Bronze Glow Horizon - A Nonet
cool waters flow atop river rock
graceful waters caress the sea
gentle autumn winds flutter
seagulls take flight beyond
bronze-glow horizon
and land upon
sandy white
seaside
beach
©2011
poem by Lisa Arnold
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rivers Of Life
As tiny streams begin to flow, into larger rivers they shall grow.
Tiny streams of gentle peace, of waters that seem not to cease.
But as the rivers begin to grow, the deeper waters begin to flow.
In these deeper waters cease, the gentle flow of endless peace.
These rivers then snake the land, guided by God’s mighty hand.
And each and every river flows, as God directs the way it goes.
We too are guided by God’s hand, as we journey upon this land.
And God directs how life goes, gently guiding wherever it flows.
Coursing through all of our life, there are rivers filled with strife.
But in a river filled with grief, there are currents of gentle relief.
All the temporal rivers of strife, flow to an ocean of Eternal Life.
Where we’ll find eternal relief, from the turbulent waters of grief.
All the waters we pass through, God beforehand always knew.
And He will be right at your side, even when in the deepest tide.
This He told us so we knew, deeper waters He’d see us through.
So when we’re in a rough tide, God will see us to the other side.
The troubled waters that we see, will all end one day in Eternity.
The ending of this troubled life, is the Hope for all in Jesus Christ.
As we enter the peace of Eternity, when His Blessed face we see.
So believe today in Jesus Christ, and you will inherit Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©11/2005)
Waters Of Scapa Flow
Seagulls fly low over the waters
of Scapa Flow
where giant warships lie sleeping
in the waters far below.
At the end of the First World War
the Germans gathered their ship in line
and the scuttled them.
Rather than hand them over
to the victors of the war.
Now the mighty warships sleep soundly
with the fish deep blow
in the waters of Scapa Flow.
6 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Misty Haze
Misty blue haze, rise above the oceans, green waves
Loves seeds, entangle seaweed, washed ashore
Salty waters flow, to carve its sandy caves
Water glistens, loves silhouettes, dare to dance
Cool green waters, foam to white, a gentle seduction
Nature's music fills the air, a pure sweet romance
Suns glow, bodies external heat, passion's exotic blaze
Oceans exquisite temptation, salted lust upon our lips
Love's eyes locked in pleasure, a gentle hypnotic gaze
Body's silken skin, internal heat, together life's entwined
Foamy Waters, heightened sensations, a tantalizing Pleasure
Loves unforgettable passion, scribes a ocean delicate line
soft wind, gentle whispers, kissed away our fear
Nature's lust, loves desire, birds sing, body exotic bliss
Nether can resist, let passion sounded, for all to hear
poem by Daughter Of A Cracked Mind
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Ships Passing In Night Born
ships are sailing upon turn tide flowing river waters
light is dance happy mellow yellows closing long day
soon sunset will add flame reds fingers yellow gold
sun sets sinks into still sea upon horizon home shores
dust light fades shadows creep in stealth murky images
suddenly black dawns night deep darkness speaks in glory
starlight sparkles upon enchanted waters river ebbs flows
passage across bar out into ocean waves rocks emotions
soon short journeys made upon ocean waters salts senses
watch shoreline beach grey sands invisible stretch wet away
waters dark painted ocean oil black sparkles in flow waves
beach sands perfume night with residue heat breeze vapours
poem by Terence George Craddock
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White Water
The white tiger went on his way
To where he had to go,
He'd suffered the heat of the day,
Now sought where waters flow...
And oh what joy as he walked in,
What wholesome sweet relief,
As cooling water soothed his skin...
Pure joy beyond belief...
With gentle grace he swam a while
And ripping waters trailed
As if with magic to beguile...
Each time, it never failed...
There was a certain mystery,
A miracle at least,
A wistful end to misery
That soothed this savage beast...
And when his blood was cool once more,
It now was time to leave...
And so he swam to walk ashore,
The heat no more to grieve...
White water comes from waterfalls
Then flows into a stream...
And to this day, he still recalls
God's gift as though a dream...
(July 2011/The poem is based on the
magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford
called 'White Water'.)
poem by Denis Martindale
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Two Weeks Into September
Two weeks into September the leaves begin to brown
In the groves and in the Town Park of in and near Millstreet Town
And soon the redwing thrushes in the old fields will be seen
When the gray frost of the cold morning does temporarily cloak the green,
Two weeks into September by the mountains far away
Few singing birds at daybreak do sing to greet the day
Yet in my flights of fancy i hear the jackdaws call
And i hear the robin singing in the cool days of the Fall
With a tongue that can't stop babbling every night and every day
The old stream from the mountains to the river winds it's way
And on a rock in the river around where the rapid waters flow
The dark brown dipper is singing the one with breast as white as snow
And on the second week of September by the mountains far north of here
The shortening days are getting cooler in the Autumn of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beginning Starts Here
Standing on the beach at sunset
As the sun begins to disappear
Setting the horizon a fiery glow
We hold each others hand
Feel the salty freshness from the sea
Wafted over us by a cool evening breeze
Slowly we walk along the sands
Leaving the old world behind
Just you and me
Keeping an eye open
For any treasures
We might stumble across and find
The stillness of the twilight
As the sun sets in the west
The hiss of the gentle breaking waters
Arms around shoulders now
Getting closer to whisper in your ear
Because our beginning starts here
(15 April 2007)
poem by David Harris
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Do Swans smile...?
