The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above.
quote by Cyril Connolly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perhaps, This is How Life is!
The water-falls are perilous although,
And fall as rapids on boulders below,
What cascading beauty and frothy air,
And splashing noise that rends the forests near!
It must be raining heavily above;
The sky here looks all blue without black-clouds?
A bridge of Hope connects the two forests;
The rapids cease into a gentle flow
To form a river that gives life to all!
The turbulence of earthly life is great,
With chaos and many dangers admixed;
Yet, Mother Nature waves her magic wand
And ushers halcyon days to all mankind.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mouse Is Killed Today
a mouse is killed today
by an artist
who got mad because
the mouse ate his painting
of the nude woman
that evening while he got so furious
the mouse was at his hole
on the floor eating his usual cheese
the artist mumbled and murmured
and grumbled
and the mouse heard it
and called it
slapstick poetry
a doggerel,
the artist was not able to hold his temper
anymore
got an armalite and shot the hole with the mouse in it
in the name of art
the artist invokes his right to kill the mouse
he says it was
' clearly an artistic expression
and protected by the First Amendment.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode To The Peshtigo
It starts as just a trickle, a spring which comes up from the ground, fed by many tributaries, to become one of the biggest rivers around.
Always there, constant flow.
Before it had its name, Native Americans used it as a highway, for even today people still travel it the same way.
This river has seen many a traveler, explorers, settlers, trappers, loggers, fishermen, hunters and boaters.
Spring, summer, fall and in winter, even though covered with a blanket of ice and snow, the river steadfast in its flow.
Stretches of water, blissful and serene.
Its rapids, waterfalls, noisy when one is near, yet tranquil to the ear.
This river is home to many animals, fish and birds.
For whoever visits this river, many places seem yet undisturbed, but one thing is certain, the river will always be there, constant flow, the mighty Peshtigo.
poem by Alvin Schaut
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ceases to Flow
The course of river ceases to flow
As if smile has worn out and loss of glow
The course lay at standstill
River has lost its way and the will
The river bad has turned arid
As if everything is burnt by use of acid
No life is seen with even slight movement
Waiting for fresh waters to rush at any moment
I hear far cry from night birds
They made no noise was ever heard
The river has brought dead silence
I see it as unusual sign hence
It spells disaster for time to come
Not good sign and hence unwelcome
Not river bank but all streams may go dry
Birds will have to migrate and prepare for long journey to fly
I take it as nature’s curse
Entire blame must go to us of course
The river has altered course or deserted in between
Such situation has never been witnessed or seen
No green grass may grow
No fresh water may now flow
What to speak now of curve paths and falls?
It may be spelled as simple curse for all
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Love For You Is A River
My love for you is like a river
You can not tell how deep it is just by looking
You have to jump in and dive down deep
Even then you will never know
My love for you is like a river
You can not tell how strong it is just by looking
You have to ride the rapids and fall with the water falls
Even then you will never know
My love for you is like a river
You can not tell how far it flows just by looking
You have to travel with it to its end
Even then you will never know
Because this river has no end
It empties into an eternal sea
that goes on till the end of time
My love for you is this river
poem by Jamey Einrem
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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prayer-River Voyage
My voyage is also
Sometimes, on a river.
The river is gentler.
Here I have time,
As it slowly flows,
To wonder
At the lush vegetation
On its banks.
Sometimes it turns
And my heart pounds
In expectation
Of what is waiting
Round the corner.
I love the river,
Of my prayer
It carries me on
To new vistas.
Sometimes there are
Rapids in my river and
I struggle to come past them.
Yet the river is true to me and
Soon it becomes gentle again.
I can gather strength in its
Gentle flow and peaceful scenery.
poem by Mary Mc Creath
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peaceful Waters
The river of life runs long and narrow
with twists and turns here and there.
Sometimes it hits rapids,
sometimes it hit’s a falls,
but the majority of the time it sticks
in peaceful waters where you can rest a while.
There will always be turbulence
when a storm suddenly breaks.
Dark clouds will cover the horizon
and it will send the river on a rough ride.
As soon as the squall has passed,
it will drift again,
to where peaceful waters lay.
7 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rushing Of The Rapids
The rushing of the rapids heard,
Soothes.
As does the walk along a path,
Shown to wind through Sun kissed trees.
The quietness heightens...
With soft and cool Summer breezes.
And...
The rushing of the rapids heard.
Birds of different colors flying.
With a landing on the rocks,
To catch the mist from fast pacing rapids,
Making sounds...
Or sending messages I could not interpret,
From birds and other creations of God...
Within this tropical splendor.
And I sit,
At the base of an old oak tree.
Feeling it...
Getting comfortable beneath me.
As if preparing for a welcomed and long visit.
The rushing of the rapids heard,
Soothes.
The rushing of the rapids,
Heard...
Soothes.
And I sit,
At the base of an old oak tree.
Feeling it...
Getting comfortable beneath me.
As if preparing for a welcomed and long visit.
The quietness heightens...
With soft and cool Summer breezes.
And...
That rushing of the rapids,
Heard.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark River
Swift 'n deep you run “Dark River”
Flowing relentless to a distant sea
You care not what gets in your way
Oh, impassive taker and faux-giver
How many canyons have you carved?
