Waterwars.


Verse 1

They will choose to follow, although
they may believe their choices falsely,
but what is true will always be true.

Her friends will gather around her
for they will be moved to gather
and not know why but come on her beckoning
because they will see her when their minds
are closed to their prevailing industry.

They will see her face in the serene waters
of the well common to all and her purpose
will be creased like wrinkles
as she, by her certain smile, will
let them know their purpose together.

It will seem to them, then, that they will
lose themselves in the great sea of unity
and frightened, they will return to their industry
until night’s end and sleep. Then
in the bareness of their vulnerability
they will let her stoke the fire of their union.

They will see the mighty towers of their world returned to the soil.
They will wake, quaking, innocent but knowing.
They will follow their unshapen imaginings
to where the foundations for the well are laid ,
and their passion will be the buckets that scoop the water,
their love that which pours without emptying to flood
all the states of the world.

The call for their gathering will rise
like frogs emerge in pools after a storm,
each will be called according to their time
to find their allotted place
in the stream of destiny.

They will gather by deeds, and not
surrender their territory but use it
for the increase of the gathering.
By kindness will they know their duty,
by the stream of union will they know their mastery,
by the strength of each and their giving
will they know each other.

So they will gather around her
who has rebuilt the well.




There are 10 verses to Waterwars, I thought that would be a little rich, so here is the first.

Gregory

Hi Gregory

I need to think about this poem before commenting. I was here, and wanted you to know I have read your poem. (I dont like reading and not leaving my foot prints!)

Thank you for sharing your intricate, thought provoking poem.

PP

Dear Gregory,

This is well written, but I have to ask - is it a poem ? Seems much more like prose to me, with only the line breaks saying otherwise.

I have often failed to get what I want to say into a poem - but in my case I have tended to abandon, cuz I don't really want to get into prose.

I hope this does not disappoint you - but recasting as intended prose might be the way to go ?

Love
Alan

PP, thanks for the post, look forward to your comment.

Alan, actually your observation didn't disappoint me at all given that I cast it as a prophecy, which I am pretty sure is not classed as poetry as such. You can call it poetry, we all do, take a look at the Torah or the Bible or the Koran, but you are probably right, it is not accurate to do so. There are certain elements to prose that can be taken as poetic (aka Kahlil Gibran) and some of poetry that can be said to be prose (aka Walt Whitman). What distinguishes them seems to me to be pretty subjective, but overall you can tell what is proesy and what is poesy. I'm not sure what you'd class Waterwars as, but prose does seem closest, with a certain level of poesy I suppose. And I don't supprose which would be to suppress the rose, hehe. It all depends on what you are trying to say, and does poetry really compress meaning better than prose in certain expressive forms. I'm glad you brought it up because this element in Waterwars was what I was afraid the poetic establishment would reject. On your reckoning it was well written (thank you) but I wonder if that is going to be enough to break through, hehe, we shall see. Thanks for your thoughts, most interesting.

Cheers Gregory

Hi Gregory ~

While you are have posted what you term "Verse I" for critique in the interests of aiding those who comment, I would appreciate seeing all of the verses posted here with comment requesting critique on Verse I at this time.

My reasoning is that what may seem necessary to comment on by viewing only Verse I, could be answered with a reading of the other verses.

As "Her" is apparently at the core of this prophecy. . .my focal comment on Verse I would be who is "she". . .however, that may become far more clear in viewing the whole of the work.

This piece holds a rather ominous tone. . .and I'm not certain, yet, that I should read this in a "lemming to the sea" type sense or not. . .

Will be interesting to read the rest.

~Rene~

Rene, the reason I posted only verse 1 is because the rest is rather long, and sure I can post the rest, but maybe in another forum here, I'm not sure which one. I did post it for critique and if you cant make a crit from this without seeing the rest then I would gladly help. Which forum? I'll have a look and get back to you. The figure of 'she' is not what you are thinking if lemmings are involved. The other verses will give you more idea of what 'she' represents. Thanks for your observations. Cheers, Gregory

Exactly my point, difficult to offer an intelligent crit based on only Verse I. . .I can crit only Verse I, certainly, but do not want to waste unnecessary comment if the whole gives a better view of "she"

Thank you. . .will look for the rest either at the bottom of this thread or in another forum.

~Rene~

Rene, at the risk of being boring I have posted the full 10 verses but will want to post them one by one nevertheless. I think it would be brave of anyone to take on the whole thing at one go. This version of verse 1 includes some revisions I have made since posting. Thanks for your interest, Gregory

Waterwars.

