Best Lifewater Poems
LEGEND
we are all legends no matter who we are
cruising, and confusing ENIGMA to bizarre
I am a legend, no need to be a star
I am a legend ,with no need to travel far
In and out like the sun
I am a legend, I' m not the only one
living this world with one quick run
we are still a legend, we control the gun
drinking all the water from the dam
drowning in a lake is what i dram
a legend I made the river where I swam
after drinking the water from the lamb
legend when our hearts are lost in the ground
legend we become when we are found
legend we are all destine to bound
legend by the weight of the smallest pound
legend down to the bone
legend even when you're alone
a legend does not always carry a nice tone
a legend is your name engraved in the stone
by : p.d.
though you may not be a trucker
never have driven a semi with your CDL
never
ever
even thought of coasting up above the open road
putting thousands of miles beneath your cap
to the tune of
“east bound and down”---
you may have, in your short time on this planet,
walked into a diner &
ordered yourself up a deep cup of
trucker’s coffee.
strong & without ulterior motive,
the trucker’s coffee will stare you right in the eye
and tell you
“look man, you can either add milk & sugar to me,
or you can take me straight, but either way---
we gonna be waking your ass up!”
trucker’s coffee is not made by truckers,
its not brewed only in trucks,
and it certainly doesn’t come from some island that
only truckers can get to---
but it is an honest
drink---
you know it when you see it &
you see it when you smell it.
it doesn’t offer up the slightly bitter mystique of your
french roasted arabica or the pleasant aromas of
any of those classic
coffeehouse
concoctions,
it doesn’t even qualify as quality colombian,
but it may very well kick you like
kona.
mind you,
this coffee is not for the weak stomached---
it is not the light brown water that you get offered politely by your
neighbor,
when you come over to discuss the fact that their kids are
too damn loud
when they are playing in their backyard at the crack of dawn on
any given
work day.
it is brewed with the crappy water that only
diners can muster,
where no matter what tap it is poured from,
it still tastes thicker & harder than any water you
have ever sipped from another---
there may or may not be grounds still floating in it,
and it’s overall warmth may range anywhere from
scalding hot to luke warm,
but the fact remains,
at one, seldom changing price,
regularly falling below $2.00 &
free refills,
you can’t go wrong &
you will be awake
very soon.
What was this land like many centuries ago?
Furbished and full.
For is it science or religion that will make us a whole?
That would actually touch our soul.
Like babies once born of the pure.
Now filled with chemical aftermath and no cure.
Has living this live been done in vain?
Does experimenting have no shame?
Those ultimate ships that once sailed the blue.
For discovery of something new.
Fashioned dresses that went from foot to hip.
Beauty is that of ownership.
Transportation that was once by horse.
Now is space of course.
Schooling that was so simple then.
Computers now until the end.
The one room shacks with a dirt floor.
Modular homes with sinks of brushed chrome.
Fresh drinking water from a near by mountain stream.
Tanted city water claiming to be clean.
Land of plentiful virgin timber untouched by man.
Acre after acre of raped land.
Small buisnesses were built to get us by.
Skyscrapers were built and why?
We went from two parent familes with much stability.
Single teen mothers what a shame, no parenting skills children untamed.
Murderers were hung in the city square.
Now walking the streets to support their career of crime.
How man has made a place that we are to call our country, our land of
the free and the brave a danger to our childrens grandchildren.
Copyright@3-2010
He goes slowly, a turtle in motion
Goes all day long, never says a word
The desert sand is dry and hot, it tells the tale
They are his problem, finding them is his solution
The bird and the breeze plays his song, nothing else can be heard
A sip of water and he is back on their trail
Follows the tracks made by their feet, he can smell their scent
Their tracks tell the story, he know if they are moving fast or slow
The Sun and time are on his side, their ball and chain
His thoughts are miles ahead, he knows where they went
Back packs filled with drugs are heavy, their tracks will show
No food and water, they are feeling hunger's pain
They are walking in circles, seeing an oasis on the horizon
He takes a sip form his canteen, it won't be long for him to wait
The Sun is hot and high, the buzzards circle over head
He know that they will see tomorrow's dawn
No sense of direction, for them it is to late
He will find their bones, but they will be dead
It is the same old story, over and over again
A fish out of water trying to swim in a desert land
Their tracks tell the tale, and that is all they leave behind
The tracker's job is done, but really he did not win
Greed got in their eyes, dying is all they understand
In the world's largest cemetery, for history to find
Many illegal aliens coming over are from Central America, in the jungles. They know
nothing or what it can do. Some are forced to mule drugs, not giving them any food
or water on their journey...telling them that Chicago is just over the hill. Then the
trackers or buzzards come to pick their bones and salvage the drugs left behind?
of the desert
The river flows at my feet
I watch as it goes past
Where is all that water going?
It looks so inviting…
The current flows steadily
I feel as though if I jumped in I could float
Should I jump or stay on shore?
The shore is safe and dry
I decide to go to the edge and get a closer look
I poke my toe in
The water feels so….clean and fresh
I’m afraid, after all I can’t swim
But something is compelling me
I wade in…there’s rocks on the bottom
Some are sharp and jagged
They hurt, but I keep going
I’m up to my knees
I look up just in time to see some friends floating by
“Just jump!” they yell
“Come on….jump!”
