"aquifer" poems
《☆ Ode to Miller Spring ☆》
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since
first I came to be here.
This journey was
my awakening to the
new existence I would step into.
Foreign to me
the illustrious homes.
Dripping willows, old oaks, poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns carved
into lush grass.
This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals,
all enjoy this path.
The winds blow at this highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.
This road, brought me to a
place of solitude...
An open space.
Land of possibilities.
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road
since first I came to be here.
This road has led me to the new existence
I have stepped into.
Perfectly kept grounds
checkerboard patterns carved
in lush grass.
The wind blows at this
highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth from
the center of the Earth.
This Spring, that quenched
my family's thirst.
This Spring, that pulled my
people here,
so many years ago.
A road brought me to
this place of solitude.
An open space.
A land of Dreams.
I wonder,
what Dreams,
this land
will hold for me?
☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆
~July 2014~May 2015~
2nd Edition
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
"Miller Spring" is a pure crystalline-rock aquifer that has been revered by all peoples blessed to live within it's reach. The tribes of the Ojibwe and Lakota shared the spring. It was called the "Sweet Spring of Healing Waters" This spring was also shared with Settlers as they arrived. When the land was owned, the spring has always been made accessible, to All People. It should be noted that this spring water is exceptionally clear,
crisp and has a sweet bright taste
It is delicious!
To this day Miller Spring is available to all.
It's icy cold waters gush forth 24/7~365
days a year out of a well by the side
of the road, down about a mile
from my home.
I actually live in a modest house
on two original acres of this
beautiful land, which is now
bordered by five "illustrious" homes.
We moved here from the
City in the year 2000
Living in the suburbs was the
"New Existence" I had stepped into...
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
**** me like an alpha,
**** me out of sight,
take me from this wonder,
this blindness in the night.
Anger me in morning
with the refusal of ugly ***
sleep still on our tongues,
whiskey on my breath.
Treat me to your body
when I am true and I am good,
dance me through your questions
until you are finally understood.
I can hear your longing
though I cannot hear your voice,
you know that I choose you,
though, I never really had a choice.
Tease me with your movie scenes,
your folded, anxious legs,
a calf born into the slaughterhouse,
the conveyor-belt, the hatchling, the egg.
I was doomed to your misfit puzzle,
I was sentenced to decay,
skin seared by your magnificence,
by your gratuitous delay.
Delay from a fulfilment,
a delay from inner peace,
the incremental recovery
whilst dreaming of the sea.
Now I'm drowning in the wishing well,
in the steady clamour of home;
the pill-box in the aquifer,
the faded reference to Rome.
I can memorise your breathing
hair fawning over your chest,
there are countless decent lovers,
but you know that I loved you the best.
So **** me like an alpha,
**** me out of sight,
I am tired of words and meaning,
those blind entries
into the night.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
Sedge
Rush
Cereal
Turf
Blade
network
Insect
canopy
Viral
fibre
Pattern
weaver
Earth
fabric
Meadow
aquifer
Wind
dancer
Tribal
mind
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
This divided society
putting most of us in poverty
but can't do nothing 'bout it
cause the computer cuts us too neatly
Still upholding the divinity of Austrian economic theories
when for the last hundred years
the rise of the dollars been all about
demographics & behavioral science
Capital is nothing more than a natural resource
I don't care that you got there first
The aquifer runs wide
please don't poison mine
Profit is nothing but an unpaid cost of labor
Cause I agreed to a certain pay
I must work the rest of my hours as a Wage Slave
Yeah, you could say it was consensual
but don't have much choice
when I got mouths to feed, a checklist of other needs,
and no extra dough to risk buying
exclusivity rights to plunder a piece of Earth
Human Beings: We call ourselves advanced
when we never been closer to death
Human Beings: We fear the government
while proprietors with most control grab up more
Human Beings: I get more joy buying things today
than playing with the things I bought yesterday
Human Beings: Millennial pessimists, riding out the apocalypse
instead of promulgating progress
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
how soft the clouds
that touch my feet
as I search for Ignis
Ignis
in the rotting leaves
how cold the soil
against the walls of my lungs
as I dig for Ignis
Ignis
and the Sun
how tight the girdle
around my waist
of roots and earthworm ribbons
as I dig for Ignis
Ignis
displaced
how heavy the dirt
that clings and crushes
skeletal ribs, fingers
clawing clumps and crusts
as I dig for Ignis
Ignis
in the rust
how fine the bone meal
that dissolves in droplets
of sweat in aquifer
as I seep to Ignis
Ignis
and breathing
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
#ElNido
I found no water dripping from my hairtips
As I had that face-to-face look to my fave jeans.
