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'Deep Waters'
September 2014

30/09/2014

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Lessons of Agüeybaná and Uruyoán

In deep waters
there are no barriers
where the canoas
cannot reach with a message
of love and struggle
there are waterways
where caciques
knew who was their Creator
and saw a devil drowning


© Ángel L. Martinez 30 September 2014
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective



Natural History as Taught by Coca Cola

It stands to reason
That all life forms
On this planet
Are carbon based.
And they all began
Their life’s journey
In the sea,
Therefore,
The basic ingredient
In the sea
Is carbon,
And the basic ingredient
In seltzer is carbon
So therefore,
The sea
Is really seltzer!
That primordial liquid
In its deepest depths
Is very dark,
Corn syrup is very dark
And the main ingredients
In Coca Cola
Is Corn syrup and seltzer
Therefore the sea
Is really Coca Cola,
See?

© 9/30/14 David Gordon
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective




Aguas Profundas

Y la gente inventan a la guerra
Y es duro a recordar que el pasado
No hay paz en la tierra
Y las madres que lloran
El país desconocido
Y los hijos gritan en lágrimas
A salvar al planeta
A un nuevo mundo verde en paz
Y trabajos
Y derechos humanos
Para todos los ciudadanos
Y el que viene de una botella
En el gran teatro de la religión
Guanawi en su adoración
A la muerte
Y cada día que la luna sube
En la montaña del Parque Central
De la calle 110
Cerca de un río
Yo saludo a una gran estrella Raimunda
Y el movimiento climático de los pueblos
Con la OPP
Alto a la destrucción de la compañía
De nuestra Pachamama

Deep Waters

And people invent war
And it's hard to remember that in the past
There is no peace on earth
And mothers who mourn
The Undiscovered Country
And the children screaming in tears
To save the planet
A new green world peace
And jobs
And human rights
For all citizens
And what comes from a bottle
In the great theater of religion
Guanawi in worship
Of death
And every day the moon rises
In the mountains of Central Park
By 110th Street
Near a river
I salute a great star Raimunda
And a grassroots climate movement
With OPP
Stop destruction by the company
From our Pachamama

© 9/9/14 Carlos Raúl Dufflar
The Bread is Rising Poetry Collective




Deep water


I think I may be in deep water
Like an animal being led to slaughter
It's safe to say I'm in deep trouble
Someone has well and truly burst my bubble
It all started a few weeks ago
When a good friend of mine I know
Came to me and confided a secret
She needed to talk and she trusted me
Not to breathe a word to anyone I see
I hate to say I broke her confidentiality
I had to help her I had to tell
Even though I knew she would give me hell
I knew she couldn't cope with a baby alone
She needed professional support so I reached for the phone
They were very helpful, said they would be in contact soon
I had to tell her when she came that afternoon

I thought she would be grateful, and understand why
Instead she was angry and started to cry
Why had I broken the confidence she thought she could trust
I didn't want to tell, but I felt I must
I tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears
Her last words as she flounced out in tears
You told my secret now I must tell everyone yours
My face fell as she slammed the door
Now I am playing the waiting game
If she tells my secret my life won't be the same

Liz Jury
GROW




Oceans Apart

Upon the oceans, deep and vast,
Many people in the past
Would hoist their sails upon the foam
To find a place to call their home.

Some were fleeing persecution,
Some in fear of destitution,
Others taken forcibly
To be sold into slavery.

From Europe and from Africa
They gathered in America,
Australia and Canada,
The Welsh in Patagonia.

The English, Irish, German, Scot,
The wandering Jew, a melting pot
Into the ocean they did drift,
A massive population shift.

And that is how it is today,
Migration hasn’t gone away.
You will always see disorder
Every time they close a border.

It is natural to flee;
Life is best across the sea
And despite our place of birth
We’re really citizens of Earth.

Andrew Diamond
Goodmayes Writers




Fathoms Down

Deep waters hold no reflection.
At each nautical mile of depth;
As space in itself is a light year away;
The sun weakens in strength
And cannot penetrate, the
Pervading, deepening darkness

It is only blackness, that is
Reflected; as a solid curtain
Forever closed and locked in
Perpetuity; in deep waters

Jan Hedger
GROW



Salvage and Salvation


Well, they didn’t ask me; no-one said ‘how are you?’ And me with a great big hole in my side, big enough to pass a whole body through without touching the sides; they just raised their voices amongst themselves, whilst my soul sank and I was speechless – drowning.

The only consolation, I suppose, was that I would be left to rest and rot in peace, for I am no meal for the circling sharks. Not like them – breakfast, dinner and tea they are. Fine dining for the sharks!

It does pain me though, that I let them down. I tried to tell the Captain, tried to turn to port – but no; as always he had to be the one in charge – even with a good slug of whisky inside him. Sharply, he had contradicted me and pulled the wheel back and I knew we were done for. I couldn’t save them.

