En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sit By The River

Sit By the River

The dripping tap, ticking clock, the long nights
when unwanted memories surface on gloomy
waters, and my past creeps nearer and future
hides in a Saragossa mist, together they push
me nearer a non existence. Sad morning light,
rain falls like an old man’s tears when all ships
have sailed and he is stranded on the island he
shares with snakes and scorpions knowing they
will soon eat him. Driftwood in the sea of life,
I never was a master of my destiny, but I can do
a last brave thing, walk into the Savannah night
and eaten by lions or, with my luck, wolfed by
hooting hyenas, so I will stay where I’m, my
last act of cowardice, sit by the river and wait.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Herakleitos I

Entendu! Understood!
One cannot step
into the same river twice.
Fresh waters
are eternally
rushing in.
Who passed this way?
And when?

Wait!
Pond river ocean
all are filled
with eternal waters.
In tasting these,
is Liberation not found?

And yet the ancient Dragon sits
in a dried out rock pool
singing for rain!
She has burned her lover's letters.
Will her lover's tears suffice?

And the river is jealous,
resentful of bridges,
imprisoned in pipes
and drainage systems.

Even Neptune rages
with his trident
against the volcano
slyly plotting
under the seabed;
impotently chokes
with pollution,
hungry and overfished.

The gods themselves

have traded eternity
for the ticking of a cosmic clock
which crawls its way
towards the end of the kalpa.

For an alms bowl
of memories.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Nearer my God to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Tho' like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I'll be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

There let the way appear,
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy be given,
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Or if, on joyful wing
Cleavihg the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

poem by Sarah Flower Adams
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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We Can Only Live In The Here And Now

We cannot live in the future the future of us is ahead
And the past has gone forever though memories of it are not dead
We can only live in the here and now though the clock keeps ticking on
And the future we don't know about and the past forever gone
Some say we receive from life from life what is our due
Though many fall victim of bad circumstance so happens to be true
And though some will also tell you hard times are not meant to last
Those who do not have a future are those who have had a tragic past
The rags to riches stories to say the least are rare
Though lady luck can make of you an instant millionaire
Though of one who has won first division lotto I for one am not aware
For such extremely lucky people to say the least are rare
The future is ahead of us and the past forever gone
And we can only live in the here and now though time is ticking on.

]

poem by Francis Duggan
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Nearer, my God, to Thee.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me:
Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God! to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given:
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly:
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

poem by Sarah Flower Adams
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Down the River

Hark, the sound of it drawing nearer,
Clink of hobble and brazen bell;
Mark the passage of stalwart shearer,
Bidding Monaro soil farewell.

Where is he making for? Down the river,
Down the river with eager tread;
Where is he making for? Down the river,
Down the river to seek a 'shed'.

Where is his dwelling on old Monaro?
Buckley's Crossing, or Jindaboine?
Dry Plain is it, or sweet Bolaira?
P'raps 'tis near where the rivers join
Where is he making for? Down the river.
When, oh when, will he turn him back?
Soft sighs follow him down the river,
Moist eyes gaze at his fading track.

See, behind him his pack-horse, ambling,
Bears the weight of his master's kit,
Oft and oft from the pathway rambling,
Crops unhampered by cruel bit.
Where is he making for? Equine rover,
Sturdy nag from the Eucumbene,
Tempted down by the thought of clover,
Springing luscious in Riverine.

Dreams of life and its future chances,
Snatch of song to beguile the way;
Through green crannies the sunlight glances,
Silver-gilding the bright 'Jack Shay'.
"So long, mate, I can stay no longer,
So long, mate, I've no time to stop,
Pens are waiting me at Mahonga,
Bluegong, Grubben and Pullitop.

"What! you say that the river's risen?
What! that the melted snow has come?
What! that it locks and bars our prison?
Many's the mountain stream I've swum.
I must onward and cross the river,
So long, mate, for I cannot stay;
I must onward and cross the river,
Over the river there lies my way."

One man short when the roll they're calling;
One man short at old Bobby Rand's;
Heads are drooping and tears are falling
Up on Monaro's mountain lands.