Lost as when I did the transferring of feet,
I thought that departure was quite a break of heart.
The open window has sent me a bright invitation,
Sun's glaring but I never saw her fine reflection.
I felt the Air strolls through my skin
The taste of the floral serum enveloped by the sachet.
I had poured myself with the aquifer's liquor,
The remembrance of the search was over my psyche.
I could still feel the pain that excites my upper muscles
As I tried pushing and pulling to break the ground level.
Cuddling the old reversible jeans, he says I'm Free to Go,
I crowned my soul with an inner bliss and whispered to the Air.
My eyes were shut for a moment, but I was an alliance with them -
Of them whose not emptied yet ** revitalizes my potential**.
One boasts that the Light was completed,
The other has kept me envy his softening skills.
I never thought that there's still hope for dull flying-tips
But they simply say, "It's not the end of bad hair days."
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
I never meant to fall
but sunrise greased your chassis.
The crest and fall of your jaw—
the blade and bend of it,
mudslide contouring of it—
dropped me ribless at your feet.
O promising land, crisp field
of flesh, whose fireflies
steered my eyes in the darkness—
your land, where my eyes had strayed—
scaled over eolian caves, the slick
basins of your clavicle, onto
the hexa hillocks clustered
like honeycomb chambers
on your abdomen.
I never meant to fall,
but the cursive lines of you,
I might have trod with loose eyes—
even now, there is a voice
drawing them to strike
at the aquifer beneath your waistline,
voice of vined thirst,
of torso and tug—
with them, I struck and drowned
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 4:28 AM UTC
Arrogantly
We fight over
…pieces of the earth
Ravenously
As if driven by
…blood thirst
We beasts, we stir
We **** we pillage
…her aquifer
We dishonor creation
When we act like
…we weren't born from her
* Reprinted from 'My Hajj A Collection of Poems by Mekael'
© September 16, 2011 by Mekael Shane
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
Come an read my verdant mountains
the place Champlain
he named Verd Mont
where eons an eons
of ancestors,
beautifully now
how they still haunt,
Where the ever-greens
that stretch so tall
now blend in with the maple
where come here in the springtime flow the gold it is a staple,
My feet have roamed this earth so long
I know it in my heart
every road I travel down
I know from where I start,
My roots run deep here in these hills,
deeper than those trees can reach,
an deeper than their roots can go,
an I have much I've yet to teach,
About a life of perseverance
holding strong -to make your way,
you can do most anything,
just hear the words I always say,
We are stronger than we think,
we are a deep and endless well,
some where to find
to draw that strength,
to break the ugly haunting spell,
to find the bootstraps
hey i say now don't you dwell,
an I have many roads to go
and stories yet I know to tell,
Come in words -
to Vermont too,
to know this peace I know,
where mountains flow with aquifer,
as crystal waters ever flow,
Find a place where deer can run
and your heart can run there too,
where the sun so brightly shines,
and the skies are
always lovely ever- blue
Put your feet down somewhere nice
in mossy place or earthly loam
take a rest from where you walk,
in waters running,
mountain foam,
Wash your soul an spirit clean,
allow the sky above to share,
an listen to the fragrant breeze,
to how much so-
the leaves they care,
We are one as people here,
all things we are the snowflake- same,
appreciate the rare an "weird"
to not is such an awful shame,
Worn-out dogmas
an inconvenient truths,
to leave behind those old illusions
Learn to embrace your life again,
because without some wrong delusions,
We would never see as we do now-
as all good bad an indifferent things
serve a purpose -
go see
go an be.
