Bear
Bear..
stone clad shores
welt beneath your warmth
fir lined trees
stand silent in your presence
misted waters raise to greet a vibrant sky in jubilation
as salmon fight ferocious rapids
you
intent
listen and watch
baited breath
silent
your cumbersome claw hovers as a wieghtless mosquito
dancing hithertoo
for that oh so perfect
catch
titanium
spray
avoi ds your touch
end the salmon's day
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Related quotes
Well of Moonlight
This moon,
This moon,
This moon is not real:
There is another moon up
On a hill,
And my that moonlight
I draw water from the well.
Now my sister is getting married,
While I am waiting,
Waiting,
Wondering if I should stand sometime
Beside her stone
Beneath the well;
In autumn, or in summer,
I cannot tell.
My scars are salmon,
Salmon underneath the stars
And the pallid aspens, like sisters
All up and down the hill,
They stand so very, very still
Just down the draw
Where the moon spills its light
Like water down into the well;
And onto the stone
Where beneath my sister lies yet married,
So very, very, very still.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those Wild Pink Salmon
Now, this ‘wild pink salmon’ thing…
are they just wild about pink
like that designer with the limp wrist
or wild like you wouldn't want
to share an estuary with them
or wild that they're not so good
at jumping up the waterfalls
or wild that they’re pink
when they’d like to be red
and so, wild that the other salmon are red
is it some muted colour-snobbery
like used to be in the Windies
between chocolate and coffee
and possibly I don’t know
between Red Indians and Pink Indians
whose mother got around a bit
though on the other hand
it could be boring on the reservation
being a Hiawatha brave or squaw
10 to 5 each day for the tourists
envying the other Indians
with a real job
like standing outside a cigar store
stained with nicotine
or even inside
is it like the Monty Python sketch
the pink salmon look up to the red salmon
but look down on the tame salmon
but then, are wild and tame
really opposites anyway
even if those are the correct terms individually
is it any consolation to wild pink salmon
that we think
they’re supposed to be salmon-pink anyway
so red salmon are the ones
to be red-faced
I mean how wild is wild
and how tame are farmed salmon
if at all
they could be wilder inside
about being hemmed in
when their wild brothers and sisters
are having a wild time
in the spawning grounds off Newfoundland
(though salmon won’t know it’s called that)
and so, excuse the phrase, see red?
and – the thought’s just struck me
like a slap around the gills
with a wet fish –
they probably don’t
read the label
there’s a message there
for all of us in this
colour-conscious age
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Silent Death
Silent death holds my breath
Stalks me from above the trees
There is no breeze
When death walks in my shoes
Silent, cautious, confident
A brilliant business man
Silent death’s cold embrace
Makes me dizzy
He is always busy
But has time for me
Silent death drowns my body
He isn’t sorry
Silent death looks at me
Underneath the water
My eyes dilated
Catch a glimpse
poem by Double A P SS
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Silent
Silent when I have nothing to say.
Silent just to avoid the fray.
Silent when I am not sure.
Silent—I can't stand anymore.
Silent when you make me mad.
Silent I am when times are sad.
Silent when I am too shy.
Silent when I want to cry.
Silent as I carry life's load.
Silent... I may soon explode.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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The Ballade of the Glutton
I'm greedy by nature, and often in vain
Have lingered too long o'er the succulent hare,
Accepting the jelly, ignoring the pain,
Intent on receiving far more than my share.
I worship the plover's egg, tasty and rare,
And idolize fanciful French fricasses;
But what, darling dainties, with you can compare,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas?
I ask for real turtle, again and again--
Observe the Lord Mayor's John Thomases stare!
For kitchen-recitals to Susan and Jane,
And powdered impertinence, what do I care?
I sit down to eat, and I vow and declare,
I'd honour a dish were it made of stewed bees,
Though loyal to you, should you chance to be there,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
I cherish a chef, be he Grecian or Dane;
I even can relish a collop of bear;
I love ev'ry calf--if it boasts a fine brain--
And melt at a pullet, or even a pair.
Though gold's on the table and stately the fare,
I greet a grand entree with almost a sneeze
If you, dearest dainties, are sweet on the air--
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
L'envoi:
O Redcoats of England, who struggle and dare,
Your glory's a morsel no glutton can please;
My yearning is all for a soft-cushioned chair,
Soused salmon and lamb and young ducks and green peas.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Pancakes and With Baked Salmon
I do have this 'thing'
For my own homemade pancakes.
