En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Otter Creek

Past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks flows otter creek.
King fisher in branches, perched, poised.
Skydiver, bullet from above, silent splash, into otter creek.
Muscles plucked from their beds, shells discarded, gathered for fun, pass up not one.
Trout fry swim swiftly, cray fish beneath rocks avoid seeking hands, pincers poised, threatening stance.
Kids crossing fallen logs, catching frogs, skipping rocks, swimming in otter creek.
Mud wars rage, picnic blanket laid on the green glade near otter creek.
We follow paw prints, beneath willow tree roots, den site dug deep into muddy banks of otter creek.
Within the town of Franklinville, hot summers day, sister, niece, and I, our dad's.
Never saw the otters of the creek, only paw prints, left proof of an existence.
In memories I venture, hoping, just a glimpse.
To sit once again, past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks, there it flows, otter creek.

poem by Gary Kedron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dam At Otter Creek

When all that's left to do
is reflect on what's been done
this is where sadness breathes
the sadness of everyone

Just like when the guys built the
dam at otter creek and all the
water backed up
Deep enough to dive

We took the dead man in sheets
to the river flanked by love
Deep enough to dive
Deep enough to dive

Be here now
be here now
be here now
be here now

Just like when the guys built the
dam at otter creek and all the
water backed up

song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cripple Creek

1: well I married a wife in the month of june,
Married her up by the light of the moon.
We live down on cripple creek.
Weve been there about a week.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
2: now cripple creek girls about half-grown,
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone.
Roll my pants up to my knees,
Cross on cripple creek a-when I please.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
3: well Im goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Im a-goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
Chorus: Im a-goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin to cripple creek to have some fun.

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bitter Creek

Once I was young and so unsure
Id try any ill to find the cure
An old man told me
Tryin to scold me
oh, son, dont wade to deep in bitter creek,
(bitter creek)
Out where the desert meets the sky
Is where I go when I wanna hide
Oh, peyote (oh,peyote,mm)
She tried to show me
(tried to show me)
You know there aint no cause to weep
At bitter creek
(bitter creek)
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
Were gonna hit the road for one last time
We can walk right in and steal em blind
All that money (all that money,ooh..)
No more runnin (no more runnin)
I cant wait to see the old mans face
When I win the race
(bitter creek)
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo,
Doo doo doo doo doo
Doo..........

song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By the creek

By the creek
Canoes are extinct and fishing net hung dry
On the mangrove, starved fishes initiate an exodus

By the creek
Idleness I saw in the abode of a young man
In search of oil greed in the wrong ways of the city

By the creek
The gliding seagulls no longer shower kisses on the waves
As gunboats threatens even the creatures underneath the aquatic ridges

By the creek
The night taunts me, of the horrors of the morrow
And the sorrow that lay await

By the creek
The crowd stood still, hungry in their eyes
And food monger, driven away by hostile wind

By the creek
I saw men living comfortably in squalor
Accompany by winds of mediocrity
And greed

By the creek
In addition, I saw the sea eating away farmlands
While the shore reclamation fund mound in politicians save

By the creek
I saw fleeing, vessels from foreign shores
And a deserted jetty a save heaven for militant

poem by Regha Julius
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bear Creek

Way up on bear creek watching the sun go down.
Way up on bear creek watching the sun go down.
It makes me feel like, Im on my last go round.
The water on bear creek tastes like cherry wine.
The water on bear creek tastes like cherry wine.
You take one drink of it, your tasting it all the time.
If you stay on bear creek youll get like jesse james.
If you stay on bear creek youll get like jesse james.
Youll take two old pistols, and hold up that bear creek train.
Im going high high up on some lonesome hill.
Im going high high up on some lonesome hill.
Look down on bear creek, where my good gal used to live.

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cripple Creek Ferry

Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.
All alone the captain stands
Hasnt heard from his deck hands.
The gambler tips his hat and walks towards the door.
Its the second half of the cruise.
And you know he hates to lose.
Hey, hey cripple creek ferry
Butting through the overhanging trees
Make way for the cripple creek ferry
The waters going down its a mighty tight squeeze.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Otter Hunting In Ribblesdale

Through yon little planting, by yonder streamside,
Where Ribble's sweet waters flow softly and wide,
While the dew's on the meadows it's up and away,
A-hunting the otter at break o' the day.

0 hear the glad music of horn and of hound;
0 hear how they welcome in day with the sound:
0 hear how the valley is loud with the strain
And the woodlands give answer with echo again.

Come rise up full soon, come rise up and go,
The mist's on the hill and the river runs low:
While the dew's on the meadows it's up and away
A-hunting the otter at break o' the day.

Now Ribble, sun-chequered, slides joyfully down
Which late thro' the bridges roared foaming and brown:
Now hot lies the scent, and the morning is still, &mdash
Hark for'ard, good hounds, to a view and a kill!

A health to good fellowship fill we now high,
You true-hearted sportsmen afar and anigh,
Here's many a good chase when the morning is grey,
A-hunting the otter at break o' the day.

