The Call of Water

I’m thinking about water.


Water falls – either river or rain – speak a whole spectrum of the Language of Wet, from soft drip & trickle to pounding slam-hard powerful.  I’ve come to believe that all are profoundly healing in the long run – even Tsunami, Hurricane, Cyclone.  Sometimes tragically so, painfully so – but real healing is like that.


There are ponds, pools, tiny lakes and great lakes, oceans of deep and old – ever renewing collectors of water.  There are aquifers deep and ancient, vast and secret reservoirs of …. memory?

Memory that cools, grounds, sinks and dissolves into something the stars might sing.


I’m thinking about water, and how it feels like a physical and emotional home to me.  It is at root a promise of renewal – immerse, let go of air for a moment, alter the pull of gravity, of time; extend the reach and timbre of sound so you feel … lifted, suspended, embraced.  Resonant.  Dissolved, for a moment.

To rise again into the mantle of gravity, air, task, focal point, verbal articulation, but cleaner, clearer.

Georgian Bay, from the eastern shore at the mouth of Owen Sound
Georgian Bay, from the eastern shore at the mouth of Owen Sound

Water stands, too, in those places where the amphibians go and humans do not, where toxicity is dissolved.  I think of wetlands as precious, timeless places.  Perhaps Chronos lives there, listening.


The sound of water falling – rhythmic & repetitive, whether it’s a drip or a roar – is the soundtrack of our days.

There’s an idea that water is a collector of Story – from us, from flora and fauna, from sky and sun.  Horrific stories- catastrophic, miraculous, impossible – but also mundane, incidental, apparently unimportant.

I’m going to paint this.  We live in times of deep and profound change, all over the planet.  No culture, country, community or person can avoid being confronted by this, and by the deep fears we all experience, collectively and privately, in reaction.



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  1. These Bluest Waters

    How did it come to be here just lucky I suppose The most precious thing on earth and everybody knows And now it’s time to pass it on to our sons and our daughters Pass it on pass it on these bluest waters

    It trickles it flows, it rains and it snows It freezes it boils, brings life to the soil It cleanses it cleans, it’s vapour it’s steam It showers it drizzles, turns brown into green It comes and it goes, it falls and it rises It’s hard or it’s soft, growers love or despise it The land it can flood, a dam it can burst it We drifted we drowned, we cherished we cursed it It’s down in a crevice it’s found in a well With it it’s heaven, without it it’s hell It’s sold in a bottle, but it often runs free It’s as small as a droplet, it’s as big as the sea

    Coastline shoreline, ocean or lake It’s fresh or it’s salty, clear or opaque As blue as the sky or green as the grass It stands as a solid, it moves as a gas It’s a poem, a story a sonnet Some believe a man even walked upon it From space it’s the colour the colour of blue Take care of this treasure, it will take care of you It splashes it sloshes, it drips and it gurgles Home to the Dolphins the Whales and the Turtles We’re causing such havoc for such tiny specks Down in it’s depths, it’s a grave yard of wrecks Not everyone’s near it, walk miles just to fetch it They wait for it to fall, they hope they can catch it I’m lucky I know at my place on the map Whenever I need it I just turn on the tap

    Larry Jensen

  2. Timeless and flowing, so ancient as you say but I love your reimagining. You have me thinking about my own relationship with water, fear and healing. I think about moments crying in the rain wanting to be soaked to the bone. Or watching an infinite horizon of water tempting me to just wade out into it’s depths.

    • So: what are the two voices that best describe this relationship (self with water) in tandem spoken word? Challenge to your poetic self; looking forward to your answer.

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