Isaac Kofi Frempong
You did not know how to swim but,
You jumped into the water from peer pressure! !
And you were immediately drawn by the heavy current of the river;
And now you are dead and gone oh Isaac Kofi Frempong.
Death came knocking at your door in disguise and,
You easily fell into Satan's trap! !
For you thought you could satisfy your friends with your showmanship,
And now you are dead and gone too soom in your tender age.
Sadness, your friends have nothing more to say!
Because they took you to a river in Akosombo on the 6th of March 2011;
And now they cannot wipe away the tears on our faces.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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That Quick Little Brown Dog
that quick little brown dog
jumps over the fence
near the bank of the river,
it is not your dog,
but you happen to be there when it
jumped,
over the fence near the bank of the river
into the river
that deep river with a overrunning
of the water
the dog was struggling to swim back
to the safety of the bank
but it failed and the dog was taken away
by the river and
it was gone,
you wonder why until now you think about that
dead dog
it is not yours but it sticks to your mind
as though it is yours
somehow you think as though you own it
and that you feel so painful about such loss
and you cannot sleep
and then you dream about that quick little brown dog
that drowned
it is barking so hard trying to be alive again
you wake up
with lots of cold sweat
somehow you think again
inside that dream
the face of the quick little brown dog
that jumped over the fence
into the deep river
is yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dry River Bed
The river- was, but died away,
leaving behind sand and stone,
a dry river bed.
The river that once led the way,
To Rameses throne,
Has no more life- dead.
The river from which reeds grew and swayed,
now dead and gone,
all that's left-a dry river bed.
The river that was marvelous by day,
and treacherous once the sun was gone,
is now but a dri river bed.
The river- beautiful, no words could say,
left behind - just a dry river bed.
poem by Esnala Banda
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When The River Flowed
When The River Flowed
© 2011 (Jim Sularz)
Dedicated to my Brother-in-Law: William L. Browne III (1959-2011)
Let it be known, in memoriam, that he is loved.
And any earthly bonds that shaped his soul,
is now a wide river flowing,
to a distant Heaven bestowed.
He could have walked a much longer path,
and would have paused again, with a hearty laugh.
But, when the river flowed, when the river flowed,
– it marked this hour, for him to go.
Don’t cry for him, with welling tears upset,
but celebrate his fulfilled years, instead.
When the river flowed, when the river flowed,
- it moved his gift of life ahead.
For loving sons, family, friends and beloved wife,
he leaves cherished memories, a faithful man’s insight.
And when the river flowed, when the river flowed,
- it moved him gently, to Everlasting Life!
poem by Jim Sularz
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Arabah
My tears bath my pillow in the night like a river and,
My bed soaks all around me in the night like a lake;
But to whom shall i keep my peace with when,
I am lost in the ocean of the night?
Praise so be to you who understands my problem,
For how long can i swim to you on this river of love?
I am lost, naked lonely;
And i need your ture love to carry me on.
I am lost on this side of the river and,
How can i swim through this ocean of love?
Since, the woes of the night is all over me.
You can hear the noise of the river and,
You also see the pains to my movements;
But the sea of love to my heart is like this lake around me.
Come and carry me over this ocean,
Come and take me to the other side of love;
And like two lovers lost in the deep blue sea,
Why should my night be so long on your love?
This night needs an escape to your love zone,
So come oh my lover and take me across the sea;
And, why should this trap run over me without my lover?
For the cold of the night had also traped me than thought.
Come oh my lover and see me through,
For i am very lonely and naked;
And there comes the river of my tears again.
I have to overcome this lake and rushed into the ocean,
For your sweet love is enough to see me through the waves of the sea.
Why should this occur to me when, i am cold and lonely?
For a beggar knows his own lover and the blind knows his own way;
But i am alone and lost in my dreams.
Come oh my lover,
Come and see mee through;
Arabah is your name and, i will overcome this water by your sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Here To Help You
Oh Eunice, don't cry;
Wipe away your tears,
For now the day is over.
Please, i am here to satisfy you;
And i am here to help you build up from your past.
I am here to help you mend the broken pieces,
For, what are friends for?
To your infornmation,
I have gone through the same hardships before;
And, i know what you are going through.