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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I don't want to save a creek for the creek's sake, but what's in it for human beings.

quote by Jim Fowler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The singing Lagoon

An Otter and a Guppy they lived in an isolated lagoon.
They are very good friends.
In a moonlit night they hear a beautiful song.
A Nymph sings while combing her tress in the mangrove.
Once in a blue moon a slim and handsome boatman comes there and joins her singing.
Otter whispered to Guppy; 'My friend are they lovers? '
'I don't think so, if they are lovers then why the boatman comes very seldom? 'Guppy replied.
'Yes, how a boatman can loves a Nymph? 'Otter explained.
They saw the boatman goes into the mangrove.
And they heard the Nymph cries. 'How long I have to wait? And you promised that you take me to your shack soon.'
'Definitely I loose my job in due course as they are making a bridge.
I have already planned to go to the sea as fishing is more profitable.
Please do not worry my sweetheart and I fish you one day when my pocket is full.'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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High And Dry

Last night, I think, I put that home fire out,
Came in late to a cold dark house.
I guess she thinks she got me good this time.
She took all of hers, and most of mine.
She left me high, but I aint dry,
Well, I've got beer and tears to cry.
Well I should be feelin' low,
Up that creek that we all know.
That woman left me high, but I aint dry.
Say bar tender fill 'er up again.
Let's us keep me in the shape I'm in.
And if I can't get her memory to drown,
Well, I'll take it for a swim all over town.
She left me high, but I aint dry,
Well, I've got beer and tears to cry.
Well I should be feelin' low,
Up that creek that we all know.
That woman left me high, but I aint dry.
Hell, I should be feelin' low,
Up that creek that we all know.
Yeah, that woman left me high, but I aint dry.

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eurunderee

There are scenes in the distance where beauty is not,
On the desolate flats where gaunt appletrees rot.
Where the brooding old ridge rises up to the breeze
From his dark lonely gullies of stringy-bark trees,
There are voice-haunted gaps, ever sullen and strange,
But Eurunderee lies like a gem in the range.

Still I see in my fancy the dark-green and blue
Of the box-covered hills where the five-corners grew;
And the rugged old sheoaks that sighed in the bend
O'er the lily-decked pools where the dark ridges end,
And the scrub-covered spurs running down from the Peak
To the deep grassy banks of Eurunderee Creek.

On the knolls where the vineyards and fruit-gardens are
There's a beauty that even the drought cannot mar;
For I noticed it oft, in the days that are lost,
As I trod on the siding where lingered the frost,
When the shadows of night from the gullies were gone
And the hills in the background were flushed by the dawn.

I was there in late years, but there's many a change
Where the Cudgegong River flows down through the range,
For the curse of the town with the railroad had come,
And the goldfields were dead. And the girl and the chum
And the old home were gone, yet the oaks seemed to speak
Of the hazy old days on Eurunderee Creek.

And I stood by that creek, ere the sunset grew cold,
When the leaves of the sheoaks are traced on the gold,
And I thought of old things, and I thought of old folks,
Till I sighed in my heart to the sigh of the oaks;
For the years waste away like the waters that leak
Through the pebbles and sand of Eurunderee Creek.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Above Eurunderee

There are scenes in the distance where beauty is not,
On the desolate flats where gaunt appletrees rot.
Where the brooding old ridge rises up to the breeze
From his dark lonely gullies of stringy-bark trees,
There are voice-haunted gaps, ever sullen and strange,
But Eurunderee lies like a gem in the range.

Still I see in my fancy the dark-green and blue
Of the box-covered hills where the five-corners grew;
And the rugged old sheoaks that sighed in the bend
O'er the lily-decked pools where the dark ridges end,
And the scrub-covered spurs running down from the Peak
To the deep grassy banks of Eurunderee Creek.

On the knolls where the vineyards and fruit-gardens are
There's a beauty that even the drought cannot mar;
For I noticed it oft, in the days that are lost,
As I trod on the siding where lingered the frost,
When the shadows of night from the gullies were gone
And the hills in the background were flushed by the dawn.

I was there in late years, but there's many a change
Where the Cudgegong River flows down through the range,
For the curse of the town with the railroad had come,
And the goldfields were dead. And the girl and the chum
And the old home were gone, yet the oaks seemed to speak
Of the hazy old days on Eurunderee Creek.

And I stood by that creek, ere the sunset grew cold,
When the leaves of the sheoaks are traced on the gold,
And I thought of old things, and I thought of old folks,
Till I sighed in my heart to the sigh of the oaks;
For the years waste away like the waters that leak
Through the pebbles and sand of Eurunderee Creek.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Rain

in the rain my friend
you have been croaking with the frogs
and what i hear
is the symphony of crooks
still waddling
in the muddy creek of corruption

if you invite me
i could have sang so well....

(hmmm)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Genius is a bend in the creek where bright water has gathered, and which mirrors the trees, the sky and the banks. It just does that because it is there and the scenery is there. Talent is a fine mirror with a silver frame, with the name of the owner engraved on the back.

quote by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steamboat

The rivers a bed of sweet berries and flowers
Banks of thirsty lies
(please be careful)
The stream is an eyeglass of heroes
Bridged with bright replies
The creek is a funnel of forgiveness
Winning every prize
Steamboat of living ever faithfully ride.
The rivers a dream in a waltz time
Banks of jasper glaze
(have a ball and sing)
The stream is a timepiece of children
Bridged with crystal haze
The creek is a trumpet of hard times
Blowing tasty days
Steamboat of living ever faithfully glide.
Dont worry mister fulton
Well get your steamboat rollin.

