Water, water, everywhere...

Today it rained quite a lot. It is also National Poetry Day.

I hadn't realised that there's a theme every year: back in 1999 it was song lyrics, and then in the naughties it was fresh voices, journeys, celebration, Britain, food, the future, identity, dreams, work, and heroes & heroines. More recently we've had home, games, and stars…

This year, today - appropriately - the theme is 'water, water, everywhere'.


Officially they do not acknowledge this god.
Officially they honour assorted immortals
In stone buildings with pioneering roofs.

Their houses betray them. Above ceilings,
Tanks for the precious stuff. Below, a shrine
To the godhead. Here they may stand alone

In confessional boxes, or lie full length
In his hollow bed, singing. Here he sometimes speaks
In loud, disquieting, oracular tones.

Fish are considered holy; where they go
We found contemplatives, with green umbrellas,
Making symbolic gestures at the stream.

In the hot month they consecrate their gardens
With a wet rite involving children, rubber, dogs.
On Sunday mornings they lustrate the car.

They pretend to disparage the god and his rainy gift,
Using set litanies: Lovely weather for ducks!
Last Thursday we had our summer. Flaming June!
(Black comedy is native to this people).

Daylong, nightlong, ministers of the god
Recite on different airways his moods and intentions.
The people claim not to believe. But they listen.

Their literature is great. They never read it.
Water, water everywhere the only
Line they can quote. Though ignorant of the context,
They reckon these words cover everything.

(Water Everywhere, by U. A. Fanthorpe)