Verses 1 - 10

1

They will choose to follow, although
they may believe their choices falsely,
but what is true will always be true.

Her friends will gather
for they will be moved to gather unknowingly
on her beckoning because they will see her only
when their minds are closed to their prevailing industry.

They will see her face in the serene waters
of the well common to all and her purpose
will be creased like wrinkles
as she, by her certain smile, will
let them know their purpose together.

It will seem to them, then, that they will
lose themselves in the great sea of their union
and frightened, they will return to their industry
until night’s end and sleep. Then
in the bareness of their vulnerability
they will let her stoke the fire of their uniting.

They will see the mighty towers of their world returned to the soil.
They will wake, quaking, innocent but knowing.
They will follow their unshapen imaginings
to where the foundations for the well are laid ,
and their passion will be the buckets that scoop the water,
their love the love that pours without emptying to flood
all the states of the world.

The call for their gathering will rise
like frogs emerge in pools after a storm,
each will be called according to their time
to find their allotted place in their union.

They will gather by deeds, and not
surrender their territory but use it
for the increase of the gathering.
By kindness will they know their duty,
by the stream of union will they know their mastery,
by the strength of each and their giving
will they know each other.

So will they gather around her
to rebuild the well.

2

For the well is the property of them
but water is the property of all.

And how close to the waters of the well
are you, who hear not the call?
Are you not those that should receive the water
once it has been scooped from the well
by those that have been called?

And some will store the water in small reservoirs
and not share from the flowing streams
that feed the world, until their small pools
have all dried; then they will cry again in thirst
tearing their fingers digging
into the dry, dead, earth.

Though the ground will crack underneath them,
they will not find the water
but as the water is given them
by those who have been called.
Then they will be called and see
her face in their reflections,
her soft hands outstretched to help them drink.

And others will have stored their water
in greater reservoirs and charged the people
as their reservoirs dried, an interest,
until their reservoirs too, empty.
Then they too, will be called,
but they shall see his face as a call to death
misshapen by their fear
for they shall be guided by their interest.

Yet since the waters of the well once built
shall never cease, if they would but come
and quench their thirst they would lose their interest,
and the gathering then would admit them

They would admit the gathering too
for as their reservoirs dry so too
their fear of thirst would devour them
and in turn they would devour
those who’s reservoirs had already emptied
in tithes and remittances
until all are poor and dying of thirst.

And she would build the well
where all could gain access
and though they would find water given freely,
they would wish to own the well,
and the water would not touch their lips
or go into their throats or stomachs
to refresh them.

Those who have been called would
never cease from drinking
and their thirsts easily quenched
and they would bring the water
in their buckets for all who relinquished
possession of the well.

The well would be built person beside person
and maintained and cleaned by the perpetual
pouring of water into its heart
as those who are called will take up their buckets
and scoop only that which is allotted them
by the depth of their love.

3
Whomsoever maintains not their well will
receive no water.

When the time comes,
when the face in the water is yours
as you pull your pail from the well
full to the measure of your love,
you will see those who are scattered and
parched, standing by their industry
even as their dams dry, aching for spring rains,
cursing the desert; and they will see you
as if you were the promise of the storm
carrying the substance of their craving.

Some will be called then.
Others will build fences around
the dwindling water they had stored
and their battlements meant to protect it
until their bullets turn to dust,
their anger to desperation.

Some will be called then.
Others will turn completely away
even from her face entreating them
from within the well as they dreamed.
Dry and parched, they would perish.

You might pour an endless stream
from your chalice into their thirsting mouths
open like new born chicks cranking
their necks for nourishment, but
they would gain no relief or substance.

Their well would be broken,
the waters pour from the cracks
in its bricks into the soil;
so they would dry up and join the ground.
.
Do not save your water, for you are called, not they,
and when the time comes those who are called
will outnumber those who are not;
and all will then be nourished
for all will have access and will drink
their fulfilment, yet none
will own the well.

Each is responsible for each and for all.
The all is unable to respond to each
but through each. So the man
gasping his last breath will find you
standing above him, tilting your bucket to pour,
for you are able to respond, and, if he does also
then he has been called and he will not thirst.

. 4
She will never leave the well once it is re-built
and none would leave once called, nor cease their pouring,
nor dip again their bucket once it has been dipped.

Drink now deeply those that are called, drink
now and to your life’s end drink, for to drink is to share,
and to share is to enter into the gathering.

Tilt your buckets wherever there is need
and keep pouring whether those who need
still perish by their interest, for the water is imperishable.

The minds of those called will be empty,
for they have been dipped
into the peace of the well and filled with water.

They will be full of the passion of unity,
mindful and unselfish at rest
as they seek the grace of the other.

