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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 27, 2002
It would be easy to give by jsenn Daily Poem oh, at least two, three times a month, just for being who she is. But then she posts a poem like Rivers Converge at the Sea, and we're reminded again of just why she's the queen. Let this poem flow into and over and around you, let yourself drown in it. [sent by deejbard ] (Selected by +skyorange)
Featured by skyOrange
Literature Text
Rivers Converge at the Sea
by jsenn
I read that
all rivers
flow into
the sea and
it occurs
to me that
this water
is the same
water that
swells then
ebbs in
moon driven
tides to
lap at the
shorelines
of Sweden
and Alaska
Australia,
and Japan;
flows
in rivers,
lakes and
ponds; forms
of melted
winter snows,
still lakes
reflecting
sky like
mirrors on
great
mountaintops;
drips from
limestone
cathedral
ceilings
to form
pools within
underground
caves;
filters
through the
earth's
crust, boils,
then spews
upward in
great
fountains
through
fissures at
Yellowstone.
It's the same water.
I dipped my hand into it and wondered if a molecule of this water might have stood still at Moses' command when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, or been in one drop he drank after striking the rock.
I marveled that it might have bathed Cleopatra or been the first gulp a baby brontosaurus drank from a still pond.
Was a drop of it in the water that baptized my first son or in the first bath I gave the last of my four children?
Might it have watered the desert in Israel or flowed in darkness across the floor fathoms below the surface of the sea?
Could it have been under the foam tip of a giant wave which rolled across Galveston Island in the Hurricane of 1900, or frozen upon the beard of a survivor from the Titanic?
Did it run down the back of a Native American, stalking game in the rain, sink into the earth and rise, two hundred years later, to be tasted by myself from a paper cup in Hotsprings, Arkansas?
Solomon said,
"there is
nothing new
under the sun."
I have
learned
that all
things,
impossible,
improbable
or
unbelievable
have all,
happened
before.
The water
dripping
slowly
from my
fingertips
confirms
that
proclamation
for within
them I am
witness to
creation,
to history
and
tomorrow
morning,
high tide
will occur
at 5:38 A.M.
Joy Senn
7/24/2002
by jsenn
I read that
all rivers
flow into
the sea and
it occurs
to me that
this water
is the same
water that
swells then
ebbs in
moon driven
tides to
lap at the
shorelines
of Sweden
and Alaska
Australia,
and Japan;
flows
in rivers,
lakes and
ponds; forms
of melted
winter snows,
still lakes
reflecting
sky like
mirrors on
great
mountaintops;
drips from
limestone
cathedral
ceilings
to form
pools within
underground
caves;
filters
through the
earth's
crust, boils,
then spews
upward in
great
fountains
through
fissures at
Yellowstone.
It's the same water.
I dipped my hand into it and wondered if a molecule of this water might have stood still at Moses' command when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, or been in one drop he drank after striking the rock.
I marveled that it might have bathed Cleopatra or been the first gulp a baby brontosaurus drank from a still pond.
Was a drop of it in the water that baptized my first son or in the first bath I gave the last of my four children?
Might it have watered the desert in Israel or flowed in darkness across the floor fathoms below the surface of the sea?
Could it have been under the foam tip of a giant wave which rolled across Galveston Island in the Hurricane of 1900, or frozen upon the beard of a survivor from the Titanic?
Did it run down the back of a Native American, stalking game in the rain, sink into the earth and rise, two hundred years later, to be tasted by myself from a paper cup in Hotsprings, Arkansas?
Solomon said,
"there is
nothing new
under the sun."
I have
learned
that all
things,
impossible,
improbable
or
unbelievable
have all,
happened
before.
The water
dripping
slowly
from my
fingertips
confirms
that
proclamation
for within
them I am
witness to
creation,
to history
and
tomorrow
morning,
high tide
will occur
at 5:38 A.M.
Joy Senn
7/24/2002
Literature
Variable Skies
Beyond the spray of clouds
Gliding towards the sun, far
Past the sun sharpened blue skies
Where fallen star trails echo
Through an eternity of twinkling
White speckled darkness; in dreams
Of other when's and where's, of
Parallel paths that bend with light,
Soar with sound and twist
With the bitter taste of ash
And sorrow, yet never
A touch of hope...
Of recognition through the rings
Of Saturn; flowing like Mercury,
Quicksilver around every star
Shivering beacon fading to be
Free of degrading orbits compromising
Some fateful fall into a union
Born in the vacuum, born to burn
Through its' icy cold
Emotionless
Depth...
T
Literature
You Underneath
You
underneath,
brushing the willow,
swallow many branches, while
brushing the willow
underneath
you.
Silence,
they hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat.
Scratch the bark,
they hear the
silence.
You
underneath
brushing the willow,
silence!
They hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat;
scratch the bark
they hear the
silence,
brushing the willow
underneath
you.
Suggested Collections
Ah, the infernal question of "category," hmm, ode to the universe, no, uh... eeny, meeny, miney, mo...
Nevertheless, ladies and gentlemen, this poem tis a theme-based succession of jsenn-like ponderous thought. hmmm, I suppose that may mean there is no category for this poem.
mo..."Other" seems appropriate.
Nevertheless, ladies and gentlemen, this poem tis a theme-based succession of jsenn-like ponderous thought. hmmm, I suppose that may mean there is no category for this poem.
mo..."Other" seems appropriate.
© 2002 - 2024 jsenn
Comments72
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i love eet! i've wondered such things myself....like maybe the house i live in is in the same spot of a native american hut...or a Raptors nest...or just the fact that something that lived a million years ago shared the same space as i do now.