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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Grand Rapids
Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"
Wild roved the Indians once
On the banks of Grand River,
And they built their little huts
Down by that flowing river.
In a pleasant valley fair,
Where flows the river rapid,
An Indian village once was there,
Where now stands Grand Rapids.
Indian girls and boys were seen,
With their bow and quiver,
Riding in their light canoes
Up and down the river.
Their hearts were full of joy,
Happy voices singing
Made music with forest birds,
They kept the valley ringing.
Indians have left and gone
Beyond the Mississippi.
They called the river Owashtenong
Where stands this pleasant city.
Louis Campau the first white man
Bought land in Grand Rapids.
He lived and died, an honored man
By people of Grand Rapids.
When Campau came to the valley
No bridge was across the river;
Indians in their light canoes
Rowed them o'er the water.
Railroads now from every way
Run through the city, Grand Rapids;
The largest town in west Michigan
Is the city of Grand Rapids.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guargual?, Guargual?: it was rapids and remains rapids.
Song-The Final Spark
By Mountain Ash and roses wild
Recalling all we’ve been
Let’s cast our eyes o’er views so wide
And think on what’s unseen
And by the stealthy Luce so dark
Let’s quietly sit and wait
To catch that final flashing spark
As sun and river break
(chorus)
Now take my hand and let us walk
Towards the falling sun
Unveil our hearts and let us talk
Of rapids still to run
And on the sands where rivers meet
Let’s gaze through twilight’s glow
At sea trout surging clear and free
So briefly from the flow
(chorus)
Now take my hand and let us walk
Towards the falling sun
Unveil our hearts and let us talk
Of rapids still to run
And now, by hay just freshly mown,
Beneath the polar star,
Where Saturn hangs above the cove,
Let's kiss once more before we part
(11 07 08)
Vitipuration Falls
Have you ever heard the torrent of abuse
As it curses it's way to Vitipuration Falls
Through rapids vitriolic and cataracts obtuse
To it's final foul mutterings in The Bay of Catcalls
The artist one day falls through a hole in the brambles, and from that moment he is following the dark rapids of an underground river which may sometimes flow so near to the surface that the laughing picnic parties are heard above.
quote by Cyril Connolly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Soar
to soar among the heavens
wind rushing past
giving way to the blackness around
to soar among the heaves
wind rushing past
the uncertainty of tomorrow t
he wisdom of yesterday
to soar among the heavens
wind rushing past
through the galaxies
small spots of color appear
helping peace fill the void
to soar among the heavens
wind rushing past
a smallflutter in my chest begins
the colors all around brighten
to soar among the heavens
wind rushing past
the flutter becomes a beat
then a pulse
sound all around
music
to soar among the heavens
wind rushing past.
poem by Lauren Kiczula
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Perhaps, This is How Life is!
The water-falls are perilous although,
And fall as rapids on boulders below,
What cascading beauty and frothy air,
And splashing noise that rends the forests near!
It must be raining heavily above;
The sky here looks all blue without black-clouds?
A bridge of Hope connects the two forests;
The rapids cease into a gentle flow
To form a river that gives life to all!
The turbulence of earthly life is great,
With chaos and many dangers admixed;
Yet, Mother Nature waves her magic wand
And ushers halcyon days to all mankind.
poem by John Celes
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Re-voyage
What of the days when we two dreamed together?
Days marvellously fair,
As lightsome as a skyward floating feather
Sailing on summer air--
Summer, summer, that came drifting through
Fate's hand to me, to you.
What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder
If you too wish this sky
Could be the blue we sailed so softly under,
In that sun-kissed July;
Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon,
With hearts in touch and tune.
Have you no longing to re-live the dreaming,
Adrift in my canoe?
To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming
Cleaving the waters through?
To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until
Your restless pulse grows still?
Do you not long to listen to the purling
Of foam athwart the keel?
To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling
Among their stones, to feel
The boat's unsteady tremor as it braves
The wild and snarling waves?
What need of question, what of your replying?
