tiny stars
are pin pricks
in a gray-green
gloaming
and we see
a maiden with
sleek, dark, bobbed hair
sitting atop
a lake -
her billowed
long burgundy gown
f l o w i n g
like the swan
attached by a leash
to the girl’s
slender fingers
its loveliness
reflecting in
aqua water
the moon
is a long white sliver
slicing through
the young maid’s gown
like an unusually
large parenthesis mark
to the left
half-caressing her
in twilight’s
enchantment
Oh, bright moon
of grace -
glide along with her
as the white swan
slides besides her
guiding her
through this night
of tranquil
delight
A leaf lands sideways.
The water rearranges
its borrowed clouds.
A crow lifts
from the fence.
Cloud shadows travel
across the open field.
Milkweed releases
its white fleet.
Meanwhile,
below notice,
below thought,
below the names
I give things,
something in me
remains still.
Water carries
a second evening,
equally silent.
And the silence
asks nothing.
By dusk,
the first star appears.
No message.
No instruction~
only a brightness
waiting
where it was
before I noticed.
A silly noisy rush.
Not that heard for
A bent, bubbly watercourse.
Not so calming!
Inarguably mad.
Lest thus immersed
Lady, kind, by that girlish
Hilled yon for stream
Sit me. Where flows our time's shared dream
More entrancingly.
Bottom of the hill is a fast stream,
shallow current through rock careens,
never once gets past your knees,
under a bridge in a sylvan scene.
Most ignore it as they’re driving by,
young boys see it with prying eyes,
four down there, not even five,
building a dam, rocks piled up high.
Get a huge thrill when the waters rise,
packing mud in the gaps in the side,
to their minds a big flood tide,
their hands are small but their dreams wide.
A few feet away, one panning gold,
there’s a rich vein here, he’s told,
swirls like prospectors of old,
no luck yet, but he ain’t gonna fold.
Littlest one chases minnows fast,
tiny feet do nothing but splash,
runs a race, his mother laughs,
he ain’t gonna catch no dinner like that!
Sun’s coming down and it’s half past four,
they hate to leave, always want more,
have to hit the grocery store,
a tragedy when you’re only four.
Just like the plants,
I like to dance in the rain,
The Xperience won't stain,
It helps heal the pain,
You can just feel the gain,
As it drains down your skin,
Tickling, Trickling its way in,
A saturation infatuation,
I love my relation to it all,
Small drops stop me in my tracks,
I snack on what's to come,
Some more keeps falling to the floor,
I'm soaked to the core,
It's pouring love from above,
All of the plants are singing,
It's brining in abundance,
A fun dance hides in the leaves,
Leaving treasures for entities,
To small for us to see,
Feeding all things above the sea,
Meeting the needs of all beings,
So if you're seeing the rain,
Remain aware of what's truly there,
Share in its abundance,
Do a fun dance,
Regain the chance,
To Xperience the effects,
Of one of natures best aspect.
Some things are more beautiful when in a motion so unstill...
Such as a lake being easily persuaded by wind...
Its surface's beauty's own distortion: nature's will.
into …
the mountain pool …
I dive, headfirst - the suit I was
born in prickling with
bumps as the shivery wet rolls
down my length …
I soar in the cold, inky-black weightlessness
slowly rising as I let the
motion coast my body up to the
polished, star-mirrored
surface …
I break the dark, pearly plane and
take a hungry swallow of the warm, dewy,
bloom-scented summer night air
letting it saturate my core and
fill me to the marrow …
I come back to
reality just long enough to see
the full moon's porcelain glaze on your skin?
the Milky Way's swath shimmering
your tresses, and the
pleading, sublime, sensual gaze that
you pierce me with …
I breathe one
final soul-deep inhalation of
your nectarous fragrance and plunge
again, full into the
cool, shadowy abyss, letting it
take me, complete ...
sinking ever deeper as the
wavy moonbeams wink from far above
deep, deeper, and gone -
lost now, forever ...
in …
your eyes.