Ma Cherie © 2017
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
The breeze is forceful, but not stiff,
it is the tropical storm's long lasting,
Arthur's lingering kiss goodbye,
(like the ones taken and given at airports and train stations,
volatile, wild passionate)
the breeze is anything but stiff,
it flexes, gusts, whipping sleeves,
coffee coolant excellent
the waves are rollicking,
revealing their white underwear,
but wise sailors say no thanks,
the bay pure, no vessels surface contaminant this morning
the sun apologizes for its yesterday absence,
claiming the aquifer cried out very thirsty,
so it took July Fourth off,
but now the water table rising,
the sand colored soil dark, rich, wet,
the grass cleaner, greener,
but the lawn, branch littered,
the wounded of the weather wars
the sun, a bit embarrased by his absence,
waits patiently for that odd fellow
by that dock, in that chair solitary,
to do his best poetic explanation well enough,
so that all summer rainy days will be
past and future forgiven
and the odd fellow taps and tends
to the living crowd surrounding him once again,
recalling he once wrote of leaves frothy waving
like cappuccino foam, and was that not
years ago and how could that be?
though the atmosphere is modest agitated,
the poets heart now, leavened and levitated,
for rain must have its due day,
purposeful, somber, serious, endless repeating,
(some say cleansing, but not he)
laughing at himself,
outdoors he writes
differently,
lighter than air, crafting careful
a single sonnet of suntan lotion odors,
and natural songs of bass drums in ear thrum,
and one thought alone,
criss crosses repeatedly,
yes, that one,
"wish you were here"
and he goes inside to get fresh coffee,
greet the woman sweaty fresh from yoga.
she delayed, the ferry captains paying obeisance
to the self same breeze,
but the seagull observer,
stands in place of the odd fellow's guard and watch,
during his temporary absence,
bulkhead posted, cawing in his stead and on his stand,
in seagullese,
which the poet speaks oh so well,
mantra chanting the poets
and the breeze's refrain too,
wish you were here
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
The moments are solemn
Creepy silence has overcome
Once bustling with creative fervor
Stupefied to silence, words dried up
Eternal spring, at the core of the soul
Lying stagnant for a long time
Layers of **** and algae made it murky
The Muses don’t come to drink from it
There is no music played anymore
Violin strings have rusted and not tuned
Every note wailing in despair and neglect
No hymns, only dirge, is chanted from afar
Solemn moments have gripped the heart
Soul deprived of the sweet lyrical waters
Poet’s aquifer is dangerously low
Waiting for the rains of wisdom and creativity
To replenish the eternal spring
Clearing out the **** and algae
Inviting the Muses again, to visit the spring
And words shall flow with clarity, once again
Music shall reign supreme in the soul
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
I choke on words that matter the most,
For fear of their losing meaning.
I stumble over actions I should have carried out
And then deny my original feeling.
I carry along with me a heart of hatred
So evil, so destitute.
It makes me only dream more of solace,
Of two souls imbued.
When "she" and "her" become "mine",
I will only sing songs to her,
Dedicated in rhyme and loss,
My eyes, an aquifer.
-
The lonliness is a waning prison,
The despair is a refilling chalice,
I drink from it repeatedly,
And force it down with violent malice.
I bring it upon myself,
Because I cannot see within,
I am never more than what I expect,
Where could I ever begin?
-
I ask for an angel next to me
At night to keep me still,
One for me to hold, cherishing
Her docile lull until
She yet awakens each morning
And drowns me in goddess-like trance,
One cannot make decisions
Until one has his own stance.
I know not where I am going,
Nor what I will find along
The lonesome road I walk each night,
A road where I'd rather not be alone.