Oh! well I know that you
Would toss the world away to be but lying
Again in my canoe,
In listless indolence entranced and lost,
Wave-rocked, and passion tossed.
Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering
Across love's shoreless seas;
All reckless, I had ne'er a thought of fearing
Such dreary days as these,
When through the self-same rapids we dash by,
My lone canoe and I.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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In The Rapids
He dives down into the cold water. at first he is thrown onto the rocks, and pulled under the water by a fast moving channel, which takes him right past john, down river.
Moving down the water
John is drifting out of sight,
Its only at the turning point
That you find out how you fight.
In the cold, feel the cold
All around
And the rush of crashing water
Surrounds me with its sound.
Rael manages to grab a rock, pull himself to the surface and catch his breath. as john is carried past, rael throws himself in again and catches hold of his arm. he knocks john unconscious and t
Ocking themselves together, he rides the rapids into the slow running water, where he can swim to safety.
Striking out to reach you
I cant get through to the other side,
When youre racing in the rapids
Theres only one way, thats to ride.
Taken down, taken down
By the undertow
Im spiralled down the river bed,
My fire is burning low.
Catching hold of a rock thats firm,
Im waiting for john to be carried past.
We hold together, hold together and shoot the rapids fast.
But as he hauls his brothers limp body onto the bank he lies him out and looks hopefully into his eyes for a sign of life. he staggers back in recoil, for staring at him with eyes wide open is
Ohns face - but his own.
And when the waters slow down
The dark and the deep
Have no-one, no-one, no-one, no-one
No-one left to keep.
Hang on john! were out of this at last.
Somethings changed, thats not your face.
Its mine - its mine!
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swmming Down Stream
I am swimming down stream again
I'll be riding the rapids soon;
headed for Niagra my water-fall.
The rush of sound;
suspended air
and I'll have seconds
to comprehend
before crashing land;
new love coming
to this unworthy one.
I am in my Leap of Faith-
my Free-Fall;
will it end
badly
or will I soar?
Seconds to know
before
events
say
which
way
this
will
transpire..
I think your smile
tells me
that my water-landing
will be a soft one,
the sediments
will wash down
with me
to
join the Ocean of Souls,
swimming with the Tides
caressing
the sandy beach once more.
Gentle touch
the rushing waves
cleanse
bad memory.
Gentle smell
the Ocean surf
for it
cleanses your Soul.
Gentle touch
your secret love
for it is Ocean deep
especially in the fall.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Best Deception
I heard about your trip.
I heard about your souvenirs.
I heard about the cool breeze, in the cool nights,
and the cool guys that you spent them with.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
Don't you see, don't you see,
that the charade is over?
And all the "Best Deceptions" and "Clever Cover Story" awards go to you.
So kiss me hard
'cause this will be the last time that I let you.
You will be back someday
and this awkward kiss that tells of other people's lips will be of service
to keeping you away.
I heard about your regrets.
I heard that you were feeling sorry.
I heard from someone that you wish you could set things right between us.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers,
I'll be all right when my hands get warm.
Ignoring the phone, I'd rather say nothing.
I'd rather you'd never heard my voice.
too late to be gracious
and you do not warrant long good-byes.
You're calling too late.
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear My Own Poems Rushing In Me
I HEAR MY OWN POEM RUSHING IN ME
I hear my own poem rushing in me
Despite my sadness and my despair
It tells me I am still alive-
I hear it rushing in me now
As these lines wonder too,
What will be next?
And if I will end it right?
And whether or not it is a true poem?
A rushing in me now-
Like words written and forgotten
So many times
Not so long ago-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wave-won
To-night I hunger so,
Beloved one, to know
If you recall and crave again the dream
That haunted our canoe,
And wove its witchcraft through
Our hearts as 'neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream.
Ah! dear, if only we
As yesternight could be
Afloat within that light and lonely shell,
To drift in silence till
Heart-hushed, and lulled and still
The moonlight through the melting air flung forth its fatal spell.
The dusky summer night,
The path of gold and white
The moon had cast across the river's breast,
The shores in shadows clad,
The far-away, half-sad
Sweet singing of the whip-poor-will, all soothed our souls to rest.