Copyright © 2022 / 2026 Gregory Richard Barden
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
a pebble
d
r
o
p
s
into
the crystal-clear mirror
of nature....
gone
after a sudden disruption.
the surface of the stream
reveals
an unspoken wish.
a circle
w i d e n s,
e x p a n d i n g
as though bursting
into flames,
pressing against
the quietness
of the water's surface,
the water holds
whispering
of unwhisperable secrets.
without a tempo
leading its way
without a beat
to command it.
lily pads d r i f t
over the stream
shadows reflecting
the movement of a clear day.
no track to follow,
no reason or why.
outwardly,
and outwardly,
the edge of stream
grows thin,
the starting point
where the line
originally started,
a pulse and silence...
as the water
recedes from sight,
a ripple
with no rhythm
being engulfed
in the darkness.
Before the light comes, her hands are already in the wet dark. She works the way a thirsty field works: it knows the rain is coming long before the sky admits it. There is no name on her badge. Her mother taught her this over roti dough: press slow, stay warm, trust a thing to give before you ask it to. So she presses, and the water wakes. Like her, it has no name, and like her, it moves anyway.
before the dawn wakes
her hands and the water move
as one quiet stream
On the roof, others hold her work up to the light. Their smiles are borrowed rain, bright for a moment and then gone. Their badges are puddles pretending they once fell from the sky. The crowd claps for the puddles. Nobody looks down to where the real rain runs.
puddle-badges shine
a sky they never came from
mirrored in their smiles
She walks home with mud on her knees and the smell of her mother's roti in her mind. A monsoon forecast glows in someone else's palm, unread, the way her work shines where no one looks. But water keeps its own accounts. It remembers every hand that set it free.
nameless as the rain
still the river learns to read
her hand on each stone
My birdbath has become
the backyard rage! Now,
as many bees as parched
birds, they line the edge
taking buzz-sips – then
back to the honey-hive --
water, a must, in the desert,
if to stay just barely alive….
My charity, a small oasis, little
bigger than a hubcap; thousands
of grateful gulps a day~ more honey
on the way. Wonder!? Should I
have a neon sign, to attract Night
Owls and bats, already a focus of
many feral cats -- lizards, scorpions,
spiders and gnats…? What must they
think, of a semi-soft heart and head,
sharing tap water~ but off limits a cool
kitchen and king-size bed?
Hot sun, blazing down
Skeeters from slew chew me up.
Musty Florida.
I float along the peaceful stream.
Will I stay put? I cannot scream; I’m only a petal, a petal can dream.
It’s bliss like the rays,
From the river to the bays,
Why am I so afraid?
For I glide and paddle my way to my feet; every raindrop sounds what I cannot keep.
When darkness looms,
My nothingness blooms.
Shadows create devils, hell’s gate.
I float along a peaceful stream, a petal can dream, but this petal screams.
End of life satisfying.
Greater, lesser enrayed
Of aged light. Lorn-blown day's, dock's.
Sucks in a lone-swept man.
Through its profound, voiceless hush.
A true spirit-calming.
If but out whose throats hollowed
Deepest, for pelican!
swan bay, queenscliff. (circa 2002)
If my ancestor’s
A rock, am kin to a stock
Complexity? Not!
When and where did I
Become aware of myself
(Subatomicals)?
When and where and why
Did ethics (we use) arise?
Be Trinity wise
A three-year-old calls out
Her Dad, he said something bad
Justified? Repent
The land uncovered
A new land is discovered
Flood waters assuage
(Nu-u's (kin) and canoe
Fuhi, Cox Cox their cogs too
That's Noah to you)
Spread the Gospel to
A land that is out of hand
A land that's rebrand
Usurper attacks
The women and children first
In a land, athirst
Opening Himself
The Door, Gospel Waters pour
From a new wineskin
Alpha and beta
From Alpha and Omega
(Words don’t return void)
Sun Shower.
Big drops.
Fall slowly.
Glisten.
Water Categories
Read wonderful water poetry on the following sub-topics:
conservation, cycle, fire and, haiku, kids, lily, pollution, rhyme, save
and more.
Definition | What is Water in Poetry?
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