Jump!? Me? I’m AFRAID
I can’t swim….I don’t know where I’ll end up…maybe I’ll drown
There go more friends.”
“Come on….JUMP!”
“Don’t be afraid”
OK
1….2….3
I jump
The current grabs me
I’m washed away….going so fast everything is in a whirl
I feel dizzy
My head is spinning, but I’m staying a float
I can barely breathe
This is the most exciting journey I have ever been on
I’m scared, but I feel peace….I don’t understand it
Things look so differently in the river than they do on shore
Colors seem more vibrant
The air is cleaner
The son shines more brightly here
Some parts of the river are treacherous cause the current runs so swiftly
But I’m not alone
Others are floating with me
Just when I think I’m going under….
I feel a hand pull me up so I can take a deep breath
I hear a still small voice
It speaks peace to me
“Never alone”
I’ve been in the river for a while now
Some days flow so smoothly, quietly, serenely
BUT WATCH OUT
There are branches that stick out from shore
They’ll grab you as you float by
They want to entangle you
They are trying to pull you back to shore
They seem so tempting
After all, the shore is dry and safe
So tempting….so tempting….so tempting
GOD PLEASE
PLEASE HELP ME
Get me off these branches
I want back in the river
The river is teeming with life
The shore holds darkness and despair
But sometimes it seems so much easier…
The rooster crows early in the Zambian morning.
With subtle sunlight starting to appear on the Horizon, ten year old Dikembe begins
has journey to gather water for the family from the Luapula River.
With water buckets balanced on the ends of a bamboo stick he carries across his
shoulders, Dikembe returns to find his Mother starting a fire to fix a sparse
breakfast for her three children. The morning sun already beats down on the dusty
village now alive with life. The ever present flies are already pestering Dikembe and
the sores on his limbs.
Dikembe sees the white man on the horizon entering the village by foot, carrying his
bag of medicines.
Women and children start to form a line at the small hut he will use as his office on
this day. For hours, the white man examines one patient after another,
administering what little medicine he has and offering healthcare advice that he
knows is not understood and/or will go unheeded.
Dikembe sits in the corner of the hut, watching it all with curiosity.
At the end of the long day, the white man packs up his bag, walks over to Dikembe
and hands him a piece of gum. Dikembe smiles and mumbles, “Thank you” in broken
English.
As he puts the piece of gum into his mouth, Dikembe remembers the stories one
white man once read to him from a book called the bible, and he thinks, “I love,
Christmas. I hope it is this nice again next year.”
mmm lips are dry should drink some more water
i’m comfortable here it’s warm
more water more restful sleep though
more efficient
six hours is all i’m getting at this point anyway
ok
more restful for less comfort now
of course just enough left in the pitcher to make this a thing
lights
am I really just standing here waiting for the water to filter
worth it still
plant looking a little dry
hey looks like we’ll all be getting a good drink before bed
green mops winking in the shadows
like kids watching through dreamy eyelashes
father’s silhouette washing up for bed
got to look closely watering without glasses
and just the sole stark kitchen light
going by sound mostly
dribbled again bamboo always fills up quick
but it doesn’t matter big picture
i should write this down at some point
interesting anecdote
connects to life in a real life kind of way
now time for my water
see how much has filtered
looks low enough
pour slowly so none of those filtered flecks go into the glass
don’t want to give them any funny ideas
So I’ll drink the rest here at bedside.
Writing this very sentence down.
Lights out in the kitchen.
There’s a little black speck a couple more whitish ones.
I’ll drink them anyway.
Finish the story and go to bed.
More restful.
You certainly miss,
Your well when,
The water runs dry.
All of the while,
The water dripped,
And ran.
You didn’t understand,
That water that you
Had was a limited resource,
A universal solvent.
Time went on,
As a result of,
The earth revolving.
You added heat,
To make the,
Water evaporate.
Now you realize,
That you made,
A big mistake.
It’s too late.
You certainly,
Don’t miss,
Your well,
Until the water,
Runs dry.
I sit here at this dock and watch the waves continuously roll by.
The sun paints the water with its rays of light,
and soon covers it with an endless blanket of stars.
While I absorb my surroundings, I am suddenly reminded of life.
The luminous glow of the sun represents the blessings in our lives.
It magnificently reflects off the transparent water
as we often reflect off of each other.
Then, there is the night sky.
I view this darkness as the difficult times in our lives.
All of us have had to survive through hardships at one time or another.
However, thanks to the people that love us, we make it.
They are the shimmering glimpses of light; they are the stars.
Then, there is the rippling water, that is us.
No matter what life throws at us, may it be good or bad,
We keep rolling on...
Good night,
Good night,
I look at the clock as she sleeps in silence and peace
It’s half past cheese, same time again,
I pick it up and eat as I climb out of bed.