Where is he making for? Down the river,
Down the river of slimy bed;
Where is he making for? Down the river,
Down the river that bears him, dead.

poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Misty River

This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River

poem by Aldo Kraas
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A Silent River Part2

Sunday is a holiday
I'do again
I'makes again
The memories of the silent river

I'come again
To remember
I'have ever love and miss
Here in the silent river, silent so silence

The memories of the silent river
I'felt his love again in this river
I'felt his longing again in this river
I'felt his kindly again in this river
And i'see again his softly face in the water
In this silent river, silent so silence

The silent river
Makes me remember
I'miss again
the silent river
Makes me to get so many things
Sitting nearby silent river

Come to me the lonely
Come to me the long yearning
Come to me the tears
Come to me the rain
The silent river keep my memories good

In the silent river, silent so silence
Save me now, from all the dejected
To spin around all back
This silence is geeting on my nerves
Were i'am so afraid
You were to be lost in thought
And all was lost to me
Here in the silent river, silent so silence

poem by Dwi utami
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The River of Me

I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go

That Cheyenne Bodie was ten feet tall
His voice so deep it filled a hall
And that was who I dreamed I’d be
Until Cochise came on the scene

There was ice on the river and ice on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me

The fields were full of cows, corn or wheat
The air was thick with bees and heat
The summer lasted all year long
I never knew til it was gone

And then of course came that high school girl
Her glances made my river swirl
More complex than the universe
I never knew what she’d do next

There was light on the river and light on the pond
And the singing nun sang on and on
There were trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And fish galore in the river of me

And up we soared towards the sky
Through songs and dancing by and by
My waterfalls and waves ran high
For just the winking of an eye

And in the distance the quiet sea
was waiting on the river me
And on the banks the weeds grew tall
Where rusting leaves began to fall

Now there’s night on the river and night on the pond
And the singing nun is long since gone
There are trees on the river bank, cliffs by the sea
And memories in the river of me

I launched myself on the river me
Way back when I was two or three
I sailed out through the wall of snow
Beneath the bridge where all kids go

poem by Jim Hogg
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Battle at the Lomba River

That night guns roared
all around us everywhere
and the field was acrid
with the smell
of the man made judgement day.

Howitzers flung their projectiles
miles high into the sky
flying by past the horizon
like glowing stars.

Tanks and armoured cars
crunched, raced on
over trees, anthills and almost anything
coughing death left and right
through flaming barrels

and some lions, leopards, hyenas,
jackals, suricates, scorpions
and snakes in the veldt
thought that this night
the world will come to an end

and later still the world
went on like before
while man had a armistice
and then again another war.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Roll down, Long River (song)

Roll down, Long, Long River to the sea,
Call me, Long, Long River where I should be.
Sing me a lullaby
How to live and die.
Lark's song in the sky
Lets me survive…

Bring your mud mad waters to the East.
Are you tired, Long River, of the heartless lucky beasts?
Lonely tears and cries,
Cruel lies and crimes
You submerge as well,
You'll never tell…

Roll down, Long, Long River to the sea…
Call me, Long, Long River where I should be…
Roll down, Long, Long River…
Roll down, Long, Long River…
To the East…

poem by Galina Struchalina
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And the Waters Come Raging

And the waters come raging
like a month-long monsoon
spreading their fury in minutes
and seconds, making busy streets
of shops and houses into
deep sea of mud and graves.

And the waters come raging
like a giant thief in the night
unwanted, unexpected
stamping down on trees,
animals, cars and humans
flushing them out like
manure to a tunnel without light.

And the waters come raging
with the screams and cries
of the stranded on rooftops
the tears of those who cannot
save and find their loved ones,
the prayers of those who wait
until the fury of the waters
should calm down and subside.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Life Is A River

Life is a river
It is never the same
What we do know could never be changed
For what we do, we do blind
Not knowing if it would put us in a bind
Learning from our mistakes
Knowing regret
All will come
When we least expect
For a river flows
With such passion and force
We cannot change with our remorse
We will soon see our future unfold
For the good things we did
And the bad will unfold
For life is a river
We cannot change
Only do what we do
And wait for the pain
For soon the river will dry to an end
Unable to fix
Unable to mend
For life is a river
With a passion and force
But soon it will end
And end it course

poem by Peter Salgado
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By The Old Pagoda Anchorage [1926]

By the old Pagoda Anchorage they lay full fifteen strong,
And their spars were like a forest, and their names were like a song,

Fiery Cross
and
Falcon
there
Lay with
Spindrift
, doomed and fair,
And
Sir Lancelot
of a hundred famous fights with wind and wave:

Belted Will
and
Hallowe'en

With
Leander
there were seen,
And
Ariel
and
Titania
and
Robin Hood
the brave:

Thyatira
of the lovely name and proud
Thermopylae
,
By the old Pagoda Anchorage when clippers sailed the sea,
Racing home to London River -
Carry on for London River -
Crack her on for London River with her chests of China tea!

By the old Pagoda Anchorage (it's many a year ago!)
A sight it was to see them with their decks like drifted snow,
And their brasses winking bright,
And the gleaming gold and white
Of the carven kings and maidens on each slim and soaring bow,
And the high and slender spars
Humming shanties to the stars,
And the hulls whose speed and staunchness are a dead man's secret now -
The ships so brave and beautiful that never more shall be,
By the old Pagoda Anchorage when clippers sailed the sea,
Racing home to London River -
Crack her on for London River -
Carry on for London River with her chests of China tea!

