Rip
It can't be the passing of time that casts
That white shadow across the waters
Just offshore.
I shiver a little, with the evening.
I turn down the steep path to find
What's left of the river gold.
I whistle a dog lazily, and lazily
A bird whistles me.
Close by a big river, I am alive in my own country,
I am home again.
Yes: I lived here, and here, and my name,
That I carved young, with a girl's, is healed over, now,
And lies sleeping beneath the inward sky
Of a tree's skin, close to the quick.
It's best to keep still.
But:
There goes that bird that whistled me down here
To the river a moment ago.
Who is he? A little white barn owl from Hudson's Bay,
Flown out of his range here, and, if he wants to,
He can be the body that casts
That white shadow across the waters
Just offshore.
poem by James Arlington Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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The White Lily
By the river bank
The frogs croak and caress
Hoping along the river bank
From here to there
At a distant
The swallows twitter with fondness
The lilies rupture with the morning sun
The water reeds sway
As the wind blows along
The river bank
But yet....i feel lost
In this scenery of dexteric desires
I feel caught in lifes pedestals
Tender steps i make....
Along the river bank...
Lilies..
The white lily...
That symbolise
The purity of those souls
Enmeshed in lovesframe
The white lily
That symbolise
The fire that burns within circles
The white lily that symbolises
Long lost desires
Re-invented and rejuvenated
In this river of dexteric desires
The white lily
So white...so pure...
By the river bank
I watch the white lily float and dance
Along the river waters
Their is tenderness in the river
The fishes swim with tenderness
The waters flowing
With a lovers moan
Rythmic drums can be heard from afar
Magic everywhere
I sit and stare at the white lily
With a longing yen....
By the river bank.
poem by Jack Shaka
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Shadow Of The River
As I look around under the shady trees breezy atop the river
Even as the shadows of the tree are seen in it like a mirrror
My curious nature got more of me as i ask myself where is the shadow of the river?
Why does it create shadow for other nature like itself and keep its own shadow hidden?
I said to myself as I look into the river, a glared around into the forest and its horror
And it becomes clear to me that Even the river brings calmness to evil wherever it finds itself.
So i found my answer.
The shadow of the river is in its calmness, the gentle flow that puts your heart to rest even when it overwhelms you.
Its contradiction to body temprature and yet so agreeable.
Under the shady leaves and the calmness around, i have found the shadow of the river.
poem by Yewande Adedokun
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My Daddy The Kern River And Me
When I was just a little girl
My daddy said it's time
To show you where I go to think
on a favorite river of mine.
But first you have to promise me
that no one else will know
Where this secret place is
Where nobody else goes.
We stood upon a rock that lies
just over the roaring white waters.
That's so very hard to get to and
that's why no others bother.
The river, called The Kern River has
always been our favorite spot
To go and think, and enjoy the peace
And we went there quite alot.
Some day I hope to go back to the
river where daddy took me.
And stand upon that same old rock
and dream of how things use to be.
The Kern River holds a memory of
the first man I ever loved.
And now I've found another man that
I am sure was sent from above.
I LOVE YOU DADDY
poem by Dianna Nally
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Lost River
Theres a lost river that flows
In a valley where no on e goes,
Where the wild waters rush
Rumbles deep in the hush.
Gone far from there now,
Lord Ill be back somehow
To where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Now every body knows
Where that lost river flows
Its someplace hes lost
Behind bridges that hes crossed
Well, hed like to return,
But his bridges are all burned
And hes much too far down
To return to higher ground
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Oh lost river, far over ther ridge
Now is it too late for me to build me a new bridge?
To the bright golden time
When her love was still mine
And the world was still wild
Like the heart of a child
Oh, lost river, now Im coming back
To the pot-belly stove, where the firewoods all stacked
Oh Quebec girl, go with me,
Oh my bell, my fleur de lis,
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
Where the lost river winds
In the shadow of the pines
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Muddy River
I stand upon the bank of the muddy river in awe of what I see.
The river’s roaring waters stumble over each other, rolling beneath its awesome force.
The river widens as the earth crumbles into it.
The power of the river amazes me; its shear force astonishes me,
And its quick movements mesmerize.
My mind drifts with the waters flow,
Traveling further and further downstream.
poem by John Miller
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Warm Tape
Shiver for me girl
Deliver for me my darling
Pushin' up to you
A river that runs right thru you
Swim for your smile
In a blue rock quarry
Make it for me baby
You won't be sorry
Shiver for my now
Deliver for me my darling
[Chorus:]
Miles and miles of nether worlds I roam
Settle for love you're never far from home
Carry me down into the waters of
Carry me down into the waters of love
Two of us were made of angels dust
I've been around
But not around enough
Shadow my free form
A woman that I could keep warm
Quiver for me girl
Give me your head and shoulders
Shot from the pages of love and glory
Sleeping next to you and I'm in your story
Shadow my free form
A woman that I could keep warm
[Chorus]
Let's go
I know
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from By The Way
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under The Red Sky
There was a little boy and there was a little girl
And they lived in an alley under the red sky.
There was a little boy and there was a little girl
And they lived in an alley under the red sky.
There was an old man and he lived in the moon,
One summers day he came passing by.
There was an old man and he lived in the moon,
And one day he came passing by.
Bridge #1:
Someday little girl, everything for you is gonna be new
Someday little girl youll have a diamond as big as your shoe
Let the wind blow low, let the wind blow high.
One day the little boy and the little girl were both baked in a pie.
Let the wind blow low, let the wind blow high.
One day the little boy and the little girl were both baked in a pie.
Bridge #2:
This is the key to the kingdom and this is the town
This is the blind horse that leads you around
Let the bird sing, let the bird fly,
One day the man in the moon went home and the river went dry.