And with baked salmon!
What a treat to eat.
You are not going to get any that I make!
But here is the recipe.
You can do it just like me.
First beat an egg in a mixing bowl,
Add a tablespoon of baking powder.
A third teaspoon of salt
A full teaspoon of sugar.
And about a third cup of vegetable oil.
Beat that all together.
Now you want to add the flour.
About a cup...maybe more...
If you're serving more than two people.
I choose to use evaporated milk.
At least a cup.
Whip all this stuff up.
Heat that frying pan or griddle.
Medium to hot.
Add some olive oil if you got it.
Vegetable oil will do.
With a slice of butter added too!
OH! I almost forgot the salmon!
I use salmon steaks.
Preheat the oven 350 degrees.
After rinsing the salmon...
Rub with apple vinegar.
Salt and pepper if you please.
Lay on tin foil since this is what I use.
Add butter and a bit of oil!
Enclosed that salmon within the foil.
Baked twenty minutes.
That's all it takes!
ENJOY!
Use syrup on the pancakes.
Perhaps a little Vadalia Onion Dressing,
On the salmon.
And if you don't like this...
You definitely will love,
My brown sugar/mustard roasted chicken.
But I'm not sharing that right now!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0222 Return to the Golden Age
We are like salmon, swimming back upstream:
leaping against waterfalls that thwart,
cut and bruised; but strong; our only dream
return to source; no thought save source of thought;
and in that fight, our iron age turns to bronze,
and we to heroes, in a war of soul,
as nature seeks the nature it had once;
though wholly lost, remembering the whole.
We silver salmon, sparkling as the sun
shines on our fierce and loving enterprise:
to rear our children where the world is one;
the source remembered, nature's greatest prize.
The golden age is ageless in its gleam
and we, like salmon, swimming back upstream.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Portulacca
As soon as I open my eyes,
I quietly rush to the balcony,
And watch with bated breath
As the Sun rises.
Dainty Portulacca come to life,
As if to say Hi.
In their vibrant hues and colours:
Yellow pink, red and orange flowers,
In small pots lined in a row,
Full of light and glow.
Enchanted, I watch them for a while
And feel happy and smile.
As I gently spray them with showers,
I am filled with a sense of wonder.
How these delicate flowers can be so sturdy,
And keep blooming despite hot dry winds,
Which makes us humans wilt,
I thought with a little guilt.
It’s really thoughtful of God,
To send these flowers when it’s so hot.
As the heat becomes too much to bear
These pretty flowers fill me with cheer.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Tale Of Meenkumar
Long long ago
Man used to live on the bank of the ocean
There were many lakes and rivers surrounding the ocean
The banks of the rivers and lakes were full of trees
Many forests were there
Those were deep forests
In the forests there were many wild animals
Man lived on the bank of the ocean
Because of the danger of the wild animals
Except farmers, fishermen, craftspeople abode there
Fishermen knew fishes were the saviors of their life
So they didn't catch fish every time
They didn't catch fish unless it was necessary
They didn't kill the fry and not even the pregnant fish
There was the Meen kingdom in the oceans
What is Meen?
It is a kind of fish
They used to rule the kingdom of the oceans
One day, one Meen prince came out of the palace because of forgetfulness of mind
He was roaming and came at a place full of mosses and rocks
There were many big and small fishes
One big Salmon fish was delighted to see the beauty of the Meen prince
He felt greed to eat him
Meen prince escaped when he saw the salmon swimming towards him
Meen prince hid himself under the rocks
Salmon knew that Meen cannot stay for a long time there
When he would come, he would catch him and eat
It would be a wonderful dinner for him
Meen prince passed the night by hiding under the rocky place
Early in the morning, fishermen came to catch fish
Meen prince saw a child fisherman
He requested him to save his life
Finally the fishermen encircled the Salmon fish and caught it
Meen thanked the child fisherman and luckily returned to the palace
This was the tale of Meenkumar....
poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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Color Scheme
Powdered sugar dusted donut clouds
Buoyant beneath the brilliant blue
Salmon shades slivering layered stone
Eons exposed in each earthen view
Varied verdant leaves interlace to
Toupee tree trunk troupes arrayed amass
Floral flags festooned in rainbow hues
Wave over emerald seas of greenest grass
As avocado agrees with apricot
So salmon sidles near clear sky-blue
Color scheme is part of nature’s plot
To bring heaven’s vision into view
poem by Mary Havran
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The Salmon Are Swimming Upriver
The salmon are swimming upriver in the cold gray damp of the dawn
To the gravel beds of the rapids to dig out their spawning beds to spawn
November is their breeding season in the cold and wet Northern Fall
When yesterday's flood is subsiding they are answering to Nature's call.
The salmon are swimming upriver by Nature they are duty bound
They jump waterfalls on their journey to get to their high breeding ground
Their urge for to breed is upon them their numbers they must multiply
To insure the survival of their species their natural urges they cannot deny.
The salmon are swimming against the current a hundred kilometres or more
To the high gravel beds of the river that journey to the Atlantic shore
They risk the gaff and spear of the poacher so that their species will survive
And the main reason for their survival is their natural sexual drive.
The salmon upriver are swimming with the chill of late Fall in the air
Through old fields and along by hedgerows by cold winds of their foliage stripped bare
They swim on against the strong currents without even one thought of fear
Of the fate that might even await them death by the poacher's gaff or spear
poem by Francis Duggan
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If I had the choice between smoked salmon and tinned salmon, I'd have it tinned. With vinegar.
quote by Harold Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As the evening sun faded from a salmon color to a sort of flint gray, I thought back to the salmon I caught that morning, and how gray he was, and how I named him Flint.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Girl [Reprise]
That silent girl broke my heart
That's her passing now
That silent girl I gave my love
It is her paid me with hurt
What would I say to this silent girl
When all she reply is silence
Maybe if I were to be a silent boy
I wound understand the tongue of silence
But I am no silent boy you see
But I love you like the waters in the sea
It flows and flows and never dries up
Please teach me to be a silent boy
So I can love you in silence
Share with you, your sweet and sad moments.
Silent girl of the river goddess
you are silent, I am silent,
Will you hear me?
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Souls Sharing Mystery Nighttime Symphony
it was awake dark late the other night
moon was but a fingernail ribbon of light
all was silent quiet upon the sleeping hills
slight breeze in trees stirs nighttime thrills
from out of our bedroom we did silent creep
at still 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. it's time to shadow peep
I whistle twice thrice into friend dark shadow trees
soon a few familiar shapes flutter about night breeze
my daughters Rachael Kayla silent watch with me
my friends I smile call to introduce daughters to see
these are my season friends at this season call
fruit bats feast this season these trees their mall
in solo stillness of dark or star moon lit night
I whistle call then rapture watch their flutter flight
now as still as still as a shadow can be
my daughters by my side may watch with me
Rachael four cannot silent still wait or watch
words she spills her arm motions darkness cuts a swatch
yet faithful old season friend bat still flies to me greet
in darkness two span distance from my face we meet
nature's wild creatures my heart stirs in innocent delight
even fruit eating binturong greeted my face once in ink night
crossing telephone power cable from bat fruit trees
in cloak ink darkness adult male pause curiosity sees
this nightly poet shaman stand on this balcony ledge
to wondrous creation we share soul mystic pledge
in dead of night binturong two span face distance I meet
our senses one moment we part upon paths spiritual greet
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Breath Of Haven
I have traveled many moonless nights
Cold and weary with a babe inside
And I wonder what I've done
Holy Father You have come and chosen me now
To carry Your Son
I am waiting in silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone must I walk this path alone
Be with me now, be with me now
Chorus
Breath of Heaven hold me together
Be forever near me breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven lighten my darkness
Pour over me your holiness
For You are holy breath of Heaven
Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of Your plan
Help me be strong
Help me be, help me
Repeat Chorus Twice
Tag
Breath of Heaven, breath of Heaven
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Possible By Election And Effort
A mosquito is flying across my eyes,
A tiny mosquito which sits on the fruits,
I am trying to chase or snatch it,
But I am unable to catch it.
A person who cannot catch a mosquito,
How can he expect to fetch the government
to get the President post (or) FORT?
It is possible by election and EFFORT.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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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
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