As all around them
perishes for want of water
they will not want nor perish.

When all who are not called has perished
then will invasion stop
and protection vanish.

Then will betrayal and war
become like the rusted hulks
of old combine harvesters sitting in the fields.

Then will the rivers of concourse
flow as the abundant well
provides the laughter of friendship.

Then the world will be whole not round,
and the distant galaxies but evidence
of a greater river and a greater well.

5.
Is your need for possession of the well
really in your interests?

Do you tell a lie to cover a truth
if your throat tastes the clear light of reason
yet your thirst stays unquenched?

Once the sun has risen in the morning
do you still think it night?
Once you taste the pure meaning

of your sisters and brothers do you
then return to the dust to quench your desires?
If you see her face imploring you to drink,

would you still rather perish
like buffalo stuck in the mud dying
in the shrinking pools of the round world?

Or would you, rather, feel the increasing resonance
of joyful hope that grows as those who are called
come to the gathering, and also take up the calling?

When you see a man or woman scooping
the last dregs of muddy water from their reservoirs
they will seem unlike you, desperate,

yet it will be your own face you see
in that putrefying hole
and your tears will add nothing but salt,

despair and self-pity. Then she will call you
again in the dark places between thoughts
to come to the well, to drink, to be refreshed

in the presence of your sisters and brothers
who’s joy cannot be countenanced but as joy
and who’s desire to share the water

from the well is as natural as breath.
When you feel the hard cold steel
of fear poke into your ribs

or push your declining head into the mud
demanding your water, when you see
the desperate fear of death in the eye

of your assailant and recognize not yourself,
then will her face seem more enticing and the
flow of your regret seem monstrous.

If you try to grab at the remaining drops of water
mixed in with the soil you will
scoop merely mud and pain.

Your assailant will steal your pitiful belongings
then ask you to pay a tithe
to add to his stockpile,

though he will merely add dirt
to his pile of murky water
and sit smiling madly,

mud splashed over his face,
and you will see him sit still like a statue
made from the clay until his bones peel away their flesh.

If you but look toward the gathering
and seek intimacy
water would pour endlessly into your open mouth

and the pain of the fear of death would vanish.
You would find those who have been called
standing over you, tilting their buckets

pouring out their strengths,
and you would look in wonder at their cheerfulness
despite the deserts around you.

Will you then stay bogged in the swamps
you have created, whilst the others
walk freely on the dry ground?

Rather, will you come to the gathering
and receive your bucket with
the blessings of commitment.

6

Those who need not conviction
will gather easily under the canopy of the well

Rising majestically from the garden
where the seeds of culture are germinating,
the future of humus sapiens.

Under the umbrella of trust
they will greet their family
and none shall know the other

but by the all, nor see each other
but by their conviction
and ease of co-operation.

When the country bleeds into the city’s walls
they shall stand by the well
fixing the holes in their buckets.

When thirst parches the land
and a suicidal price is set upon it,
they will ready themselves to scoop

the water, to serve those in most need.
When hunger fuels desperation
and the illusion of war beckons

they will begin seeking
harmony among people
crossing the rivers of pain,

then as the continents change
and nomads flood across the empty lands,
they shall bring them water,

and each will take only their fill from the buckets
until the buckets become a river,
so the well shall be re-built.

7

Mud lies thick in the well

The imperishable source
flows under its
broken walls,

feeding the undergrowth,
and terrors grow more wild
than logic can answer.

Free things would not go
willingly to this debauch,
but for their children

they would drain the bog
and re-dig the pipes,
they would tile the base and sides

then re-stump the posts
and recoil the ropes
that winch the bucket.

They would do this
to replenish the people
and free them from possessiveness.

8

Those that took possession of the well would thirst unquenchably
and surely those that have been so exhausted
would return to be replenished.

There was a village
and it was built around a well
and the well provided

all the people in the village
with water and all partook
for the water never ceased.

The village prospered and all
enjoyed the fruits of their labors
and some became slovenly

realizing that if they held back their work
the others would work harder
and they would still get the water of the well.

The water started not refreshing them
as it did those who worked
and they craved more and more

until they were satisfied neither
with the work they did nor
the fruits of that work

which all the villagers shared
despite the laziness of the few.
Their dissatisfaction led to bitter

struggles for possession of the harvest
and the villagers forgot to maintain
the well.

Soon the well became muddy
as the bricks and mortar started to crack
and the water seeped into the subsoil.

The villagers recognized that their water
had now subsided and the well began
to smell.