Please, let me be the one to lead you on,
For the days are gone in the wind when horses were friends;
But, now is the time for me to show you what love really is.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The River Inside
I stand here still silent amongst you all
Yet within a river I hid while I stand tall
Within a deep stormy rapid river whirls
Carrying my emotions my insides hurls
Crashing water made of my inner tears
Carrying my stresses, hurt and fears
The surrounding rocks slowly in my pain
Are carved deep ground eroded away
And when there’s a sudden influx of pain
My inner river tries to keep it hidden in vain
Then the storm grows, the river does swell
Rushing cracking into the air as inside fell
Releasing the pressure its water must drift
Slowly, it trickles tortured down a vertical cliff
Water falling as jewel petals from a magic rose
These glistening inner tears that nobody knows
The River Sings
The river sings
A voice rises above
Fairer than the water, rings
I know you well
For the river has told
All there is to tell
It sung of a maiden
Fair as the water’s song
Her heart heavy laden
Though she sang
Her song was sorrowed
In voice the sadness rang
No words were needed
The river knew
Her voice it heeded
She walked alone
Her gaiety was lost
River, her only home
She listened to the water
Telling a story
Calling her River Daughter
The river sang, through day and night
Sang for her, the only listener
She joined the song, through dark and light
She called to her lover
Come free me!
Called with song and river
poem by Rachel Harris
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The River
When my wife died I used to walk alone by the river,
but I don’t go near there any more.
Lost souls who had drowned used to speak to me
of the lives they had once before.
Every time I went they asked me to enter the water,
‘It will clear your mind, ’ they said.
I told them that I had never learned how to swim
and drowning is the only thing I dread.
One early morning I was walking along the river-bank
and the bank collapsed beneath my feet.
I found myself being swept along by the raging current
and saw my wife drowning in the deep.
Several of the dead I used to talk with held me under,
my breath expired and I just sank.
My wife pulled me up from the river’s depths
and a fisherman revived me on the bank.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Story Of A River!
That empty river was filled with water,
Running water never stagnant to collect litter,
Clean and clear to see the treasures stored,
Heavy pebbles, the quick fish on the soften rocks,
Green kingdom of algae and their blooms peep,
Dipped into the river to pick up a handful,
Of tiny river sand, suddenly floated along the river,
That drifted and took me to a furlong,
How to swim opposite when the current was so strong,
Shocked, confused and kept the head above the liquid,
I saw myself moving faster with the Mother Nature,
The green wild yam with spacious big leaves,
Where my grannies told that the reptiles hide,
The recently planted teak trees stood still,
The palms were high and full of fruits,
Even one not dropped into the water, when I passed,
Bananas were useless with soft stem,
There was a slanting coconut tree at the brim
Leaned to the river for water and sun,
I held its root as hard as I could,
Reached the bank with joy in a blink,
That river full of water is empty now,
And our farmers not even go out,
To check their handed down plowing tools,
The dried up Tamil Nadu with people with tears,
A nuclear plant is built on its shore.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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How We Heard The Name
The river brought down
dead horses, dead men
and military debris,
indicative of war
or official acts upstream,
but it went by, it all
goes by, that is the thing
about the river. Then
a soldier on a log
went by. He seemed drunk
and we asked him Why
had he and this junk
come down to us so
from the past upstream.
“Friends,” he said, “the great
Battle of Granicus
has just been won
by all of the Greeks except
the Lacedaemonians and
myself: this is a joke
between me and a man
named Alexander, whom
all of you ba-bas
will hear of as a god.”
poem by Alan Dugan
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Free River
Free River flow, Free River
so cold, Free River
you’re getting old.
Free River don’t cry, Free River
you’ve run dry.
I still see you through my youth’s eyes.
Free River you told no lies, Free River
your path has been made, Free River
all things change.
Free River you made it to the sea.
The friends I swam with once
are now gone, left only me.
Free River you’re worth more than gold, Free River
I've grown old.
I’ve lived by you my whole life and
I’ve left my seed through my wife, Free River
I lie at your shore; now dry,
Free River it’s my time to die.
poem by Patrick Dumas
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Well and river, inequitable.
A bath in a river is soothing to your skin.
But the river cannot replace the well.
From well water, you sooth your throat.
So the well has no reason to fear the river.
