments
have been shed by their hosts.
The balance between
high up in the sun’s sway,
and down on the ground,
beyond its touch
is such, that even as
I hear the tinkling of
the unglued fairy dust,
it heaps up in piles in every
standing shadow.
I turn off my truck, roll
down my window, and
travel in a trance,
to a distant mirage,
a flight of fancy, taking in
the fresh smell of
elevated emotion,
daring my eyes to
stay open to the brightness,
not wanting to blink, and
miss a moment
of this reverie.
Ellen Evans 1.13.14
a “water” poem for PB
I’ll use your own word for this: magical. Majestic, too.
Enchanting, Road/sat through each frame of the pictures (Movie) you painted.
At the Edge of the Sea
She stoops and bends her knees,
draws her hand along the still-wet sand
The tide is turning and the sand
for the moment is newly-born.
She cannot resist the small shining
shells peeking from its surface.
Carefully she slips her hand beneath
them and draws them out.
This sky so intensely blue.
This solemn sea, the sea-gulls
wheeling, crying.. The waves
breaking on the sand without a sound
For a moment all of it is hers…
then gently, she lets it slip
from between her fingers.
Marian, this is beautiful. It has a very lyric flow.
The tide is turningand the sand for the moment is newly-born. Magical.
Very nice Marian…as the commenter before me says, “magical”
Quietly superb.
This is pure fairy tale in its beauty.
Been there – thanks for the memories. 🙂
[…] Poetic Bloomings Prompt#137-Water […]
You and Me…we’re not so very different
~
Within this mesh of flesh,
inside this web of skin
and behind these bones,
deep at the core, a beauty;
at the heart of pulse and pull
there lies a likeness-
a commonality between beings.
Extracted and exacted,
graphed and mapped
we would appear identical.
Without all these extra bodily-bits,
at the center of all that is
we’re all just pools of Living Water.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
pools of Living Water. Wonderful!
This reminds me of that great old song, The Brotherhood of Man. Given that we all are mostly water, and we all are of one species, this poem is just about perfect, in my opinion.
WATER’S WAYS
It’s
cleansing,
sustaining,
entertaining.
When under the bridge
it’s forgotten,
never to pass
this way a-
gain. All
gone.
2014-01-13
P. Wanken
I enjoy how the form fits this.
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings #137: Water. […]
DRIP DRY
The water main breaks.
What we’ve taken for granted
circumvents our pipes.
© Susan Schoeffield
Interesting. A senryu for plumbers, perhaps?
Good one, William! No, just trying to release some frustration.
I picked up on that.
THE PASSING OF THE LITTLE NIMBUS
It was a sulking, sultry day
with blue above and haze below;
the dust was flowing to and fro
for want of rain. The heat that lay
upon the land was like a shroud:
it married sweat to skin and hair
and grinned that all the languid air
had failed to raise a single cloud.
But then, arising in the south,
a puff of white began to form;
it came at leisure, not a storm
but showing grey abaft its mouth
and laying down a length of shade.
When overhead, without ado,
it loosed a burst, or maybe two,
of showers; that is all it made.
It must have been exhausted then:
the grey had segued into white;
onward it went, then out of sight,
perhaps to join its wayward ken.
The heat returned with eventide:
the dust and flies were flowing free.
But I was in a reverie,
thinking about the cloud that tried.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
So vivid! It makes you cheer for the little cloud that tried 🙂
Waterfall
The channel of grief cuts deeply
My anguish a capstone
A river of iniquity
Faults eroding my soul
My hardened heart a hollowed cave
Love at my feet pooling
A mountain of mercy cascades
From hallowed lips holy
A pool of absolution waits
If I would take the plunge
Renew my spirit and my faith
Sins of my past expunged
Wow; a cascading metaphor. Wonderful!
Aftermath
After the rain
we watched the clouds roll by like runaway lovers
and we stood knee deep in the water,
watching the sky burst into colour
from our colourless lives.
Underneath the water
we touched ankles,
shared glances,
breathed in burning air.
After the rain
we picked up the debris of a broken home,
photographs like tissue in my fingers,
memories now a breath gone by,
the rainwater had dissolved my walls
to a rotten barricade,
windows to a mirror
because all I could see for miles upon miles was
water.
This is a sobering piece. It recalls for me the aftermath of a typhoon. Very effective writing, in my opinion.
ADRIFT
The ocean mixes with the sand,
cementing me to where I stand.
I’m motionless as water schemes
to put an end to silent screams.
Though not yet drowned by my despair,
I find some burdens hard to bear.
No easy out from where I stand,
so firmly rooted to the sand.
But then a wave comes in to break
and rescues me for my own sake.
© Susan Schoeffield
Interesting: the same ocean that “cements,” also breaks you free. You paint a vivid picture here.
[…] for the 1/12/14 prompt at Poetic Bloomings to write a “water” […]