Posts tagged ‘Water’

June 28, 2016

rivers and proverb

Rivers, pathways
for those who crave to float.

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July 6, 2015

Metro Rain

Where the metro rain comes from I do not know.
Maybe it comes from the Gulf of Mexico,
or across outer space deep, or maybe from the hard ground
under my feet. I really do not know where it comes from.
I know I am a percentage of it, but I also know that
I am so bad at math, trying to figure it, with exact percentage,
with an exact equation, would make me sweat good—
lose the water I am made of: essentially I would lose that part
of me, my hydration. I figure it sometimes comes from the sky
because it lands on my head while getting my shoulders wet,
and I can see it falling fast… So, from observation this is true.
I am not partial to its occurrence; sometimes it is to my chagrin,
sometimes it is to my disliking. If the sun were out I would watch it
slip along the rocky mud banks of a spinning Mississippi,
perhaps with a Nalgene bottle full—at a pavilion of wood,
its different forms; my hands would be pulling worms into the air
from a Styrofoam vessel, to pull fish from its filling flow;
we are all full of water, some of us are also full of shit.
Rain let’s shine life, as we sought a tap to fill clean glasses,
polished by it in other ways—endless purpose what it were.
Where the metro rain comes from I do not know,
but sitting inside, for hours on a dry cat-teased couch,
I watched it come down and present itself alive today.
It never really mattered where it came from, it was right here.

May 27, 2015

New Danger: Water Balloons and Squirt Guns

Nowadays water balloons and squirt guns
are considered dangerous weapons.

Oddities which can get you tackled to the ground, cuffed,
and thrown into the back of a police cruiser.

It’s kind of funny.

I remember being younger, maybe 8 or so,
and having all-out wars with other kids
at Wildcat Landing near Brownsville, MN.

No one won, there were no casualties.

We would be throwing water balloons
and squirting each other with Super Soakers,
these dangerous weapons.

Their biggest offense was they wasted water.

To get it in the eye would sometimes start tears,
someone would inevitably run to Ma.

The midday sun was usually high,
the smell of sand and the chopping Mississippi
would be in the unbroken air.

Adults drank domestic beers and listened to classic rock.

We were just kids back then, with colorful toys.

Later on as a child, I remember my dad once shot his rifle
in the sky above a plainclothes officer
in our driveway at 1045 Bush Valley Rd.

The agent told us to get all of our guns/weapons.

I went inside and found my squirt guns
and brought them out.

The officer said with surprise, “Not those, son.”
He didn’t take my guns,
back then they were harmless.

He let me go, slap on the wrist.

Nowadays you can get arrested for that kind of stuff.

The shit we got away with,
man we were bad.

May 26, 2015

How the Rain Goes

How the rain goes.

The day the morning skies opened up,
rain came down in steady droplet form.

We know that feeling, the coming change,
or at least the animals do.

Around were deeper shades of green,
deep sepia trunks of trees, and veils of standing water.

There was no dry in the air, no dry in the heavens;
precipitation entered, and we are waiting for it to pass.

Bodies came wetted through,
going door to door so far away,
at any destination, at any time—covered.

It happens out of the clouds,
out of miracle,
out of nowhere,
out of thin air, out of life.

Miniature trails come sluiced as streams veined out,
their knotted design along sidewalks spread.

Now it is everywhere, on you dripping, on leaves, on outer matter, and on the ground.

It is soaking, seeping, as it follows gravity down—this life, new and old as one pooled.

Rain went sounding harder and harder,
pouring and pouring,
cats and dogs,
jazz crescendo, percussion,
high hat smashed, pit-pat pit-pat,
drumroll going, please,
brrrump brrrump,
to this bursting waterfall overflow,
busting through,
there was no escaping its element.

The day the morning skies opened up,
rain came down in steady droplet form,
and you were caught in between this transition of wet and dry,
not there, then alive,
then entrenched, then changed, just so.

How the rain goes.

January 28, 2015

Post-Modern Prose

Today I woke up next to someone I love,
I walked into the kitchen to feed the cat.
After that, I took a shower, a shit, and brushed my teeth;
Today has been pretty remarkable already.

January 5, 2015

Drinking the Water

Just think,
We are made up of 60% water—

So, if we drink water,
From a different land,
From a different city,
From a different spring,
From a different past, present and future,

Do we become made up of something entirely different?

October 19, 2014

The Mississippi River in La Crosse

I recall the smell of fish from the brown water
And white caps rising high—
Brown, dirty… undulating—
Ducks stood in speckled sands,
Trash mixed rock…
And a cloud passes overhead
Casting a new shadow;
Ducks waddle under the dock,
Disappear
And below they quack.
And I see boats
Moving across the River,
And waves,
And I see that water
Has been moving past.

***
Inspired by Frank Herbert’s Dune: (source: Unbroken Thread): One of Gurney Halleck’s Tone Poems for Sad Times

September 5, 2014

What of Water?

Each morning
bells ring.

Tired hands
clasp and twist knobs.
Fingers fondling
fidget on dials.
Bolt upright
sharp angles in bed.

Legs swing round
to touch wooden floors.

Stand walking to alabaster bathroom door.

Drawing curtains,
transparent.

Naked and drowsy,
there is nothing left to hide.
Flood of water
on the rise.
Switch to nozzle,
step inside
A slippery wet tub.
Lather. Rinse. Dry.

We are washing in that same water that alludes the thirsty.
Out of the many problems we make, what could the worst be?

I came out clean, save for conscious.

October 13, 2013

On a Rock I Set

Wind blows cold
so I reach for my hat.

Blue skies and clouds above;
forthcoming sunset.

On a rock I set.
Beer to forget.

Much on my plate,
But I already ate.
Never take me away from this place.

On a rock I set.
A dried-up flood-plain, refuse and sediment.

I am okay here because no one is near.
Just myself, distant noise, wind, fishermen, birds, clouds, and the sunset.

On a rock I set-

Close to the Mighty Mississippi.

Times like this there is nothing to fret.

Relax.

On a rock I set.

August 16, 2013

Stone Arch Bridge (Contemporary)

Massive stones stand in place holding her fantastic weight.

Lifetimes move under, across, and through.

At moments carrying even you.

 

An architectural feat orchestrated testament to time.

 

_______Bending the arched frame of our minds, as onlookers twist their lens… hearts, and eyes.

 

Close them, open them, the massive structure resides.

Dilate the pupils, constrict the camera’s convex sights. 

 

 

Like I said, The Stone Arch Bridge is a testament to time.

 

Minneapolis has her spanning both riversides.

 

 

And if you are on her and you drop something to what lies below, ka-plunk, the Mississippi will catch all you throw.