The white spruce forest along the banks is most inspiring, magnificent here. Down the terraced slopes and right to the water's edge on the alluvial soil it stands in ranks.
quote by Ernest Thompson Seton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Forest
The edge of the forest stands
Against the grey, white sky
Like a row of colourless headstones
Stripped trees emerge
Tombs of a bleak winter
Silhouetted in the dull light
Against the imaginings of man
No light or life escapes
The depths of the forest
The thoughts which swell there
Creates in them a fear
Some great sadness hidden
Branches reach out like clawed hands
Pointing into a nothingness
Or grabbing, pulling inwards
To the shadows and the darkness
Of the deathly forest floor
The silence that awaits
Far beneath the grey, white sky
The morning becomes forgotten
Beyond the edge of the forest
Where shadows hide
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sinking..
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where I ponder my life
just how did I get to this
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where the waterfall of dreams
sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where time stands still
Just only forever.
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where I buried all
that was ever childhood
Where I let it go,
where it bends and meanders,
twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the water,
I left the edge of the river,
as I looked down
for my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......Sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soil Is A Soul Of Life
Soil what is soil Lord?
soil is life seed
soil is a living organism
soil is a loom
from which you were made
dust you were dust you will be
Soil what is soil Scientist?
soil is a critical
part
of an ecosystem
soil provides
important nutrients
for plants in
an ecosystem
soil helps
anchor
plants
to keep
plants
in place
soil absorbs
holds water
for plants
soil absorbs
holds water
for animals
lakes rivers
to use
soil provides
a home
for many species
lots of living
organisms
soil
regenerates life
dust you were dust you will be
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Glasgow
Beautiful city of Glasgow, with your streets so neat and clean,
Your stateley mansions, and beautiful Green!
Likewise your beautiful bridges across the River Clyde,
And on your bonnie banks I would like to reside.
Chorus --
Then away to the west -- to the beautiful west!
To the fair city of Glasgow that I like the best,
Where the River Clyde rolls on to the sea,
And the lark and the blackbird whistle with glee.
'Tis beautiful to see the ships passing to and fro,
Laden with goods for the high and the low;
So let the beautiful city of Glasgow flourish,
And may the inhabitants always find food their bodies to nourish.
Chorus
The statue of the Prince of Orange is very grand,
Looking terror to the foe, with a truncheon in his hand,
And well mounted on a noble steed, which stands in the Trongate,
And holding up its foreleg, I'm sure it looks first-rate.
Chorus
Then there's the Duke of Wellington's statue in Royal Exchange Square --
It is a beautiful statue I without fear declare,
Besides inspiring and most magnificent to view,
Because he made the French fly at the battle of Waterloo.
Chorus
And as for the statue of Sir Walter Scott that stands in George Square,
It is a handsome statue -- few with it can compare,
And most elegant to be seen,
And close beside it stands the statue of Her Majesty the Queen.
Chorus
And then there's the statue of Robert Burns in George Square,
And the treatment he received when living was very unfair;
Now, when he's dead, Scotland's sons for him do mourn,
But, alas! unto them he can never return.
Chorus
Then as for Kelvin Grove, it is most lovely to be seen
With its beautiful flowers and trees so green,
And a magnificent water-fountain spouting up very high,
Where the people can quench their thirst when they feel dry.
Chorus
Beautiful city of Glasgow, I now conclude my muse,
And to write in praise of thee my pen does not refuse;
And, without fear of contradiction, I will venture to say
You are the second grandest city in Scotland at the present day!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Piano Key Color Stream
The white and black spruce
That edge so well
In sharp melodies of contrast.
The piano key color stream
Mesh like light in a simile
And jive so unexpectedly,
And sway
with a rhythm
that contrives intravenously
Over interlocutor’s musical frequency’s
.
Black and white.
Hard.
Keys.
Ledgers.
Who build and perform
With nouns and adjectives
And odd punctuation.
But are so different?
poem by Michael Timothy Rose
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The Hyacinth
Efflorescence,
Denied the endowment of soil
Yet magnificent in splendor -
The water hyacinth.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Dance at the Water's Edge
Dance at the Water's edge,
Ev'ry day and ev'ry hour,
Even when the Sun is high
You bring an angry show'r.
Dance at the Water's edge,
While the Children laugh and play,
Laughing as their kites go high,
But nothing will You say.
Dance at the Water's edge
Now and evermore,
You are here and ev'rywhere,
Dancing at the Shore.
Dance at the Water's edge,
As happy as can be;
When I dance into Your arms,
Dear Wind, remember me.
poem by Phillip Hoffeld
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The bathing adventure
Blue and white fishes on a string
hangs on the bathroom wall,
a striped white and blue tiller
stands at the bath’s taps,
a small light tower
is warning on the edge of the bath
and a dark blue anchor,
alone against the wall
entice you to become part
of the bathing adventure
and the tiller man
is still ashore
while the water splashes into the bath.
