All through the night, like the tumult of a river when it races between the cliffs of a canyon, in my sleep I could hear the steady roar of the passing army.
quote by Richard Harding Davis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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River
Here is the river
And I am searching it
In the map that is
On the wall of my house
That is not there.
I do not know
The mountain is in between
The river and my house
That dressedup geography
And taking me from
Place to place.
I am on my own journey
While the sky is breaking
And I with the night dream
Passing passing and passing
The hard days with
Fire of the mountain
And water of the river.
Where is the river
That I am searching
To driveout troubles
Where I am
Here is the river
Wash your face eyes
Somebody is kind enough
To tell in my house.
I am not in my house
See.
And Where am I
And the sea is here
No river no mountain
Here is the river
If you find again
Inform me please
I am grateful then.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The River of Me
I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go
That Cheyenne Bodie was ten feet tall
His voice so deep it filled a hall
And that was who I dreamed I’d be
Until Cochise came on the scene
There was ice on the river and ice on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me
The fields were full of cows, corn or wheat
The air was thick with bees and heat
The summer lasted all year long
I never knew til it was gone
And then of course came that high school girl
Her glances made my river swirl
More complex than the universe
I never knew what she’d do next
There was light on the river and light on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me
And up we soared towards the sky
Through songs and dancing by and by
My waterfalls and waves ran high
For just the winking of an eye
And in the distance the quiet sea
was waiting on the river me
And on the banks the weeds grew tall
Where rusting leaves began to fall
Now there’s night on the river and night on the pond
And the singing nun is long since gone
There are trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And memories in the river of me
I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go
Eagles in a Canyon
soaring past the canyon walls
the babies hear their familiar calls
The parents are returning, synchronizing a stunt
to supply their babies with food from a hunt
This time the food was easy to fetch
for the goats were pushed, off the canyon's edge
To the rocks below, they fell to their death
now the pair zoomed in with no shortness of breath
bringing back to their babies, this elaborate catch
two baby goats for their chicks, a perfect match
Now they soar again, through the canyon walls
passing cascades of watery falls
To reach the tree, they call their own
and the beautiful home, they've always known.
(Charlie vergara/06.25.2009/15112)
poem by White Tiger
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Rejoice, We conquer
They sent a man from Marathon
To tell the Greeks the News:
That Darius’ army had been smashed
His plans for conquest ruined.
Pheidippides, the runner,
in full battle armor dressed,
ran all the way from Marathon
to Athens’s temple steps.
The city elders waited there,
Fearing tidings grim.
He said: ” Rejoice, we Conquer”
It took the last of him.
These days we don’t give battle
With an army at the shore
Our enemy is cancer
Hear our army roar.
We’re marching twenty miles a day
To put that tyrant down
To hear: “Rejoice, we Conquer! ”
would be the sweetest sound.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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On holiday
On holiday we went to
Blyde river canyon
with our own white Hillman Vogue
accompanied by a yellow minivan
full of school children.
First we stopped at God’s window
and on that clear day
I could see from where
the name came.
We were like Moses
seeing the Promised Land
and could see the sea
in far off Mozambique
and the land
all the way to there
and what a great view it was.
We hiked a trail
that went along picturesque high cliffs
carrying backpacks
with sleeping bags
and below a river glittered
with fresh cold water
where we frolicked to cool down.
Somewhere high in the mountain
we lost the trail
and hiked on another new one
and took a much longer route.
There were potholes
washed out by the water
and we followed the river
till a camping site
where it met another
and it was by far
one of the best holidays
I had as a child.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Sea Loving People
The true sea loving people never live far from the sea
They pine if the ocean they can't hear or see
The feel of the sea spray where the wild breakers roar
Where huge waves pound the stony cliffs overlooking the shore.
They can only live near to where the surf waves roll
And to them the breath of the sea air is good for the soul
In towns by the ocean they grow old and gray
From salt-water they could not live far away.
The sea loving people enjoy the coastal sunshine
Inland from the ocean they surely would pine
To live two miles from the ocean for them does seem far
Though in distance that only a short drive by car.
The sea loving people love the rumble of the big surf waves
In cemetery close to the cliffs are their ancestors graves
They would pine if they could not hear the sea breakers roar
They only could live in towns near the Sea-shore.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Army, O, My Army!
My Army, O, my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all men’s hearts seemed cold;
I heard them as a Young Man—and I am growing old!
My army, O, my army! The signs are manifold!
My army, O, my army! My army and my Queen!
I used to sing your battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They came to me from ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here!—
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.
My Queen’s dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queen’s Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest—
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
(For blood will flow where milk will not—her sisters knew the rest).
My legions ne’er were listed, they had no need to be;
My army ne’er was trained in arms—’twas trained in misery!