Their lands became parched and their harvest
mediocre, their babies hungry.
They knew they would all have to help

equally to restore the foundations of the well
and keep it well tiled and clean
if the village was to survive,

but the few scriveners decided they would
all leave and look for a place where
their needs could be satisfied.

They set up a village away from the well
and bought slaves to help them
carry the water they needed to them.


The other villagers fixed the well’s foundations
and again the town thrived, but they grew
to despise the ones who had gone

and called them brother and sister no longer.
They then made weapons and used them
to scare away the slaves when

they came to get water.
Both villages then made war with each other
for possession of the water

but the village that surrounded the well
fought against the slaves the
slovenly few had bought

and though the slaves died, so did the villagers.
The few waited until
they had wiped them out

then came to claim the well
and the town
for, they reasoned, you might move the village

but you cannot move the well,
and they used the remaining slaves
and the surviving children

to clean and scrape the well of sediment
and scoop the water for them.
Now the surviving children grew

and remembered how their parents had died
but the few had grown so lazy
they forgot even that the children would remember

and frightened them into submission
by taking away their water whenever
they were given to curiosity or rebellion.

Then a strange thing happened, for when
any of the few would look into the well
they would see, not their face,

reflected in the water, but one of the children
who had survived and become a slave,
and they would perceive their enemy.

They could not then drink the water and began
to die, the water would not touch
their lips or throat or go into their stomach


but dehydrate even before leaving the bucket.
The few then knew they were lost,
and some were called at that moment.

The children rejoiced for they had been called
to re-build the well together
and none would take possession of the water hereafter


9

The world is whole and has no shape,
so no inhabitants but lives in all.

Why would you stand by a drying pool
ready to lap at the fast hardening mud,
when the face of your brother or sister

looks down at you hoping you will drink
as their water pours lovingly from them?
Why would you continue to see the world

as round, as a shape inhabited?
why would you expect to extract a profit
for yourself when it is from yourself you take?

Your reservoirs cannot contain any more
than can sustain your bodies for a short time
until the sun or the snows claim them.

No matter how big they are
your interests in them will always
be as big as the next fear

to strike you as you hold out your hand
to those who die, bent beneath your tithes
as you are bent beneath the tithes of those

whose dams are greater than yours.
And at any moment they may be called
to leave you to your desperation

lest you drink from their buckets
and recognize the whole world
has always been whole.

Always, right to the last moments
you draw air into your lungs
the faces of your brothers and sisters,

who have been called, will call you,
and at the last breath you will be unable
to escape that realization.

10

Gather friends, gather at the well.

The well is being re-built
even as you continue in your industry
building interest,
but what might you build together?

If you see the face of your brother or sister
in the cool reflective space of dreams
or even as you gaze away from the industries
that bombard you with their calls
to take your interest through their tithes,
you are being called to the well
to take up your bucket and seek
for those that wish to drink also.

If you are called you will follow
those that are also called
to the well, which has no location
on the round world but exists
in any place in the whole world.

If you perceive the world
is whole, not round, you will
find your bucket and all that exists
on the round world will cease
to provide you interest.

You will no longer need to pay
remittances or tithes to enjoy
the flow of the water, to drink
the full effervescence of the spring.

Mud lies thick at the bottom of the well,
even the birds will not go near
for the stench. Re-build this hell,
friends, for that is the calling.

When the water flows away,
the bricks are cracked, the mortar crumbled,
no one drinks or stays, the well
needs refurbishing, the clay
fortifying..

Let go your own thirst friends
for you will be quenched in the
drinking of your brothers and sisters.

When those whom you wish to quench
see mud pouring from your bucket,
in your grace be no witness, be understood,
their darkness will die with them either way.

When the well is new yet the water is low
your children’s benefit must prevail,
the well will fill as they drink of each other
until the called outnumber the perishing.

Then will they share in the well
that remains firm and unmoving, full
of cold, pure, spring,
replenishing for another day and for
each soul who see only their interest.

When the cover of the well is removed
and tithes are banished from consciousness,
they will flower, your children, they will bloom.
But should they forget and try to draw
more than they need, so to their doom.

Should they not forget,
they will inherit the whole world.















.

What an undertaking this must have been. . .I will read through all ten. . .and get back in a few days with comments on Verse I.

Thanks for sharing.

~Rene~

Hi Gregory.

To answer your question on which forum to post the entire piece, if you are die-hard set that it is poetry, then this is the right forum.

I am of the opinion that this should go in to the prose forum (IMHO), which you can access here:
http://forums.mosaicmusings.net/index.php?showforum=8

I'll be back, I've much to get caught up on since I've been away....

Take care.
~Cleo