The crunch, when it came was sickening. My hull was shattered – splintered and torn apart and I tasted thick salt in my mouth. Drowning like them – if they didn’t stop arguing; surely there some diplomats amongst them. At least if they look at it logically, they can save 6 maybe 8 of them, for my lifeboat survived unscathed. It is all I can offer them now, a chance, a choice – but I cannot make it for them.

The Captain, eager for liquor money had taken a back-hander, and allowed on board, more than the lifeboats capacity, so now it was a lottery.

Their voices are becoming more muffled as I sink lower in the water, but instinct tells me that someone must have calmed the situation. I sigh ‘thank God, my Neptune’ and let the water wash over me. Lighter now, without the lifeboat – I knew that some had gone and I just caught a glimpse of faces looking back at me.

I am relieved for them, yet I cannot be sad for those left, for I don’t want to die alone – my biggest fear.

I just hope they forgive me.

Jan Hedger
GROW




A TOUCH OF BLUE
(I wrote this during an evening sitting on beach)


A blue tree rises from the ocean bed
Surrounded by turquoise waves
Blue touches blue
Like the tree house that’s secluded by azure leaves
A sanctuary of endless blue
This is my world
I dive into the deep waters and I am the Neptune Mermaid
Swirling and dancing to the rhythms of the tide
A crown of gold seaweed adorns my head
I am the queen of the underwater world
Solitude and serenity behold me
Blue touches blue
This is my world
Dolphins love and comfort me
There are no conditions, boundaries, regulations
Nor rules
Blue touches blue
This is my world
Communication belongs to the sea creatures
There is no need to speak
Beauty goes beyond my skin
I am accepted
Blue touches blue

THIS IS MY WORLD

Sue Rabbett
GROW



Shock and Awe

Walls separate us
Boulders of rock
I am the sea waiting for you
Voice of everything
Coiling and curling in time with the tide
You my beautiful
Are on the other side
Withered and wilted in the desert
Thirsty for love
Tormented by the sun
I am the sea waiting for you
Voice of everything
You my beautiful
Ravaged and torn
Numb to the core of your soul
I am the sea waiting for you
Voice of everything
Whispering in your ear
You my beautiful
Are hidden in the sand

Sue Rabbett
GROW



Traveling through deep waters

Swirling wading breathless gasping
Churning strokes striking arms pulls sludge black  slush ice cold mine
Deepest hole deep waters wade
Gurgling for breathe outside corporate
Step forward swim muck alongside
Worries relentlessly deep waters
Hammering home footsteps call
Head above breathing breather
Traveling still in deep waters
Pressure pressing drainpipes
Life pulls back and forth fortune
Letters drag fort further deep dip
Ducking dipping choking mud gully
Travelling forces trough deep waters

John Joseph Sheehy



Deeper Waters+

With all his might
He tries to write
In his little hovel
Throughout the night
His great new novel

Hard story to tell
Through heavy swell
Over seas rough and wavy
He went through hell
In the good Queen's Navy

But each new thought
for which he fought
And pushed and pulled
It came to nought
All quite unschooled

He thought of the lore
Of pulling an oar
Striving to reach
On that distant shore
the friendly beach

But his head's in pain
And blank's his brain
As ideas slide
And wax and wane
Both far and wide

To times long past
Before the mast
Harken to the storm roar
And the call 'Avast!!'
'Rum is up once more!!'

That makes him think
'I'll have a drink'
He says and sighs
'Before the ink
on the keyboard dries.'

Dave Chambers
Newham Writers Workshop

     

 
Deep Waters - Rescue in the Wilderness?
(True Story)


I held on tight, the movement incessant, wearing.
I saw only sea. The vast undulating swell,
grey clouds merged with grey sea, there was no join.
A flash caught my eye.
A shoal of flying-fish above the water,
phosphorescence glinting in the grey.
They disappear, they reappear.
They escape predators, hungry enemies,
or friends, out here, a meal is a meal.
One stayed above longer than the others,
changed direction, headed for the ship.
Landed heavily on deck
rolled over and over.
Ball of feathers
stood up, shook, fell over
lost. 900 miles east of Africa
wayward, migrant, house martin.

We name it Budgie.
Water, deep baking tray, stale bread crumbs.
Budgie jumps in, feet, wings, head,
especially wings, feeds, rests.
Next day he's flying round and round
low, close to the waves, up, very high,
so high he's a speck in the sky
seven, eight times higher than our puny radar mast
then down low, round and round
then splashes in the baking tray, feeds, rests.
and does it all again, and again, and again.
We plod on, Westnorthwest, 10 knots.
Keep watch, check fuel level, check oil level
check hydraulics, check - budgie's baking tray.
Routine continues, day after day,
Fourth day, off watch, morning.
“Where's budgie? You seen Budgie?”
“He flew high, then down, then due West.”
Gone. We look around, one hour
keen eyes, two hours, we search, we mope.
A shout, radar ops has a contact
First for six days.
Tiny blip at the edge
“It's big” he says” “Really big”
“How'd you know it's big? How'd you know?”
“What is it? What is it?”
T i r e d – e y e s – l o o k – u p,
“A f r i c a”

Dave Chambers
Newham Writers Workshop 

 

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