Talbingo
'TALBINGO RIVER'—as one says of bones:
'Captain' or 'Commodore' that smelt gunpowder
In old engagements no one quite believes
Or understands. Talbingo had its blood
As they did, ran with waters huge and clear
Lopping down mountains,
Turning crags to banks.
Now it's a sort of aching valley,
Basalt shaggy with scales,
A funnel of tobacco-coloured clay,
Smoulders of puffed earth
And pebbles and shell-bodied flies
And water thickening to stone in pocks.
That's what we're like out here,
Beds of dried-up passions.
poem by Kenneth Slessor
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Matamoras Banks
(Each year many die crossing the deserts,
mountains and rivers of our southern border
in search of a better life. Here I follow the
journey backwards, from the body at the
river bottom, to the man walking across
the desert towards the banks of the Rio Grande.)
For two days the river keeps you down
Then you rise to the light without a sound
Past the playgrounds and empty switching yards
The turtles eat the skin from your eyes, so they lay open to the stars
Your clothes give way to the current and river stone
'Till every trace of who you ever were is gone
And the things of the earth they make their claim
That the things of heaven may do the same
Goodbye, my darling, for your love I give God thanks,
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Over rivers of stone and ancient ocean beds
I walk on sandals of twine and tire tread
My pockets full of dust, my mouth filled with cool stone
The pale moon opens the earth to its bones
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
The touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Your sweet memory comes on the evenin' wind
I sleep and dream of holding you in my arms again
The lights of Brownsville, across the river shine
A shout rings out and into the silty red river I dive
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
A touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valley
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Some bad people living further down the valley,
Not easy for us to do good trade.
We got snowmelt, snowmelt sweet water.
They got that valley road that they made.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Holding hands on the hillside.
Showing love to your brother --
Your sister and your mother --
But we hate those people down the valley.
Has anybody seen moses?
Get him off that mountain.
Bring back the tablets of stone.
Its a wise, wise prophet who keeps his own council.
Yeah, leave the other mans wife alone.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people living here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only live the valley song.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only know the valley song.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Aching Bones
Deep in my soul
all the way to my aching bones.
My love for you is just that strong.
The feeling reaches all the way down
to my aching bones.
It flows through my body
like blood through my veins;
all the way down to my aching bones.
To you my heart, soul and love belongs.
I am yours completely all the way down to
my aching bones.
Communion
my feet shall tread upon grass
the grass spreads upon a topping of pebbles
the pebbles plunge on the river
the banks keep the stretch
until it reaches the mouth of the sea
and the sea spreads its arms all throughout the
continents of the earth's bodily contours
with the winds that takes the clouds with them
drifting along the curves of mountains and its peaks
until it communes with the myriad shining stars
at night with you
my world has become complete
warm and lovely
in communion with your
body and soul
i have become so full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
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Paradise Valley
can't think straight my mind is covered with clouds
no doubt what I'm talking about;
I've never seen a place like this I miss no bliss
how could I ever forget how it feels, how it heals,
my wound, my blood, whatever pain my soul has got
these waters so clear
near and far all I can hear
rustle of leaves and insects hummin on trees
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
the sun reflects some billion glitters of water
direct in my face but I can't take my eyes of this place
so peaceful, beautiful, it flows all into one
meadows, mountains, I, the sky
so close I can never feel to gods own miracle
and then I see, I see that eagle fly
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prayer In Open D
(emmylou harris)
Theres a valley of sorrow in my soul
Where every night I hear the thunder roll
Like the sound of a distant gun
Over all the damage I have done
And the shadows filling up this land
Are the ones I built with my own hand
There is no comfort from the cold
Of this valley of sorrow in my soul
Theres a river of darkness in my blood
And through every vein I feel the flood
I can find no bridge for me to cross
No way to bring back what is lost
Into the night it soon will sweep
Down where all my grievances I keep
But it wont wash away the years
Or one single hard and bitter tear
And the rock of ages I have known
Is a weariness down in the bone
I use to ride it like a rolling stone
Now just carry it alone
Theres a highway risin from my dreams
Deep in the heart I know it gleams
For I have seen it stretching wide
Clear across to the other side
Beyond the river and the flood
And the valley where for so long Ive stood
With the rock of ages in my bones
Someday I know it will lead me home
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cool Water
Words and music by bob nolan
Revised lyrics by joni mitchell
All day I face the barren waste
Without a taste of water
Cool water
Old dan and i
Our throats slate dry
Our spirits cry out for water
Cool clear water
Keep on movin dan
Some devils had a plan
Buried poison in the sand
Dont drink it man
Its in the water
Cool clear water
In my mind I see
A big green tree
And a river flowin free
Waitin up ahead
For you and me
Cool clear water
The nights are cool and Im a fool
Each star is a pool of water
Cool water
But come the dawn
We carry on
We wont last long without water
Cool clear water
Keep on movin dan
Were still in no-mans land
Dry bones and sand
People never planned here for water
Cool clear water
In my mind I see
A big green tree
And a river flowin free
Waiting up ahead for you and me
Cool clear water
The shadows sway
They seem to say
Tonight we pray for water
Cool water
And way up there
If you care
Please show us where
Theres good water
Cool clear water
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road That Runs Beside The River
follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
if there's room (not in a ravine,
gorge), the river
on your right or left. Left is better: when you're driving,
it's over your elbow across
the road.
You see the current, which is
what the river is: the river
in the river, a thing sliding fast forward
inside a thing sliding not so fast forward.
Driving with, beside, the river's flow is good.
