The Well and the Rocking Chairs

In times gone by,
dusty travelers were given
sweet water from town wells
by women with jars on their heads.
Wells were a place to gather and hear news;
take a moment of rest from a day’s work.

Clean water, deep wells, shared laughter,
a life that moved at nature’s pace.
Now water laden with chemicals
flow from private taps;
there is no more time
for quiet chats under
the tree next to the well.


Gone are the days when we
shared our news
seated in rocking chairs
shelling beans in our laps.
We sipped cold lemonade,
comforted a sleepy child,
and had all the time in the world.
Porches were built on the front of the house;
walls were unheard of in those days.

Wells, rocking chairs, neighborly chats
are long gone. Too bad.
Instead we watch gruesome news
filled with the horrors of mankind.
Perfumed scented, handwritten notes
our children have never seen.

Video games of death,
spell-checked emails,
instant gratification is what they know.
Not the taste of water pure
from the well their great-grandfathers dug
near the spreading oak with the bench underneath,
and all the time in the world.


  1. Too bad… So much of today’s generation are communities of isolated safe houses with iphone fingers in place of real voices. My past is from the big city– but with a real, friendly, face-to-face social network. Lucky for me and my old-timer neighbors. Have a wonderful holiday, Pat.


  2. Pat,
    You brought tears to my eyes and shivers to my whole body. I think that means you spoke from the well of truth. Thanks so much for leaving me with these links and please keep doing it. With so much out there to read, I wouldn’t want to miss your words.
    Oh, duh. I can follow your blog. But link in anyway when you are inspired to!


    • Thank you, Alix. The poems are surprises for me, too. Good idea that people link back and forth when we resonate or even disagree. A couple of people have done that with me and I love it. I find myself writing (and living) my truth more and more. I feel that without this, I come to an absolute standstill in my spiritual search. Did I tell you how much I am enjoying our back and forths? hugs, pat


    • I grew up on a farm and small town but lived all my adult life in cities. Now I live on a farm again and wondered how I ever survived city life. I, too, have sweet memories of rocking chairs, water that didn´t come in plastic bottles, and grandmother’s lemon meringue pie. We shelled mountains of beans and rocked miles and miles. Good times, which I now have again. hugs, pat


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