You trusted I could feel
My arm as strong as steel,
So still your upturned face, so calm your breath,
While circling eddies curled,
While laughing rapids whirled
From boulder unto boulder, till they dashed themselves to death.
Your splendid eyes aflame
Put heaven's stars to shame,
Your god-like head so near my lap was laid--
My hand is burning where
It touched your wind-blown hair,
As sweeping to the rapids verge, I changed my paddle blade.
The boat obeyed my hand,
Till wearied with its grand
Wild anger, all the river lay aswoon,
And as my paddle dipped,
Thro' pools of pearl it slipped
And swept beneath a shore of shade, beneath a velvet moon.
To-night, again dream you
Our spirit-winged canoe
Is listening to the rapids purling past?
Where, in delirium reeled
Our maddened hearts that kneeled
To idolize the perfect world, to taste of love at last.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Summer dreams.
Soft warm sand felt beneath my feet,
Summer days...lost to a comfortable heat.
Sea breezes chilling with shades of a palm tree,
gentle waves crashing....into a sun soaked sea.
Bluest of sky's...filling long days,
summer warmth beaming...soothing hot Sun rays.
poem by James Urwin
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The Creators Touch
The Creators Touch
His hand is in everything
In the air we breathe with all living things
The sky's that rain down upon thee
Into the oceans deep and blue
He brush's the colours
Of Mother Natures easel of life
That paints into life
The birds the bee's
Along with the beauty
Of the flowers and tree's
He writes the songs
That the birds sing in the morn
He sways the trees
As the winds rush through thee
He's the droplet of snow
Up high on the mountain top
The raging white rapids
Down a mountains stream
The sun and moon
That shines down upon me
The Creator touch's all
He is everything
poem by Kaila George
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Moon
I'm a frozen river.
Moon, the heavenly
body is leaving now,
taking off her clothes.
Now I'm melting, cracking,
breaking up inside, and swelling
into rapids over rocks and leaning trees.
Once again it's morning here at
Crazy Woman Creek.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Let's Dance
You’ve heard it all before
But tonight the wild wind
Flips the blue moon from hair
Undone turns a vipers tail
Around my tongue: The wolves howl
At my lips to your pale throat,
Your beat rushing through my ears
You’ve heard it before,
But tonight, let’s dance.
poem by Maya Grant
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In Fancy The Song Of The Dipper
In fancy the song of the dipper I hear
The river he sings in to my thoughts are near
With snow white breast and mostly dark brown
As he sing on a rock midst the rapids he bobs up and down
A beautiful to look at bird with a plain enough song
Once seen and once heard him you never get wrong
As birds go one might say a stranger to renown
He lives and breeds in the river that flows by the town
'Tis part of his natural duty for him to help his dipper wife
For to raise their young dippers for a river life
And in Seasons from now when the life from him long gone
The song of the dipper in the river lives on
In fancy I can hear him singing today
And the river he sings in from me doesn't seem far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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What We Need
a vent.
something windy like a fan.
an orifice
an exit, oh not yet,
let us say just an opening
where we can enter
and still be together
okay, you want an exit,
let us do it
open it, i will get out
first, then you go next,
i will not wait for you
i am rushing this
and you are rushing to
where?
i too, don't know.
cool.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Walk On Memory Lane
To me a walk on memory lane can be a thing of joy
To visit my uncle Dan and aunty Mary in their home in Lisnaboy
I could call there at anytime and a welcome i would find
The past it seems to stay with us in the memory of the mind,
The little brown lark carolled as upwards he did fly
Above the old coarse meadow on an evening in July,
I am on a walk on memory lane and how lovely to hear and see
The red breasted robin singing on branch of an alder tree
It all seems very real to me not a vision in a dream
The white breasted dipper singing in the rapids of the stream
On it's way to the river babbling as it does flow
Through meadows and through rushy fields and by many a hedgerow
I walk the fields of Lisnaboy when I'm on memory lane
And i visit Dan and Mary it is like old times again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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