Another pleasure, driving against it: it's the same river
someone else will see
somewhere else downstream -- same play,
new theater, different set.
Wide, shallow, fairly fast,
roundy-stone streambed, rocky-land river,
it turns there or here -- the ground
telling it so -- draining dull
mountains to the north,
migrating, feeding a few hard-fleshed fish
who live in it. One small sandbar splits
the river, then it loops left,
the road right, and the river's silver
slips under the trees,
into the forest,
and over the sharp perpendicular
edge of the earth.
poem by Thomas Lux
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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False Prophet?
You have humbled me-
Groveling for any stone
To throw;
Pebbles of yesteredays-
Paleolithic Era-
Sit silent-
In a copious-
Summer sun;
And you-
Drowning in such-
Circumstance...
The waters using you up-
Your energy dissolved-
In a mere flash-
One rip tide;
Gone in the glory-
And the deeps-
Unfathomnable-
Becomes the reality-
Of the still blue lagoon;
What a slap in the face-
From the tide...
It stung upon your-
Vanquished skin-
Shriveling from the water-
Logged tissue of your derma;
Down on your knees now-
In the glass house that-
You designed and built;
Flashes of a fresh view-
Of the sea and shore-
A Malibu moment resurrected;
Once accepted by you-
But unsatisfied- wanting more;
Away from the crags and rocky cliffs-
The pebbles-and the stones aside-
And onto the alibaster sands-
Where the heat comes rising from-
Your footprints-reminding even me-
That you were never immortal at all...
And Idoltry is not just a major sin but-
A delusion of the minds of those-
Who once believed in the magic of you.
Dedicated To: Sheltered aka: ...
poem by Theodora Onken
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Collecting Pebbles
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject in which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
poem by George Krokos
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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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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
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Sanctuary
'And on the banks, on both sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water
for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.' ~ Ezekiel 47: 12
sanctuary
dying trees
and fallen
leaves
dried river
hungry heart
and wounded liver
sanctuary
bones of dust
sanctuary
my head
know longer knows
poem by Jay Reynolds
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It Was Winter
Winter came as it does in this valley.
After eight dry months rain fell
And the mountains, straw-colored, turned green for a while.
In the canyons where gray laurels
Graft their stony roots to granite,
Streams must have filled the dried-up creek beds.
Ocean winds churned the eucalyptus trees,
And under clouds torn by a crystal of towers
Prickly lights were glowing on the docks.
This is not a place where you sit under a café awning
On a marble piazza, watching the crowd,
Or play the flute at a window over a narrow street
While children’s sandals clatter in the vaulted entryway.
They heard of a land, empty and vast,
Bordered by mountains. So they went, leaving behind crosses
Of thorny wood and traces of campfires.
As it happened, they spent winter in the snow of a mountain pass,
And drew lots and boiled the bones of their companions;
And so afterward a hot valley where indigo could be grown
Seemed beautiful to them. And beyond, where fog
Heaved into shoreline coves, the ocean labored.
Sleep: rocks and capes will lie down inside you,
War councils of motionless animals in a barren place,
Basilicas of reptiles, a frothy whiteness.
Sleep on your coat, while your horse nibbles grass
And an eagle gauges a precipice.
When you wake up, you will have the parts of the world.
West, an empty conch of water and air.
East, always behind you, the voided memory of snow-covered fir.
And extending from your outspread arms
Nothing but bronze grasses, north and south.
We are poor people, much afflicted.
We camped under various stars,
Where you dip water with a cup from a muddy river
And slice your bread with a pocketknife.
This is the place; accepted, not chosen.
We remembered that there were streets and houses where we came
from,
So there had to be houses here, a saddler’s signboard,
A small veranda with a chair. But empty, a country where
The thunder beneath the rippled skin of the earth,
The breaking waves, a patrol of pelicans, nullified us.
As if our vases, brought here from another shore,
Were the dug-up spearheads of some lost tribe
Who fed on lizards and acorn flour.
And here I am walking the eternal earth.
Tiny, leaning on a stick.
I pass a volcanic park, lie down at a spring,
Not knowing how to express what is always and everywhere:
The earth I cling to is so solid
Under my breast and belly that I feel grateful
For every pebble, and I don’t know whether
It is my pulse or the earth’s that I hear,
When the hems of invisible silk vestments pass over me,
Hands, wherever they have been, touch my arm,
Or small laughter, once, long ago over wine,
With lanterns in the magnolias, for my house is huge.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Puritans
Sidling upon the river, the white boat
Has volleyed with its cannon all the morning,
Shaken the shore towns like a Judgment warning,
Telling the palsied water its demand
That the crime come to the top again, and float,
That the sunk murder rise to the light and land.
Blam! In the noon's perfected brilliance burn
Brief blooms of flame, which soil away in smoke;
And down below, where slowed concussion broke
The umber stroll of waters, water-dust
Dreamily powders up, and serves to turn
The river surface to a cloudy rust.
Down from his bridge the river captain cries
To fire again. They make the cannon sound;
But none of them would wish the murder found,
Nor wish in other manner to atone
Than booming at their midnight crime, which lies
Rotting the river, weighted with a stone.
poem by Richard Wilbur
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The Loss Of Contact
without contact
there is no flare
no electricity for
months
and you scream
that you will be
dead soon
it is like night
without moon & stars
like a dried river bank
all bare stones
an abandoned well
waters stinking
veins without blood
cracked lips without
clue of water without
gloss and shine
talk to me
if this is all about sex.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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