By the old Pagoda Anchorage the clippers lie no more,
There is silence on the river, there is quiet on the shore,
And the silted channels seem
Still to murmur as in dream
Of the tea ships in their glory, lifting sea-ward on the tide,
All the strong and fair and fleet,
By those shores that used to meet,
And the valiant master mariners that walked their decks in pride,
By the old Pagoda Anchorage when clippers sailed the sea,
Logging fourteen on a bowline, ay, and seventeen running free,
Racing home for London River -
Crack her on for London River -
Carry on for London River with her chests of China tea!

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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A Heavy Rain

the rain falls heavily
at six o'clock in the evening
you are stranded in an
island of the city road
you have no umbrella
your car got stuck
with the flood and your
cell phone is dead

you have no plans
you think of the past.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ecce Ancilla Domini.

Behold the Handmaid of the Lord, be it done unto me according to Thy word.'
The Angelus

The bells from St. Mary's still rings in the twilight
though I am a million miles away
from my hometown in which I was raised.

I hear them this early evening,
somehow they ring out this end of day
that falls, lies, then drowns

into the waters off this big city river bridge
where I sit alone,
just thinking

across the river
Ophelia closes her shop
the books standing alone, now
in perfect attention
waiting to be held
waiting to be read

I understand the books

this river's light and its reflections hold me now
and that, that is good
like the light always seems to be
though its passing will silence
the mourning birds
deepening my melancholia
like the waters of this river....

still, for now
the light shines
as the Angelus Bells ring
the light dancing
across the waters of this wide river
(Mars and Venus ascending)

that sameness of light reflects
in the eyes, the smile of Ophelia
who closes the doors
on the books
in the shop
who wait to be held
who wait to be read
who wait to be understood

as we all do
or hope to
before the Angelus Bells
ring us out of our days....

poem by R. James Sterzinger
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They lost their way

A beggar is nearer to God
than a Monk, ego-less.
A bonded one is nearer to God
than a master, being not possessive..
A child is nearer to God
than an erudite, unprejudiced.
The so called ones lost their way to God.
07.11.2001, Pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The River Flows

The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers entwine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.

The river with the soft scent of a calm day
With the smell of clean—hanging—still—in the grey
And sweetness carried on the breath of morning
It caresses the river—the waters flowing.

The river—crystalline from winter melt
And sweet with the summer soon felt
It tastes of springtime—the season between
And flows the river—so blue and clean.

The river—its lazy trickle of water
The musical rhythm—the ocean’s daughter
It whispers and murmurs—a song of its own
Playing over and over—in continuous drone.

The river—so clear and cool
The water flows—the color like a jewel
Its soft arms embrace the shore
The river surging from the days before.

The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers in twine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.

poem by Kailey Jennings
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The Island

Alive in this island of seclusion
As my fearful eyes witness
The maelstrom multitude of the mighty waves
Placing my nation in deep peril
The tides of tyranny the tides of terror smashing into the shores
Tide after tide draws nearer and nearer out to destroy what I live for
Freedom and fraternity, peace and serenity
All in this island I adore
The waves ever-nearer, are out to fill
My island with things I abhor

poem by Mohammod Choudhury
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The Man Beside Me

now we are sailing on a
bamboo raft
floating on a silk river
bound to the other
side

except for the man
with a long bamboo pole
to touch the floor
and push us more

there is this man
beside me murmuring
his face is covered
by the shadow of his
big straw hat

the natives respect
him thinking that he
is god sent
knowing the words of
the mountain gods
who give them rain
after the drought

he chatters the song
of the cicadas
he murmurs the heaves
of the rain
finally he stops and
hands in the silence
of the rocks
that protrude in the
middle of the river

the waters rise
flood rages on
and i begin to hear
another song
of the incoming storm

then we arrive at the other
side of the river
this time we have become
one in the fold of the
fury asking the protection
of the mountain's belly

the morning news shall
tell about two men who
are fuming the seeds of
discontent of the plains
and the city

we have no names here
just coincidences

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Down On The River

Down on the river it's an easy kind of life
Everybody here's feeling fine
No need to worry or get in a hurry
Nothing to spend but time
Light up a smoke and tell a few jokes
And pass the old jug around
We're gonna get right on a Saturday night
When the sun goes down
(CHORUS)
Down on the river
Down on the river
Just some old boys making a lot of noise
Down on the river
Down on the river
Down on the river
If anyone calls, tell them we're all
Down on the river
We'll go fishing by the light of the moon
And bait them hooks by hand
And early in the morning we'll take them off the line
Fry 'em all up in a pan
We gotta get home while we still got a job
or we'll have to answer to the man
And everybody knows though we gotta go
We'll be back again
(REPEAT CHORUS)

song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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