The one who swims in a river
Returns home with renewed vigour.
His desire to swim in the river
Is not his hate to draw from the well.
No grace will the well lose
Because his master visited the river.
No shame does the river has
Because her visitor is not her master.
One will not desert one’s wife
Because the one courted a tart.
24.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Carry Me (a River)
carry me (a river)
carry me a river
take i there, by the river
let the cool breeze wash away the pain
from within me not in vain
carry me a river
where the sweet melodies of the birds reign
the birds in a singing mood so plain
wipe off my mind from the railing train
and carry me over yonder to clear my brain
as you carry me a river
carry me a river
by the river side
the pebbles and the bubbles
clear as water by the stream
as you carry me a river
told me the best poor surrogate of wisdom is pride
but intelligence and self trust will avoid troubles
not even in your dream
carry me a river
in touch with i roots
in my gideon boots
and some khaki suites
carry me a river
to dream a better me
and look back to see
the horizon by sundown
lost but not a clown
with my thinking crown
i stood up to go back-a town
next time
carry me a river on time
though you carry me there for some time
but next time
carry me a river on time
® ntema, o.p.
[email protected]
©25.08.2011
2133h rs
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Where the river Ganges meets Yamuna
[Fall from Himalayas and adrift on river Ganges; ]
A free fall while I was meditating at the peak
And I think of Issac Newton's Law 'The Gravity'.
Oh! When I touched the cold water of river Ganges at Dehra Dun
I was so happy after a long time.
At New Delhi takes water and returns only sewage.
Downstream, the Yamuna is almost dead like me.
At Varnasi the holliest city water levels dropped.
It's very strange while I alive couldn't see & hear anything,
Also feel nothing,
Death is really a gift.
You see, hear & feel everything
Then I became a real swimmer of life at the Bay of Bengal.
* I dedicate this poem to Jyoti.Tottam/Pipola for their great article in the Time Magazine 'How India's success is killing its holy river? '
And I think of my old friends Lalith Rohan in Netherlands and Joseph John who lives in Spain.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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
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Split open
It’s split open like two pieces of land separated by a red river
But the river is overflowing
It’s flowing over the land and falling, falling down
All the way down to the floor
As the river drains the land changes color
The color of death begins to show
The world seems to stop moving
And then it too falls
The world cannot live without the water
Now the world is laying in a pool of red water, gone
Dead.
No last words.
No goodbyes
Just gone
Suddenly the planets seem to come around the world
And wonder why?
Why did she let the river flow?
No one knows
All they know is that the raging river has finally ended.
Leaving only the question
Why did she do it?
Why did she split herself open and let herself run dry?
poem by Yvonne Fernandez
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The River of Blood
It’s the river of blood
Initiated by the enemies of God
And when advised too or told to stop
They just give you the nod
The nod of ignorance and cruelty
The nod of no life and no feel
As they are told about they’re evilness
They believe that none of it is real
It’s the river of blood
That flows down a dark and red stream
And as I dip my hand in, it feels like sour, bitter cream
It’s the river of blood
The river of cruelty and pain
The river of blood
The river that flows in vain
The river that will never end
The river full of the dead
The river where they remain silently hopeless
The river where the majority of them bled
It’s this river of blood where I inject my power and strength from
It’s this river full of blood where my victory will soon come
The river of blood, the river that will soon contain me
It’s this river where my blood has long sought to be
The river of blood that shall soon end with an atrocious fight
The river of blood, the river that will no longer stay at sight.
poem by Marria Attar
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Oh, who is afraid of life
Oh, who is afraid of life
The passion the sorrow and the strife?
In front of my window the multitudes are asleep
Sheltered so easily in their beds
Happy in their sleep as if they were dead
Yet I am alone and not dead
I wish not to lie in bed
Dead, dead, dead
Dead without any company
Here alone on my bed
with all these gracious thoughts about the world
These thoughts are fed by the sun
O life there is about you
This deep sense of sweet being
I would not have been without you here
Yet, you without me would have been the same
So let me stay, and stay more with you
Sweetness, joy, breath and rebirth
Keep away the death
copy rights 2010
I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.
poem by David E. Patton
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No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...
it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river
i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,
it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,
what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river
and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening
i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing
all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.
time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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