It took long years to mould it, but war could never drown
The shuffling of my army’s feet in the hunger-haunted town—
A little child was murdered, and so Tyranny went down.
My army kept no order, my army kept no time;
My army dug no trenches, yet died in dust and slime;
Its troops were fiercely ignorant, as to the manner born;
Its clothes were rags and tatters, or patches worn and torn—
Ah, me! It wore a uniform that I have often worn!
The faces of my army were ghastly as the dead;
My army’s cause was Hunger, my army’s cry was “Bread!”
It called on God and Mary and Christ of Nazareth;
It cried to kings and courtesans that fainted at its breath—
Its women beat their poor, flat breasts where babes had starved to death.
My army! My army—I hear the sound of drums
Above the roar of battles—and, lo! my army comes!
Nor creed of man may stay it—nor war, nor nation’s law—
The pikes go through the firing-lines as pitchforks go through straw—
Like pitchforks through the litter, while empires stand in awe.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Divine Lullaby
I hear Thy voice, dear Lord;
I hear it by the stormy sea
When winter nights are black and wild,
And when, affright, I call to Thee;
It calms my fears and whispers me,
"Sleep well, my child."
I hear Thy voice, dear Lord,
In singing winds, in falling snow,
The curfew chimes, the midnight bell.
"Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low;
"The guardian angels come and go,--
O child, sleep well!"
I hear Thy voice, dear Lord,
Ay, though the singing winds be stilled,
Though hushed the tumult of the deep,
My fainting heart with anguish chilled
By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,--
"Fear not, and sleep!"
Speak on--speak on, dear Lord!
And when the last dread night is near,
With doubts and fears and terrors wild,
Oh, let my soul expiring hear
Only these words of heavenly cheer,
"Sleep well, my child!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Vermillion Stone
The sinuousness of sand dunes
Wind abraded stone
The sun pinwheels
Cross the sky
One feels so all alone
Pictographs on canyon walls
Pottery shards and bone
Distant dancing dust devils
Muted howls and muttered moans
Ancient beds of dry lakes deep
Vermillion cliffs, wind hone
Canyon keeps, spirits sleep
In beds of petrified stone
Time locked tight in grains of sand
In manic tint and tone
Hourglass sifting centuries, and
Mesas flat, wind mown
One feels time locked
In vermillion rock
One feels the ageless sky
The stars, the wind
Without, within
Alone…as you and I
poem by David Whalen
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Rainbow Over The Grand Canyon
Over the concave rivercarved quarry
night arched explosively starry
and then broke magnificent sunrise
Canyon Void and Rain
birthed rainbow surprise
As the sky
covers all of July
so rainbow band
oer all canyon expands
*
Footnote
based on dream vision...in which I felt God or God's angel messengers telling me... that nonattachment (the empty canyon) draws miracles.
poem by Saiom Shriver
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Jagged Edges
Imagine, yourself-no, be there! -in a canyon,
Crisscrossed with sharp steel edges,
Rim to rim,
The Grand Canyon of canyons;
You're at the bottom-
There is no way out
Unslicing yourself.
That's the blues, not the greens,
(Like the colored wedges) ,
You feel wedged in every day
In the canyon of imperfection.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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It's a river
When the time keeps passing and the world goes round
and the sea is crashing at the cliffs and the sounds
erupting as the seabirds cry, you can watch the river
as the time goes by
And it's like it's holy and it can be hell
and you feel so lonely and you fear the smell
of the guns that fire then you see the light
of a rainbow dawning and you realise
that the river's flowing as the time goes by
And you met the people and you knew them well
and you said you loved them and you rang the bell
in the tree of life you watched them grow
and the world is turning as the river flows
The earth smells good and the sky turns gold
when the birds are singing and you bless the old
you can kiss your woman and it feels so right
as you touch the river as the time goes by
As you stand barefoot upon the morning shore
and you feel the centuries of death and war
and the wind is biting and it tears your skin
and the river's flowing where its always been
And the river washes and the river's clean
and the soul remembers where the river's been
as you watch it tumble and you watch it flow
your life's a river now you know, now you know
your life's a river now you know.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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Traveling Through The Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
poem by William Stafford
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Moon Shining Over The London Bridge
The sky is dark now
And the night is here again
But there is a moon shining over the London Bridge right over the sky
And I keep watching that moon while I rest for a while at the Thames River
But I can't take my eyes of the moon that is shining over the London Bridge right over the sky because it is beautiful to see
And at the same time it is getting late now but I don't mind at all because I Rather stay all night at The Thames river watching the moon shining over The London Bridge right over the sky
Yes the Big Ben chined midnight now and London is going to sleep
But I am falling asleep now at The Thames river below the naked three That is there at the Thanes River
Also all the buildings near The Thames river have their lights out
And I am sleeping in totall darkness and at the same time enjoying the Peace and quiet of the Thames river during the night
But near the Thames River is always cold and I don't mind at all Because I am dressed for this kind of weather
But this night at the Thames River I will always remember because it Will be the best sleep I ever had in years
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Journey Of 1,000 Years
I know just where you come from
Where all your yesterdays are gone
And now youre done
But youve only just begun
Its time you opened up the door
And now its all very clear
This journey of 1,000 years
Can you feel it coming
Can you feel it now
Can you feel it coming
Or is it the (? )roar of the crowd(? )
Can you feel it coming
Cna you hear it
Or is it the (? )roar of the crowd(? )
Did you sleep without dreams
Did you fly without wings
Did you touch without feel
Where nothing is real
Did you feel it coming
Did you hear it
Or was it the (? )roar of the crowd(? )
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Impenetrable
The bleak black basalt cliffs which form.