Do Swans smile? ...
Serenity the note of their bodies' flow
Their secret song but none will know
The water's black and moonbeam's white
Become kin with them in the darkened night
Immaculate white, graceful form
Beauty with placid majesty born
To behold the sight of a Swan in waters adrift
Is for a rose to bloom amidst a heart's mists
A sense of quiet joy, warmly does spring
Her presence in the world a smile does bring
She will move with winds and waters in grace
Though no smile may be seen on Her face
And the poem that is She will linger with whom ever the beholder
A Swan brings the smile of sweet lyric though not worn on Her.
poem by Dilshan Boange
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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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Song To A Seagull
Fly silly seabird
No dreams can possess you
No voices can blame you
For sun on your wings
My gentle relations
Have names they must call me
For loving the freedom
Of all flying things
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I came to the city
And lived like old crusoe
On an island of noise
In a cobblestone sea
And the beaches were concrete
And the stars paid a light bill
And the blossoms hung false
On their store window trees
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
Out of the city
And down to the seaside
To sun on my shoulders
And wind in my hair
But sandcastles crumble
And hunger is human
And humans are hungry
For worlds they cant share
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I call to a seagull
Who dives to the waters
And catches his silver-fine
Dinner alone
Crying where are the footprints
That danced on these beaches
And the hands that cast wishes
That sunk like a stone
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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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Summer Day on the Current River
for Robin on our 22nd anniversary
The placid Current River ever growing
brightly shimmers in the mid-day sun,
its azure waters cool and southward flowing.
Buried caverns through the limestone bring
fresh fountains pouring cold ablution
into the placid Current ever growing.
Around the bend another rushing spring
bursts forth to lend aquatic motion
to the crystal water’s southward flowing.
Cheerful floaters revel, tanned and smiling,
celebrating pleasant summer fun
upon the tranquil waters ever growing.
Gentle breezes set the leaves to rustling
while time stands still for everyone
along the peaceful river calmly flowing.
Shaded skies foretell the day’s conclusion
and a stellar fantasy has now begun
to dance above the moonlit river glowing:
its azure waters cool and southward flowing.
June 26, 2009
poem by Robert Charles Howard
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Memories Of The Beach
We went to the beach to get wind in our hair
to stand on the sand and simply to stare.
To let the surf tickle toes and dampen our clothes
as we played 'run away'
from the wavelets at play.
We went to the beach to climb on the rocks
find cool shallow pools where we'd take of our socks,
and peer in the waters to see what we might find
that the waves of the sea,
had last left behind.
We went to the beach to find coloured shells
the kind that when placed to our ears
make the sound of the ocean appear,
and gathered rocks that we never would find
in the places we walked,
for most of the time.
We went to the beach and all that, we did find
and the smell of the salt refreshed our tired minds.
I'll never forget the laughter and sounds
and the freedom to run,
on that wet sandy ground.
We went to the beach my family and I
and there we were one,
with the ocean, the beach, and the sky.
poem by David Taylor
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Shannon, Silver Goddess, Flow to Sea
Shannon, silver goddess, flow to sea
And life bring you with thee
To the oceans loud and proud swell
Thy waters come, as if from a well
From which all of Ireland drinks
Your waters pure, the midlands links
With the seas wide expanse
With whose waters yours joins in a dance.
And so, silver goddess, each mile you grow,
Blesses be your waters that into the Atlantic flow.
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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The Cool Living Waters
the cool living waters of spring
plunge in like a hot rod wanting pacification
flames of fire
cinders of desire
let us be calm and swim in the cool living waters
of divinity
nude we realize there is shame and we stand
and take the clothes of morality
then we rest under the cool shades of green trees
beside the brook
the winds from the mountains refresh what dimples we have
and we reflect upon the words of God
time moves and stays a while and this evil of boredom comes
idle moments craving for more
and then we stand and play under the sun
we run, we play, we sweat and those that watch us
begin to think
that we are sinners on the loose
cool living waters i ask
bathe and wash all their dirty minds
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn Is Coming
Autumn is coming
With gentle breezes
And howling winds
Autumn is coming
To change the colors
To red, brown, and gold
Upon the forest floor
Will lie the leaves of all the trees
When Autumn is here
When the days cool
And the nights grow long
With a bright silver moon in the sky
When the sleepiness sets in
We will sleep until
Winter breaks
Autumn is coming
poem by Autumn Winds
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A Night In Paris
Sailing down the river Seine
the breeze of the cool Paris air runs through my skin.
In the city of lights, love is in the air.
Kissing couples awash in that lovers glow
as the calm waters flow,
sounds of laughter fills the air.
On this starry night of unbridled bliss
there is nothing that’s amiss
in this ambience of serenity and happiness.
poem by Lyndon Murray
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Only On This Day...
For: J.L.
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
New York... Not In Autum
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.