How many great trees carried away?
How many sins have washed clean?
Not even Mother Nature you obey
Dark River brought love to me
Then quickly washed it away
Deep ‘neath a million ripples
My fragile heart she did betray
Flow on Dark River, flow on
A Briny fate awaits, flow on
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh River
Oh river,
Where do you flow to?
Oh river,
Who else is looking at you?
Oh river,
What lies below your surface?
Oh river,
Why have you captured my focus?
In Fancy The Song Of The Dipper
In fancy the song of the dipper I hear
The river he sings in to my thoughts are near
With snow white breast and mostly dark brown
As he sing on a rock midst the rapids he bobs up and down
A beautiful to look at bird with a plain enough song
Once seen and once heard him you never get wrong
As birds go one might say a stranger to renown
He lives and breeds in the river that flows by the town
'Tis part of his natural duty for him to help his dipper wife
For to raise their young dippers for a river life
And in Seasons from now when the life from him long gone
The song of the dipper in the river lives on
In fancy I can hear him singing today
And the river he sings in from me doesn't seem far away
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song-The Final Spark
By Mountain Ash and roses wild
Recalling all we’ve been
Let’s cast our eyes o’er views so wide
And think on what’s unseen
And by the stealthy Luce so dark
Let’s quietly sit and wait
To catch that final flashing spark
As sun and river break
(chorus)
Now take my hand and let us walk
Towards the falling sun
Unveil our hearts and let us talk
Of rapids still to run
And on the sands where rivers meet
Let’s gaze through twilight’s glow
At sea trout surging clear and free
So briefly from the flow
(chorus)
Now take my hand and let us walk
Towards the falling sun
Unveil our hearts and let us talk
Of rapids still to run
And now, by hay just freshly mown,
Beneath the polar star,
Where Saturn hangs above the cove,
Let's kiss once more before we part
(11 07 08)
A River Flows
Where does the river flow
if not to you?
How deep its depths
if these
are not yours?
How broad is the river bank?
Broad enough
for the tug-boats
to push my heart along.
If there are fish in the river,
they sing your name
open-mouthed,
fish-style,
making tiny bubbles float
up, up to the river surface
where they pop
spread
announcing to the Firmament
that Love lives just below
the deep river flows.
Yes, you and I
are the river;
we flow,
run deep
down to that
ocean-mix
in which
our souls
swirl.
Mix me then
in depths deep.
Mix you then
amid this ocean sweep
and all else,
for me
becomes meaningless
so great
is our Soul Mixed
Ocean Bliss.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Rapids
He dives down into the cold water. at first he is thrown onto the rocks, and pulled under the water by a fast moving channel, which takes him right past john, down river.
Moving down the water
John is drifting out of sight,
Its only at the turning point
That you find out how you fight.
In the cold, feel the cold
All around
And the rush of crashing water
Surrounds me with its sound.
Rael manages to grab a rock, pull himself to the surface and catch his breath. as john is carried past, rael throws himself in again and catches hold of his arm. he knocks john unconscious and t
Ocking themselves together, he rides the rapids into the slow running water, where he can swim to safety.
Striking out to reach you
I cant get through to the other side,
When youre racing in the rapids
Theres only one way, thats to ride.
Taken down, taken down
By the undertow
Im spiralled down the river bed,
My fire is burning low.
Catching hold of a rock thats firm,
Im waiting for john to be carried past.
We hold together, hold together and shoot the rapids fast.
But as he hauls his brothers limp body onto the bank he lies him out and looks hopefully into his eyes for a sign of life. he staggers back in recoil, for staring at him with eyes wide open is
Ohns face - but his own.
And when the waters slow down
The dark and the deep
Have no-one, no-one, no-one, no-one
No-one left to keep.
Hang on john! were out of this at last.
Somethings changed, thats not your face.
Its mine - its mine!
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vitipuration Falls
Have you ever heard the torrent of abuse
As it curses it's way to Vitipuration Falls
Through rapids vitriolic and cataracts obtuse
To it's final foul mutterings in The Bay of Catcalls
145
All year
Round
I flow like
A shallow
River
This time
It will
Be the last
Of this
Round
I will
Be deep
So there
Will be
No rapids
Just depths
And silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Depths And Silence
All year
Round
I flow like
A shallow
River
This time
It will
Be the last
Of this
Round
I will
Be deep
So there
Will be
No rapids
Just depths
And silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hopkins River
Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.
The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.
Through the flat brown Countryside to Warrnambool to the sea
The Hopkins has flowed for century on century
Through places dry and stony and places remote
The river has inspired the artist and poet.
For to sketch and sing of it in decades gone by
The river that has never stopped flowing through Summer's warm and dry
And though the artist and poet now with the deceased lay
The Hopkins keeps babbling on night after day.
Through places dry and stony and places remote and brown
On down to the ocean near Warrnambool Town
And the Seasons may come and the Seasons may go
But the old Hopkins river forever will flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What I've discovered is that in art, as in music, there's a lot of truth-and then there's a lie. The artist is essentially creating his work to make this lie a truth, but he slides it in amongst all the others. The tiny little lie is the moment I live for, my moment. It's the moment that the audience falls in love.