A hand to hold, a strength to give,
I want and need to feel,
But inside it burns, it hurts even,
Hatred is all that is real.
So my angel, be you out there,
Waiting so patiently,
If I'm allowed to yet meet you,
Let us meet then, presently,
Stop me before the abyss is my soul
And I'll try and sew on the wings I ripped off
My back, while you walk among my thoughts,
I will dream of you and I, while my nightmares wonder,
And think of all the words I should've said and fought.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Giles Corey
What is there, really,
Left to say
When you cannot trust
The honest pay?
Do you, really
Hear the sounds,
Of the clocktowers
coming down?
I do not, really,
Know the time.
We're just acquainted..
No friend of mine.
No friends at all
Are mine, per say.
Just folks to call,
From day to day.
From day to day,
And dusk to dusk.
There's nothing left
But empty husks.
I'd gouge my eyes
With forks and knives,
If that would bring me
To Saint Ives.
Gouge my eyes
At sight of her
Hopes I despise:
empty aquifer.
That saturate the souls
Of bedazzled bums
And homeless ******
Sent to pick the crumbs.
Great fallen father
Oh, dying mother
What way is water?
Who hid the shelter?
Your sons and daughters
Are frightened now.
They cannot win
They don't know how.
We all have fears
Of how we'll fare
When you say,
"We need more engineers.
To build the cities
And the gutters
And the gluttons
And the guillotines
And the gilded glaves that gorey Giles brings.
To pile the stones
On our frail young frames
As we're forced to cry
To **** our names,
"More weight."
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
Parched and wanting, I search out the aquifer
My soul longs for a drenching, let it wash over
I reach out to accept its’ comfort
I want to immerse myself in the glorious flood
It envelops me in warmth and placates me
Soothes my muscles, and settles my heart
The calming flow sluices over me, cleansing my spirit
It relieves the stress of day to day life
My wrinkled skin cries out to absorb it,
To be caressed by it, at one with the flow
Pour it on, the stream never gets cold
The rapture and glory, never grows stale or is wasted
It’s love, of course, I wish would rain on me so readily
May I never again be in a barren wasteland without a drop to behold
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
052317
Birds chitter as every green structure
Fails their promises of love
Written in letters in an invisible sky
As they sang the ocean's death of goodbyes.
Fueling the savory bite
Of ala-Krispy Kreme in their tummies,
They drown in their melodies
Of drop and failed stories
The rugged soil was a false hope,
Even if they taste the aquifer's best.
They should've not departed from their own kind
But they've loved being sprinkled with the fiery mirage.
Force majeure was their allied forces
As the scissors of vetiver held back the fiber mesh.
Both live and dead loads are alive
And the ocean cries -- defying gravity.
But the level has not been measured enough,
The waters worshipped themselves
And there's no sign of hue of Heaven's crystal clear.
I have loved to see everything enough
To sing theories and to paint them in dramatic history.
But as I've tried to plant another tree
Life has not sprouted coz it's a different summer now.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
Looking across my window
I caught a glimpse of summer in the winter,
With you , gold is all that glitters
Pressing my face against the walls of my chamber,
I could smell your cologne even from a dozen meters
As I make for the silhouette fading like river.
Holding your waist, looking at ur face
Your hair forms a waterfall down your shoulders,
Your lips laced with the nectar of the morning glory,
Feeling the firm tenderness of your breast,
You face lights up , its the first of December,
Your body heals , you are an amber
Again I rise , a phoenix from the dying embers,
Slowly letting myself fall into your aquifer
Making the nights a now and forever
As we reap the fruits of our passion.
Kazer....2018
Tm-Narcissus.... Tm-beast.... Tm-god.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
You will always follow me
Like melting canyon walls
Grown of glass
Forever folding inward
At my back.
In my mind;
Even when the rain clears up
You still stir
Your whitened waters.