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Always Remember The Cool Shade Of The Bamboo Grove

his poverty takes him to long walks
on the paths of hill and mountains for days
the sun scorches his back
he wears his buri hat and covers
his body with big anahaw leaves
he passes the same river that winds
towards his nipa hut, ten times
he plunges his weary feet on
the running waters of the creek

the heavy work he does indeed
turns him into a man of the plough
and the rugged muddy fields
the sweat of his brow and the sighs
of his unbroken spirit, the trials
and the tribulations of his insignificance

above all these, he passes by the
bamboo grove where a creek runs gently by
he remembers her again
his first love his first plunge naked into the water

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matchmaker

Behind my house there is a quaint little pond
And every time it rains a little green frog responds
I know that he is lonely and cries into the night
He is longing to find a mate to be complete and all right

The heat is sweltering and he swims on afternoons
Longing for the rain during the night to voice his tunes
Sometimes he is resting on a moist mossy green rock
Looking around aware of his biological clock

On the other side there is a creek behind the pool
There is a small green frog all alone and it's cruel
So I went and captured the one by my pond
And brought it over to the creek to make a bond

Now my nights are filled with silence and peace
And one would think my good night's rest would increase
But instead I was wondering if the frogs getting along
Because if not - then what I did was totally wrong

This morning my neighbor that lives by the creek
Came over to complain about the noise at night's peak
She said that there is a whole family of green frog's right there
She will never know how happy I am about that - I swear

© 2011

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Reedy River

Ten miles down Reedy River
A pool of water lies,
And all the year it mirrors
The changes in the skies,
And in that pool's broad bosom
Is room for all the stars;
Its bed of sand has drifted
O'er countless rocky bars.

Around the lower edges
There waves a bed of reeds,
Where water rats are hidden
And where the wild duck breeds;
And grassy slopes rise gently
To ridges long and low,
Where groves of wattle flourish
And native bluebells grow.

Beneath the granite ridges
The eye may just discern
Where Rocky Creek emerges
From deep green banks of fern;
And standing tall between them,
The grassy she-oaks cool
The hard, blue-tinted waters
Before they reach the pool.

Ten miles down Reedy River
One Sunday afternoon,
I rode with Mary Campbell
To that broad, bright lagoon;
We left our horses grazing
Till shadows climbed the peak,
And strolled beneath the she-oaks
On the banks of Rocky Creek.

Then home along the river
That night we rode a race,
And the moonlight lent a glory
To Mary Campbell's face;
And I pleaded for our future
All through that moonlight ride,
Until our weary horses
Drew closer side by side.

Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing
And five miles below the peak,
I built a little homestead
On the banks of Rocky Creek;
I cleared the land and fenced it
And ploughed the rich, red loam,
And my first crop was golden
When I brought my Mary home.

Now still down Reedy River
The grassy she-oaks sigh,
And the water-holes still mirror
The pictures in the sky;
And over all for ever
Go sun and moon and stars,
While the golden sand is drifting
Across the rocky bars

But of the hut I builded
There are no traces now.
And many rains have levelled
The furrows of the plough;
And my bright days are olden,
For the twisted branches wave
And the wattle blossoms golden
On the hill by Mary's grave.

poem by Henry Lawson
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The Welcome,

DID you know, little child,
Ere you left the outer wild,
There were strong hands steady,
There were old songs ready,
There was love prepared to keep you with the hard earth reconciled?

Did you learn beyond the moon
All the happy sounds of noon?
A creek’s voice will greet you,
A wattle bend to meet you,
There are visions, there are voices: you will know them soon and soon.

Yes, for you will surely go
Where the deepest gullies grow,
They will feel you and take you,
With birds to lure and wake you,
They will set your spirit dancing, they will tell you all they know.

There beneath the radiant dome
Unafraid your feet will roam,
With the soft creek lapping,
And the loose bark flapping,
While the waving tree-ferns whisper, ‘Little girl, you’ve wandered home.’

poem by Nettie Palmer
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Minnesota Woodlands

The Minnesota Woodlands are sounding out]
Tranquil creeks and questions have perfect features
Then when you are listening very intensely
You can hear sounds of woodland creatures.

The crispness of leaves crunch beneath feet.
The fresh air has the birds winging.
This keeps one alert and with interest
Hearing the woodlands alive with their singing.

The smell of fresh pine is in the air
And a blue cloudless sky peaks above.
When walking to the banks of a flowing creek
With Minnesota Woodlands, it's a case of love.

Fishing is a great relaxing sport
All you need is a rod and reel.
In the case of clear creek fishing
You can bring home enough fish for a hearty meal.

I love Minnesota Woodland's freshness
Away from the City's busy flare.
It means I have found a special calming peace
Because I have adventured there.

poem by Gladys I. Swanson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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