I fly into the bathroom and twist the tap,
As the water slowly melts into the tub I pick up my razor,
The sharp wood splinters my face as the skin drops to the sink,
The tub is ran, I climb into the rainbow water and close my eye’s
Steam blows from the funnel as the train roll’s backwards down the track,
I look out from the 3rd floor, I’m scared, I don’t like heights, the 13th floor is scary.
I cry, the blood and tears roll up my face and into my eye’s as the train stops,
I see the mountain, chocolate icing covers the tops like lush blue grass in a desert,
I prepare to climb but first I make a stop, she’s still asleep as I kiss her forehead,
My journey continues and so up the air I climb,
it’s slippery so I cling my nails into the wall.
I reach the top and find what I’m looking for, a man, a wise man, I ask the question,
“Why do I not sleep when the night fill’s my life”? As we walk to the edge of the world,
He answers “look over the sky’s, what do you see”? “A long way down” I reply, And I fall,
The light is covering my face now as I’m back in my bed, she awakes “good morning” she
say’s
I look into my hand’s and see the orb of my life, the wise man was right……….
It was a dream.
What is Real? I ask myself
Is it only that which you can taste, touch or feel?
Or is it not the obvious but only the quiet poundings of one's heart
Those of sensibility, those which all of wondering humanity must endure.
Could it be in the quiet whisperings
Which hang upon a lover's breath?
Could it be in the silent feelings
That which cause my true heart unrest?
Could it be in the long lost memories
Of the beloved that have come before?
Could be in death's eternal silence
Never to speak again evermore?
Could it be the muriad of ideas
That go racing through my mind
Like ships that have crossed the oceans
Fearless travelers seeking to find
Seeking to find that which has not been sought
Seeking to think that which has never been thought
Seeking to create unique individuality from within
Infiinitely seeking...through hardships and loss.
Could it be in the miraculous act
That makes a plant grow from a seed?
Could it be found in the remarkable story
Of how mankind came to be?
Could be in what makes the sun shine
And creates the wind and rain and snow?
Could it be where rainbow's treasure really resides
Will one ever know?
Is it hidden in the quiet snowkflakes
Which flutter untethered through the skies
Could it be contained in their complex frameworks
In which it could microscopically reside.
Magical structures of which they are
Their infinite uniqueness amazingly clear.
From water to air
from air to snow
from snow to water once again
Is this one of the infinite cycles
Of which what is real evidently appears?
Could there be real?
Can it be found?
What is real?
Is it in sound?
Could there be real?
Can it be sown?
What is real?
Is it a fact, is it known?
What is real?
Is there such a thing as real?
Is there a given contract?
Is it a solid deal?
Is there really, really real?
Will real ever cease to be?
Is there really truth in real?
Is there really, real in me?
(December 3rd, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
To have lived back when this country was new,
A very hard time, but they did what they had to do.
The government gave land grants, but they had to improve what they were given,
And just like today they had slackers and they had those who were driven.
Much of the country was raw and wild and had to be tamed,
With courage and the willingness to use their guns, that's how the wild west was named.
Outlaws and Indians, and then the real threat were the bears and lions,
And bad water or no water and snakes of every size and kind.
But they had hope and determination and the will that only God can instill,
They wanted a better life for themselves and their families and this was their only deal.
Everybody pulled their own weight even the young worked back then,
There was just so much to do and it seemed like so little time to do it in.
But out of these hard times came a breed of men like none since,
With courage and kinship, always willing to come to a neighbors defense.
Helping each other through hard times was the only help these courageous people had,
Having it rough was a way of life, they never looked on it as being bad.
No electricity, no running water, no inside plumbing, how could they survive?
They had intestinal fortitude, they didn't know they were being deprived.
They took each day as it came and did the best that they could,
Just thankful for what they had and considered each day alive to be good.
My Last Day To Live It Up
With one day left to live, I’d want to go to a water park and ride
all of the water slides and float down the lazy river.
Then I would want to go eat Tex-Mex and drink a few margaritas to tax
the last few hours of my liver.
Then I would want to go to an amusement park and ride some roller coasters
and bumper cars with rubber bumpers.
I would want to go to a rock concert and shake my money maker.
Watch the sun go down holding the hand of my lover.
Have an exciting night of passion filled with the best finale explosions that
my body could handle and really shake the rafters.
Then I would say my prayers and fall into a deep slumber.
River flowing down my lane of life,
rough waters, smooth sailing,
never know which river I'll see.
Clouds above my head covering me,
storm clouds now over my life,
coming to water fall dropping so far.
Shore coming to me gladly,
will leave this old river of life,
and stand on solid ground for now.
Will sail once again someday,
when am ready to deal with
rough water of life.
wrote 5-24-07
I feel the walls closing in
I want out but the exit’s closed
Drowning now
The water keeps rising
To breathe would mean to take a mouth full of water
God how did this happen?
Please let me out
Lungs screaming for air
There’s none left
Vision going black
I feel my body sinker lower and deeper into the abyss
Sharp pain around my wrist
Gasping, gasping for air
A chance to be free
The driftwood slowly sinking
What do I do?
I can’t go back
I can’t lose my rescuer
The water starts pulling me down
Please let there be a way out
A few moments bliss in the arms of my rescuer
Before I sink back into the abyss