A barrier to Atlantic storms
Which sweep in from the open sea.
Are not a place I'd choose to be
When winter storms are at their height
and batter them without respite.
The basalt rocks are obdurate
They stubbornly accept their fate
Although the storms may rage and roar
The cliffs have seen it all before.
Wind driven waves have small effect.
On basalt cliffs which still protect.
Old Ireland from the angry sea.
they do their duty faithfully.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Right in Front of the Army
"Where 'ave you been this week or more,
'Aven't seen you about the war'?
Thought perhaps you was at the rear
Guarding the waggons." "What, us? No fear!
Where have we been? Why, bless my heart,
Where have we been since the bloomin' start?
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army
Teaching 'em how to fight!"
Every separate man you see,
Sapper, gunner, and C.I.V.,
Every one of 'em seems to be
Right in front of the army!
Most of the troops to the camp had gone,
When we met with a cow-gun toiling on;
And we said to the boys, as they walked her past,
"Well, thank goodness, you're here at last!"
"Here at last! Why, what d'yer mean?
Ain't we just where we've always been?
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army,
Teaching'em bow to fight!"
Correspondents and Vets in force,
Mounted foot and dismounted horse,
All of them were, as a matter of course,
Right in the front of the army.
Old Lord Roberts will have to mind
If ever the enemy get behind;
For they'll smash him up with a rear attack,
Because his army has got no back!
Think of the horrors that might befall
An army without any rear at all!
Right in the front of the army,
Battling day and night!
Right in the front of the army,
Teaching 'em how to fight!
Swede attaches and German counts,
Yeomen (known as De Wet's Remounts),
All of them were, by their own accounts,
Right in the front of the army!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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On The Porch
As I lie roofed in, screened in,
From the pattering rain,
The summer rain—
As I lie
Snug and dry,
And hear the birds complain:
Oh, billow on billow,
Oh, roar on roar,
Over me wash
The seas of war.
Over me—down—down—
Lunges and plunges
The huge gun with its one blind eye,
The armored train,
And, swooping out of the sky,
The aeroplane.
Down—down—
The army proudly swinging
Under gay flags,
The glorious dead heaped up like rags,
A church with bronze bells ringing,
A city all towers,
Gardens of lovers and flowers,
The round world swinging
In the light of the sun:
All broken, undone,
All down—under
Black surges of thunder …
Oh, billow on billow
Oh, roar on roar,
Over me wash
The seas of war …
As I lie roofed in, screened in,
From the pattering rain,
The summer rain—
As I lie
Snug and dry,
And hear the birds complain.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Five miles meandering with mazy motion,Through dale the sacred river ran,Then reached the caverns measureless to man,And sank the tumult to a lifeless oceanAnd 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from farAncestral voices prophesying war
quote by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cliffs
They sing of the grandeur of cliffs inland,
But the cliffs of the ocean are truly grand;
And I long to wander and dream and doubt
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out and out.
To the northward far as the eye can reach
Are sandhill, boulder, and sandy beach;
But southward rises the track for me,
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out to sea.
Friends may be gone in the morning fair,
But the cliffs by the ocean are always there;
Lovers may leave when the wind is chill,
But the cliffs by the ocean are steadfast still.
They watch the sea and they ward the land,
And they warn the ships from the treacherous sand;
And I sadly think in the twilight hour
What I might have been had I known my power.
Where the smoke-cloud blurs and the white sails fill,
They point the ships to keep seaward still;
And I think—Ah, me!—and I think—Ah, me!
Of the wreck I’d saved had I kept to sea.
Oh! the cliffs are old and the cliffs are sad,
And they know me sane, while men deem me mad.
Oh! the cliffs are firm and the cliffs are strong,
And they know me right, while men deem me wrong.
And I sometimes think in the dawning gray,
I am old as they, I am old as they;
And I think, I think that in field and town
My spirit shall live till the cliffs come down.
poem by Henry Lawson
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