Welcome poets, to Day 1 of our month-long #WaterPoemProject. If you’re new to this project, please read the Introduction and FAQ.
I couldn’t think of a better person to kick things off than children’s poet (and my dear friend) Irene Latham.
Irene’s poetry prompt is: The Language of Water
Irene Latham
“How does water speak? What does a lake, river, waterfall, etc. say? Use onomatopoeia (words with water sounds, like splash, sprinkle, drizzle, spray…) and/or dialogue to imagine a conversation with water.”
Get your pencils sharpened and your typing fingers warmed up. Your task is to draft a piece of writing about the language of water before the end of the day tomorrow, Monday, March 23, 2020.
If you’re doing the #WaterPoemProject with a group, be sure to share or post your rough draft, read other people’s poems, and cheer for their efforts.
Irene Latham’s latest book is Dictionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes and Anecdotes from A to Z, with Charles Waters, illus. by Mehrdokht Amini, published by Lerner. You can find out more about Irene’s books her website.
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#WaterPoemProject Series Posts:
Project Introduction
FAQ
Prompt 1: Irene Latham, The Language of Water
Prompt 2: Elizabeth Steinglass, What Would a Raindrop Say?
Prompt 3: Linda Mitchell, Found Haiku
Prompt 4: Shari Green, Fogbow Fibonacci
Prompt 5: Margaret Simon, The Taste of Water
Prompt 6: Heather Meloche, The Shape of a Wave
Prompt 7: Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, A Water Memory
Prompt 8: Laura Shovan, Rainy Day Opposites
Prompt 9: Kathryn Apel, Silly Solage
Prompt 10: Buffy Silverman, A Watery Home
Prompt 11: Kara Laughlin, Frozen Fog
Prompt 12: Debbie Levy, Jump into a Limerick
Prompt 13: Joy McCullough, What Are Water Bears?
Prompt 14: Linda Baie, Frozen Water Skinny
Prompt 15: Chris Baron, The Hidden World of Water
Prompt 16: Michelle Heidenrich Barnes, Water Wordplay
Prompt 17: Susan Tan, The Sound of Water
Prompt 18: Mike Grosso, Waterplay!
Prompt 19: R. L. Toalson, Wishing Well
Prompt 20: Margarita Engle, Ode to the Shore
Prompt 21: Faye McCray, Poem in a Bubble
Prompt 22: Meg Eden, Surprising Connections
Please support the #WaterPoemProject authors by buying their books from your favorite independent bookstore.
Water speaks
of love, these
currents as
calm, for here
only in this
single moment
do we forget
the hard ice of
mountains, melting
off in distance, and
the vast ocean
of unpredictable riptides
the river flows
into, these bookends
of the forever cycle,
unseen
— Kevin, gathering poems here: https://write.as/dogtrax/
I love the phrase “here only in this single moment do we forget the hard ice of mountains.” Beautiful.
I love your use of bookends and how easily we forget where the water comes from and where it is going.
only in this/single moment/do we forget/the hard ice of/mountains-your words took me to a place of silence, Kevin. The sharp ice that surrounds us can be softened by the flow of gentle waters.-Beautiful poem.
Thank you, Irene and Laura for Day 1’s journey.
I am thinking of how to approach it.
Bath Tub Monsoon
I battle drips
I bat at drops
stare down trickles
’til they plop!
Water-logged whiskers–
tail and paws too.
Iv’e been caught
playing bath tub monsoon
(c) Linda Mitchell — with help from her cat, Ira
I will post with the # too to boost visability
Thanks, Linda. Glad your cat got into the poetry act! I can picture a kitty staring down the trickles of water.
I saw this poem at PF and thought it adorable. Just the right touch humor needed during a long week of #QuarantineLife, Linda.
“letter to the deniers”
those who speak without
first learning to listen
will never utter a substantial word
listen:
like a crystal chandelier
swaying slowly in a chilly draft;
perhaps hissing like a sizzling pan,
although frosty cold
rather than red-hot
don’t underestimate the oceans.
hear their ear-shattering roars,
practice humility
as you recognize that they were here first;
and they will remain, the question is only
when
will you sacrifice your insufferable complex of superiority?
you could never match the volume of the waves,
no matter how insistently loud you yell
you, who speaks and shouts without
first learning to listen
to the crashing of the sea
will never best the world you are so determined to destroy.
Your poem is filled with detail. I love how the chandelier in stanza one echoes in the crashing sea later in the poem.
Wow-“perhaps hissing like a sizzling pan”-So much imagery to fill my mind.
Bayou Side
Buzzing
Hovering
Fat hungry bumblebee
Roaring
Speeding
Wave-jumping motor boat
Paddling
Parting
Water-whispering canoe
Sparkling
Greening
Spring-loving cypress trees
I loved visiting the cypress trees when I was in Tallahassee recently — your poem reminds me.
That “water-whispering canoe” of yours takes me to a place of green peace, Margaret.
My poem is at my blog post today as an image poem: https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2020/03/waterpoemprojectsolsc-28.html but I am including the poem below.
You trickle. I listen.
The distant rumble of the news flows like water.
You ooze with stillness. I come to your resting spot,
mirroring an image under the shining sun.
You sway with ripples of peace-a cool breeze passes.
A world beyond your waters knows discontent,
shrieking with incessant safety precautions,
“Wash your hands”. But you lay quiet
in the same world, sharing your space with those
burdened who seek restful waterside peace.
Come swish your fears away in my waters. – © CVarsalona, 2020, Long Island, NY.
Water can be a balm to our anxious minds. Your poem reminds me of Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things.”
Thanks for your comment, Laura.
I’m working through the prompts in the voice of a character I am working on, who survived a flood.
The Language of Water
I say hot.
Water says cool.
I say thirsty.
Water says wet.
I say sing to me.
Water gurgles and babbles. It drips and it drums.
I say I made you a paper boat.
Water floats it downstream, out of sight.
I say stay, as if water were a dog.
Water will not. It growls. It chases its tail.
I say don’t come any closer.
Water puffs out its chest, breaks its banks.
I say get back.
Water says when its good and ready.
But first, it is hungry.
It must eat
everything it sees.
I say why.
Water doesn’t know.
It sits in its streambed
taking in the mud, the broken trees
and doesn’t remember
what made it so angry.
Gurgle burble splash splash
Inviting silky ripples beckon
Brrrr brrrr
Swish whoosh roll
Salty fresh inhale, invigorates
A dance on tiptoes, then
Susurrus
Sigh
“Inviting silky ripples beckon” — that sounds so appealing! I’d love to dip my toes in the ocean right now.
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