Tag Archives: water

A Dip

she bathed in
romance dipping
her toes in serendipitous
bubbles that swelled emotions
as playful waters washing
over her swallowing
her in a soaked

© Pamela Rossow




Google Photograph

washing over me
and flooding my being a
welcomed liquid embrace
a cocoon enveloping my
eyes nose ears a blurring of
senses floating me crosscurrent
from the estuary to that spot of
freckled sunlight glinting off
limpid waters where leafy canopies
in mirrored reflections tease rippling
the place where You I first sprung

© Pamela Rossow

Monday Memories

Since my friend, Mary, over at Living with Food Allergies and Celiac Disease, started Monday Memory (which takes place the last Monday of the month), I thought it was the perfect day to reminisce (of course, it’s not the last Monday of the month but, hey, you should know me by now)

Nearly all my best, childhood memories include my family. Sun soaked, water logged days spent swimming in Non and Pop’s pool with my brother, mom, and dad, inhaling the Intercoastal with its pungent, sulphur smell that smacked my sinuses, stalking the brown water, dockside, hoping to see a silver eel streak by.

Memories that also involve the Atlantic Ocean which was just a short walk across A1A from their condo, the mysterious body of water that housed millions of varieties of life.  Whose beaches I lay upon under moonlight, motionless, transfixed, watching as the dark, shadowy sea turtles came ashore to dig nests and lay their eggs. The buoyant salty waves that lapped at my soul. Tides which pulled life’s negativity, ugliness, harshness out to sea till they became little specks on the horizon.  

Just some of the magical powers of memory–like a small town revival with its hallelujahs and deception entangled under one tent.   Fortunately for me (and something most kids take for granted), I only experienced the Messiahs during childhood–the joys and carefree days which blurred into years that formed me like wet sand in the hands of a master sculptor. 

My being, my core, my inner child is grainy, sun streaked, and dampened by salt spray. My remembrances which I keep dusted and lovingly displayed in my heart are happy and messy. They leave sandy footprints behind as they traipse through the years to find me where I am now. They slip into my dreams and cover me in beach sunflowers. They resurrect my beloved Nonnie and Pop-Pop whose wrinkled hands stroke my sun bleached hair, whose dark, Italian eyes speak love, whose lips utter “mange” and “I love you.”

My memories are my buried treasure, coin upon golden coin, hidden from the surface, yet, shallow enough to dive for whenever life becomes overwhelming or hateful or unforgiving. They are my secret to survival. They are. . .and I am.









he decided against the

gallows there was no

water in his soul so

drowning was out

he buzzed with electric

energy lightening bolts

fought it out on his face

frown smile smile frown

his fingers unwittingly

zapped those he touched

searing burns white-hot

sizzle his perfect ending

Pamela A. Rossow

To Wear Rainbows Again

She longed to be
clothed in rainbows –
stained in perfect
hues of red, orange,
purple, yellow, indigo,
green, and violet.

Soaked in dripping shades of
fulfilled promises and
unwavering trust.

She yearned to be
drenched in joy –
illuminated in the perfect
light of glass mosaics.

Emerald, amber, violet,
Egyptian blue, ruby, and glowing
in incense colors of
answered prayers and
unshakeable faith.

She needed to be
held in love –
clasped in perfect
arms of the one with
fire, water, wind.

Soothed in the
embrace of
eternal solace and
rekindled hope.

© Pamela Rossow







steam rises from

cooking rice I inhale

life breath sustaining

energy quiets calms

my chattering mind

moving meditations

fluid motions like

trailing finger tips

through water

pooling tranquility

harmony spiritual


Pamela A. Rossow

Bench in a Park at Night

splintered wood smoothed by
numerous visitors seat for a
watcher who rests under
night’s velvet throw
round waning gibbous
glows above shadowy
water unfolding as metallic
waves lick the shore
harmonious order murmurs
serenity aligns my universe
pervades thoughts quiets
the humming of my mind

Pamela A. Rossow

Hunger Moon





a slender hand grazes the

pale moon trembling in

liquid ripples a single

twirling touch caresses a

glinting reflection

dusky waves illumined by

nature’s night light

love’s luminescence

stroked by an adorer

gestures of perpetual


Pamela A. Rossow


Water.  Yup, I was thinking about it today.  According to “experts,” I am supposed to consume eight glasses a day to maintain my health.  If this is the case, I probably should double the amount (cough, sniffle, cough). Then my mind wandered (get used to it, it’s how I roll) to Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower.  This sci-fi book (a favorite of mine) was published in 1993.  Yet, Butler anticipated what many of us are not aware of, water as a precious commodity.  Let me qualify that last statement, many people across the globe have known and are rudely reminded of that fact, each day.  We, here in the States, tend to forget or ignore this growing phenomenon.  Butler, through the genre of fiction, predicted what many concerned observers have taken note of; there is a grave likelihood we will experience shortages and possibly even water wars.  Forget about oil occupying our global focus.

Healthy water and access to it is another related issue.  About one billion people now drink contaminated water.  In 2/3rd world countries, ninety percent of waste enters fresh water supplies.  Talk about unsafe and nasty.  Imagine the smell!  India has to deal with this issue on a day-to-day basis.  If you drink Coke, you might want to think twice about it.  Not only is it bad for your health (remember, eight glasses of non-sugary water?), the company in India is hogging local water supplies (therefore depleting citizens of water) and was distributing its solid waste to farmers (waste filled with toxins such as lead and cadmium) to use as fertilizer.  Coca Cola was finally not allowed to do this.  But, they continue to use contaminated water in their Coke plants in India.  This water is used to make the sugary drink.  Nice, huh?

Anyway, next time we are told we can only wash our vehicles during certain times, have to run our sprinklers on specific days, and we are a little irritated when we can’t douse our flowers, we need to pause.  We should be grateful, here in the U.S., for the clean water we do have to drink and bathe in. Every time we put a glass to our lips we should remember the person (we are all part of that global humanity, right?) who is crouching down to slurp sewage.   This awareness can stir up agency and we could donate to an organization such as charity: water, Clean Water for Haiti, or any of the other dozens of NGO’s that help our brothers and sisters world-wide.  We could shut the faucet off when we Crest freshen our breath and clean our teeth.  Small actions of sustainability will help our own country (and our personal budgets through reduced water bills).  Let’s give it a shot.  What do we have to lose?  Or more importantly, what will we gain?  Health?  Improved local economies?  Lives saved?  Corporate, global accountability?