Let the bird sing, let the bird fly,
The man in the moon went home and the river went dry.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Spirit of Rumi,31-The Swan
How beautiful the white swan,
gliding effortlessly, it seems,
the sunlight shining on those feathers
protecting its skin and body better
than do clothes protect a man!
White as if to proclaim God’s beauty mov ing
on the waters, like the first day of Creation,
it dips its carefully constructed neck so elegantly
to find its invisible food…
while invisibly too, under the surface,
its legs paddle hard and fast…
Who would dare to call the swan
a hypocrite because of this!
In India they call the saints
who seem to glide so effortlessly
through life, glide across our gaze
so that for a moment, we would be them…
call them Paramahansa, great swan..
who knows how hard a swan
finds its life, moving against a fierce current,
lifting its huge body into the air,
knowing direction more clearly than any man…
who knows how hard a saint
works invisibly all the time, has worked,
will work, eternally… for us,
watching on the river-bank of life
the river, itself yearning for the sea,
to lose itself in the vast harbour of the waters…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song
YOU are as gold
as the half-ripe grain
that merges to gold again,
as white as the white rain
that beats through
the half-opened flowers
of the great flower tufts
thick on the black limbs
of an Illyrian apple bough.
Can honey distill such fragrance
as your bright hair-
for your face is as fair as rain,
yet as rain that lies clear
on white honey-comb,
lends radiance to the white wax,
so your hair on your brow
casts light for a shadow.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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In a Country
My love and I are inventing a country, which we
can already see taking shape, as if wheels were
passing through yellow mud. But there is a prob-
lem: if we put a river in the country, it will thaw
and begin flooding. If we put the river on the bor-
der, there will be trouble. If we forget about the
river, there will be no way out. There is already a
sky over that country, waiting for clouds or smoke.
Birds have flown into it, too. Each evening more
trees fill with their eyes, and what they see we can
never erase.
One day it was snowing heavily, and again we were
lying in bed, watching our country: we could
make out the wide river for the first time, blue and
moving. We seemed to be getting closer; we saw
our wheel tracks leading into it and curving out
of sight behind us. It looked like the land we had
left, some smoke in the distance, but I wasn't sure.
There were birds calling. The creaking of our
wheels. And as we entered that country, it felt as if
someone was touching our bare shoulders, lightly,
for the last time.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where The River Flows
Music : rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Under suburban skies
Where life is bleeding
Where concrete skies are grey
Theres plenty of room for dreaming
I still keep coming here
Follow those traces
I travel back in time
Remember all those places
Feels like I never left
The houses still standing
Down by the river where
The dreams are never ending
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Under the silent moon
This industrial city
Is heartland even though
Lifes been not that pretty
I still keep coming here
To that old river
To find my roots just where
The future lives forever
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me, you can find me
By the river where dreams will never die
By the river under suburban skies
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
By the river where dreams have never died
By the river I look through childrens eyes
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Kiss The Tongue And The Twitting Bird....
when you get near me when you
press your lips against mine, you shall feel the coldness of my dawn,
you keep your mind open like eyes staring at the sun,
yet what you see is still the haze, the fog hanging by the mountain
since it has always been a very cold day,
when you put your tongue inside my mouth, you feel the rain rushing
making a river of rippling waters and it is the force inside that
you will feel
you close your eyes and trace where it is going, and you shall know
that every dropp of rain that makes this river
is always going away from you away from us, and you start to browse
over the silence of the my day, and you shall find that this day is an
empty page where all my words have already been erased because i do not want you to know anymore what i feel and who i am,
i am detached, i am numb, and i do not wish to know what love is all about and where it is going,
i just like to hear a bird twitting alone on that old tree.
whatever is it that it is singing, i do not really care.
for what i know is that i am alive, and for what purpose, who cares?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little White Bird
little white bird
now that i have set you free
from my hands
to the winds you shall go
to its whims shall you be
search the skies
map out your freedom
be carefree
little bird
do not look back
i am in the prison walls of my mind
still thinking about your white wings
feeling each feather
in every patch of my skin
little bird, little white bird
how pure was that love?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faith
Faith is in you whenever you look
At a dewdropp or a floating leaf
And know that they are because they have to be.
Even if you close your eyes and dream up things
The world will remain as it has always been
And the leaf will be carried by the waters of the river.
You have faith also when you hurt your foot
Against a sharp rock and you know
That rocks are there to hurt our feet.
See the long shadow that is cast by the tree?
We and trees throw shadows on the earth.
What has not shadow has no strength to live.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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A White Architect Of Light
8.8.88: She came back from the land of democrative destiny and dissolved
into the chaotic void.
Fighting for the freedom of reality
Building the light house in the darkest hours of life
Fixing up the spiritual essence through the existential nothingness
in the valueless zone
Layers by layers, realities of life theatre are turned into distilled light
out of trapped reflections
Mother of modern Myanmar honoured by consciencious tree of life
Curving away all the unnecessary parts
Curving away all the necessary parts
Communication revolution of the 21 st century
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Still Standing On You Feet?
When first I came to Jesus
The river was ankle deep
It cooled me in the day time
Yet still I was upon my feet
I went further down the river
And to my knees I went in deep
I could see a little clearer
Yet still I was upon my feet
I traveled down still further
And in the river went waist deep
Now I felt the river pulling
Yet still I was upon my feet
I decided to go deeper
Fully abandoned, no retreat
I was swept into the river
No longer standing on my feet
Now the river takes me
In the way that I must go
No longer do I choose the path
It's in the river that I flow
Now everywhere the waters go
It brings healing to the land
And now the Lord can use me
For I no longer stand.
poem by Frank McEleny
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