I wonder why you enjoy it so much
to splash around like a kid
in the soothing hot water
and it’s very nice,
to wash my cares away
in the big bath.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Dug out Doll
the dug out doll
digs into the horror
chamber of memory
heavy as my heart
soil and water take
up every space in the naked
worn out palsy contours
little holes here and there
poked by the years that
had slept in total darkness
in the alluvial, a red swamp
now punctuated only by
upturned roots, an occasional toad
and an orchestra of insects
behind leaves, barks and branches
but they cannot tame the spirit
of the waylaid doll which
come rain or storm is
determined to have that hug
from a concerned person
its arms and hands stretched
to the heavens
lightning cast shadows
on holes that have taken over
its eyes, blue tranquility
that now features two lakeful
of evil
little pinkish tender worms
wriggle out of the alluvial
trapped in them, little helpless
creatures that too is stretching
themselves and looking for love,
for providence
its owner is probably married and
is keeping her own children warm
and could not remember the poor doll
she kept so dear once and now
crying in the thunder, lightning
dug out doll, two dark crevices
that hold ghosts, empty eyes that
hunger for unsuspecting souls
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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At The Edge Of The Edge Of The Edge
AT THE EDGE OF THE EDGE OF THE EDGE
At the edge of the edge of the edge
There is another invisible edge
And this too has an edge and another edge
Edges unending
Beyond our comprehension
Waiting for us to fall down and down-
On the edge of the edge of the edge
I write on
Has the great descent already begun
And am I in the midst of it
As I pretend to go on?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Edge Of The Edge Of The Edge
ON THE EDGE OF THE EDGE OF THE EDGE
On the edge of the edge of the edge
There is nowhere to go-
Home is lost,
And all the distances have broken down-
One cannot move
One can only fear-
On the edge of the edge of the edge
Falling is fear-
And holding one’s ground
One step at a time
Is a small miracle
One is not sure
One can make alone.
On the edge of the edge of the edge-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grand Rapids
Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"
Wild roved the Indians once
On the banks of Grand River,
And they built their little huts
Down by that flowing river.
In a pleasant valley fair,
Where flows the river rapid,
An Indian village once was there,
Where now stands Grand Rapids.
Indian girls and boys were seen,
With their bow and quiver,
Riding in their light canoes
Up and down the river.
Their hearts were full of joy,
Happy voices singing
Made music with forest birds,
They kept the valley ringing.
Indians have left and gone
Beyond the Mississippi.
They called the river Owashtenong
Where stands this pleasant city.
Louis Campau the first white man
Bought land in Grand Rapids.
He lived and died, an honored man
By people of Grand Rapids.
When Campau came to the valley
No bridge was across the river;
Indians in their light canoes
Rowed them o'er the water.
Railroads now from every way
Run through the city, Grand Rapids;
The largest town in west Michigan
Is the city of Grand Rapids.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Eden Still Existent
New Zealand
South Island
West Coast
tropical rain forest
sacred images fuse soul
under canopy of life
Eden still existent
living temple of life
flowers in eye heart
breath embrace atmosphere
sight embrace vision horizons
touch ecosystem life non-life
sunlight wind kiss water soil
light water soil nutrients bless
plants into new sprouting life
lakes rivers landscapes
everything is connected life
water; water temperature
plants animals inhale air
light soil water work together
balance life elements least
plants die algae plants
produce oxygen produce fibre
feed herbivores omnivores
energy soil sunlight water
plants produce filter air
produce diverse vegetation
their plant bodies foods
animals herbivores feast eat
plants omnivores feast eat
plants animals both eaten
carnivores eat herbivores
sometimes other carnivores
webs of life interlock creation
decomposers break down dead
planets animals into elements
organic materials waste recycled
back into life nurturing womb soil
energy sunlight kiss soil water
interlocked ecosystems dance
cosmic creation life webs
strands of life sail cosmic winds
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking for Water
Still the leaves are spinning 'round
Take my hand as we go down, and down, and down
Looking for water
Well, our light's gone in a New York minute
Don't know about you, but my heart's not in it
(Looking, looking, looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking, looking, looking)
I can't breathe the air, can't raise a fact
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night, and I'm
(Looking for water)
Looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
Take my hand as we go down, and down
Leave it all behind, nothing could be found
(I'm, looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
(I, looking for water)
Looking everywhere
(Looking for water)
Looking here and there
(I'm looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I can't live in this cage, I can't eat this candy
The edge of the earth to the spin in my head
The look in your eyes and never means never
The dawn's early light, baby, dark is forever
(Looking, looking)
(Looking, looking)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
song performed by by David Bowie, music by David Bowie, lyrics by David Bowie from Reality
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Politics
in this country of mine
there is so much politicking
they want to know my color
they want me black
pure black
the other side wants me to be white
unadulterated white
i tell them i want to have no color at all
i just want to be myself
like a neutral transparent rain water
and all of them are angry
i cannot please everybody i said
but they do not listen
they put politics in the pulpit
in the market even in the cemetery
they put politics in the air and in the water
and in the soil
and even in the sub-soil
the worms are getting political too
and even the hawks and finches
the pebbles have no choice
but to go political too
they are now in disagreement with the river
and the bamboo trees
there is chaos in the mountain
the waterfalls rage
and then politics eventually destroys the
ecosystem
and the heavens and the purgatory
now there is only hell.
this morning they put politics as breakfast on my table.
i decided finally not to eat any.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Two Sisters Go To Fetch Water
WHEN the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot, and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Gardener XVIII: When Two Sisters
When the two sisters go to fetch
water, they come to this spot and
they smile.
They must be aware of somebody
who stands behind the trees when-
ever they go to fetch water.
The two sisters whisper to each
other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret
of that somebody who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.
Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and
water spills when they reach this
spot.
They must have found out that
somebody's heart is beating who
stands behind the trees whenever
they go to fetch water.
The two sisters glance at each other
when they come to this spot, and they
smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-
stepping feet, which makes confusion
in somebody's mind who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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To the Ottawa
Dear dark-brown waters full of all the stain
Of sombre spruce-woods and the forest fens,
Laden with sound from far-off northern glens
Where winds and craggy cataracts complain,
Voices of streams and mountain pines astrain,
The pines that brood above the roaring foam
Of La Montagne or Les Erables; thine home
Is distant yet, a shleter far to gain.
Aye still to eastward, past the shadowy lake
And the long slopes of Rigaud toward the sun,
The mightier stream, thy comrade, waits for thee,
The beryl waters that espouse and take
Thine in thei deep embrace, and bear thee on
In that great bridal journey to the sea.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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