Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Have decided to write about WATER some more. I often walk by our local rivers, I spent 10 years as a child living by a big river, and I spent several years living in a bayside town. It is hard to put into words what "water" actually means to me, it is so much part of my own bloodlines. Isn't that true for all of us?


Elsewhere in the country
tragic losses - people,
land, livelihoods. I loved
the picture of young men
playing a piano salvaged
from mud.

We who walk the once-
swamplands are glad
someone created channels
the waters could fit into
find a direction in
be fully self-expressed
as rivers.

Photographs catch an
aftermath, a mere suggestion
of force exercised - tossed
saplings, reed slapped on fence
a tight weaving, admirable in any
gallery, museum.

The silence
of drowned frogs cannot
be photographed.
Can it be we who have
engineered this local
and sudden extinction?

Or the way things are
simple as artistry
plain to the eye
uncomplicated by fear,
past trauma, story.
Part of a process we'll
never fathom.


  1. Thank you for joining Poets United. We look forward to visiting your blog and reading poetry. We also look forward to seeing you in our community.

    Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
    There is no happiness like mine.
    I have been eating poetry.
    ~Mark Strand

  2. I feel a real flow to this poem and narrative. I like the image of the piano playing at the start - very vivid.

  3. Thank you Poets United, and I love that ink running out of your mouth. Very juicy! And poetry-diary, thank you for your comment. That photo of the piano was amazing - the four young men around it, one playing, all of them and the piano covered in mud the day after a flash flood ripped through their valley.