One day,
When you left me
Mid-November,
heat still settles in only the South
The sun stole every sip
Slurped up every drop
From every pore
In my thinned body.
You almost killed me
I suppose-
Even then-
You tried to save me
Saving you
Hives across my body:
Holding aquifer pockets
Of your own blood.
You tried to warn me
With swollen, itchy
Reddened feet
My fingers burned,
But I went to sleep.
Awakened with delusion
You kicked at the curve
Of my knee
I; collapsed
Unconscious
With only pain running through my bedrock veins.
You left me,
With white running down my face.
You showed me how much mama loves me
Barely breathing
Bent over my body
With her own salty piece of you falling in my face.
Neaseous,
I could no longer hold you
No matter how much I longed to.
Mama took me to you.
Again, like glass on a November morning you sent ice through blue blood and back to my heart.
Like mama,
You screamed
Until you brought me conscious.
Twice mama had taken me to you
And on the first I'd fallen in love.
Hooked to an EKG
My eyes rolled back to when we met
As they pulled tubes of my blood from body
Weakened, I held only a blurred memory
Of three years ago
When you carried me over your muddied body,
Still with softened white ripples,
And warmed- no matter how far upstream- by July.
It was there
Touching the silk of your skin
With sun on my chest
And life at my back
That I promised
One day,
I would save you too.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
grandmother’s pond never moves
it’s alive, preserved inside her like a bubble.
an unknown aquifer, dreaming of us
no birds, no insects, no worms there
with a consistent season-less breeze
perpetually tousling the tangled grass,
her silver quivering hairs,
slow love rises from her porch perch
that chair rocks her into another time.
The Feather-fines hold the fences in place
a crown of thorns protects her herb garden,
she watches over those young, certain mountains
unaware of their Appalachian ancestors,
The Maple trees huddle, coveting their oldest memories
grandmother’s a stone, listening, under it all.
Nervous chewing college kids circle above her,
they think about this ancient perfect stillness,
this is her own the morning of the grandmother
her pond remains frozen glacier still,
her chair cradles the illness
we remember her well, the owl of the anonymous valley
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
Wet nights, warm days are what we want in the summer
noosphere.
Man's mind one with weather.
If this is true, life is good, or will be good.
Can I be encouraged that my sons will find mystery on the
planet
as I did?
How sweet the slow spring! May already and the canopy
not out yet.
Woods quiet all winter.
Now I can't distinguish the many bird songs from where I sit.
Red maple flowers and first sugar maple leaves are, to me,
the Christ child
that's been coming.
The ancient poems and the new make the 1/10 inch of annual
topsoil
from carbon dioxide loading.
As a humanist I want everyone pursuing happiness; as a
naturalist
I sometimes pray for man's destruction. As a rationalist I admit
I lack data.
O to play slow and sure, even when the tune is fast. Inside an
aquifer
of love for the audience.
Not to fear or even necessarily obey the changing wind's
direction. Being here I breathe and make the atmosphere as
seen
from outer space.
The song of the world will often take you far from yourself.
There
will be no self. How will you know yourself?
By knowing thyme and dandelion, the blue jay from the hawk,
the heron in its swamp, black cherries and the one pear at the
junction of the trails.
They are yourself.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Look at me…
I’m a well of thought…
So deep
In the dark
it seems
I have no bottom
Fluid thoughts
Drawn from the aquifer
Of minds and people
All around
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:11 PM UTC
In an aquifer I’m passed through heterogeneous soil
Life above ground was managed but with little time to toil
I sink completely calm, I stand smug in an upright position
Instead of becoming cleansed I relay the earths quiet composition
Now the further down the better
Oh the more organic I embark
Noticing not the slightest tension
People look rather well in the dark
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
i go to the river's bend.
today,
i want my water contained.
today,
the sea too big, too wide.
today,
i need to see the other side.
today,
i watch the water flow,
from small aquifer beginings,
to great worlds sweepings.
today,
i watch and see the cycle
of life....
drift on by.....
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC