Rivers of Russia
Arctic Rivers race down the tundra,
the taiga, the steppes, become the long rivers,
the Volga, the Dnieper, the Don— then push on
to pour themselves into the Black Sea—
sometimes flowing iridescent silver with moonlight,
sometimes brown, sometimes green, sometimes dark gray or blue,
sometimes incandescent red with blood, sometimes pure gold.
This poem is in the book Diamonds in a Stony Field
by Alla Renée Bozarth, copyright 2011. All rights reserved.
poem by Alla Renee Bozarth
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Dance Then to Everything
Music is everywhere
music is in sound and
music is in silence
Therefore I dance
to silence I dance
to tears I dance
to laughter I dance
to groans and moans
I dance to Rachmaninoff
and Bach, to Beethoven
and Dylan, to Carole King
and Marvin Gay and to everything
composed, harmonious and played
Dance then to birdsong and waterfall,
to the spring scented forest and garden,
to snow and the rain, to river and ocean,
with desert or mountain, I dance
For the dancing mind can dance
forward or backward in time and space also,
indeed to outer and inner dimensions uncommonly known
I dance with my eyes,
I dance with one hand,
I dance clapping,
I dance with one foot
or one shoulder, my hair
dances with wind
I dance to poetry while hearing it,
I dance to poetry while reading it
aloud to the tree for whom I wrote it
As I dance around the lovely thing
with my hand or arm encircling
As Rumi danced his grief
and finally his joy around
the cool, smooth, sacred stone
until he warmed it with longing~
As Rumi danced around the pillar of loss
when his beloved teacher and friend
called Shams, The Sun, had died—
He danced to call back the Light
from the belly of darkness
that had swallowed the sky,
as now the Sufi dance after him
For Dance is the Song of the Body,
and Songs are the Dance of the Voice~
as both Move, Utter, Outer the Soul
I dance to the gospels
I dance to the psalms
I dance to a friend
I dance mostly and always
to God
Don’t let the limitations
of your body deter you,
dance with your mind,
dance with your soul
Feel free to join me
across great distances
of space and time
and dance on your own
Dance all by yourself
so no one will know
but you and the Beloved,
in whatever form you
experience the Beloved,
and let the Beloved
dance with You
This poem is in the book The Frequencies of Sound
by Alla Renée Bozarth, copyright 2011. All rights reserved.
poem by Alla Renee Bozarth
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A Highly-Colored Romance
Ben Green was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,
Though he had oft been blue.
He loved a girl named Olive Brown,
Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,
Was a decided blonde.
"A Highly Colored Romance."
A pink of rare perfection she,
The belle of all the town;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,
Instead of Olive Brown.
And she loved Ben, and said that nought
Should mar their joy serene;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,
'Twould surely be to Green.
She kept her word in-violet,
And vowed, ere she was wed,
Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green.
When Green she'd be well read.
But, ah! her young affections changed
To Gray, a Southern fellow;
And Green turned white the news to hear,
Though first it made him yell, oh!
Says he, " How can you lilac this,
When you vowed to be true?
I'll take your fine young lover, Gray,
And beat him till he's blue."
Then Olive Brown to crimson turned,
And said, "Do as you say:
The country long has wished to see
'The Blue combined with Gray.'"
Ben Green to purple turned with rage,
And black his brow as night;
While on the cheek of Olive Brown
The crimson changed to white.
"O cruel Olive Brown!" says Ben,
"I've been dun-brown by you:
Let this 'Grayback' his steps retrace,
And take Greenback, — oh, do!"
Poor Olive Brown, what could she say,
To sea-Green look so sad ?
And so she rose, and said to him,
"I'll go and ask my dad."
. . . .
The years rolled by: Ben's raven locks
For silver did not lack;
And Olive, with her hair of gold,
Was glad she took Greenback.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Reading poetry on the Web
i wade through rivers
of diamonds, rubies,
plain rocks and stones
that criss cross the world
picking up gems
poetry on the web
i wade through rivers
to get to international souls
sacred rivers of all kinds
ganges, indus, nile, mekong
chao phraya
filled with stones
heads of all kinds,
round, flat, sharp,
black, white, green,
brown, yellow, big and small,
sand, silt, gravel,
between them when lucky
precious gems turn up to greet me
fishes help spread the magic
liven up nooks and corners
some sprint, some plain swim
among these, the best rivers
are crystal clear,
a dazzling picture of sky, heaven
taking the breath of god
as they whisper a poetic tale
immediately marked in gold by the morning sun
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Grass Is Blue
Ive had to think up a way to survive
Since you said its over
Told me good-bye
I just cant make it one day without you
Unless I pretend that the opposites true
Rivers flow backwards
Valleys are high
Mountains are level
Truth is a lie
Im perfectly fine
And I dont miss you
The sky is green
And the grass is blue
How much can a heart and a troubled mind take
Where is that fine line before it all breaks
Can one end their sorrow
Just cross over it
And into that realm of insanitive bliss
Theres snow in the tropics
Theres ice on the sun
Its hot in the arctic
And crying is fun
And Im happy now
And Im glad were through
And the sky is green
And the grass is blue
And the rivers flow backwards
And my tears are dry
Swans hate the water
And eagles cant fly
But Im alright now
Now that Im over you
And the sky is green
And the grass is blue
And I dont love you
And the grass is blue
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ibrahim II
You are better off today than yesterday,
But tomorrow comes and it will be worst off!
Oh Ibrahim my lover! ! This is how the world is,
And we have to face the realities around us at all times.
Of the water which was turned into blood!
Of the River Nile which was turned into frogs!
But, there is One Law for us all;
Yes, One Law for the native born and for the stranger.
The book of war!
The book peace,
The book of joy,
The book of love,
The book of romance,
The book of rivers;
And like the first moon of the year! !
However, all the rivers that flow ends up to the sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Injuries...Self-Inflicted
Injuries…Self-Inflicted
Date: September 4,2011
And while I swim in rivers
Deep as my desire
The fickle flame that warms me
Cannot sustain my fire
A' clinging to the chalice
To wring out every sip
A poison to my spirit
But ambrosia to my lips
I'm haunted by the flavors
Drip, sweetened from the vine
I relish in the torment
And hunger for the wine
This burden, my obsession
Tears loose in bitter flames
To scald the tender longing
That welds me to this game
************************************* ********
Copyright © 2011 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
poem by Leria Hawkins
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SonnetX
In my Democracy a diamond's the same as an agate
So long as you section it, buff it, wet it
You'll be amazed at the light that pierces through it
As long as you never actually have to view it.
Why would any one venture to pay retail
While these little gems are everywhere for sale?
Love tropes, they say, before diamonds, were garnets
Purple and costly red as wine and blood
Why should diamonds not concede to agates
Which not infrequently have spots of red
Amid the green and brown and yellow-gray?
If I can get some funding, I will say
Agates are the new diamonds-and with this market plan
I shall die a very wealthy man.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Jazzonia
Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve's eyes
In the first garden
Just a bit too bold?
Was Cleopatra gorgeous
In a gown of gold?
Oh, shining tree!
Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
In a whirling cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Mountain Peak
We came together on the highest mountain on this earth.
As years went by we separated into rivers
from the tears this mountain cried.
We all fell into different rivers flowing though
forests, rocks, and waterfalls.
No matter what season we came across
we continued flowing.
We are rivers that started in the mountains,
and rivers that separated as we went through
many waterfalls.
Sometimes we travel together,
and other times we travel alone.
Always remember that these same rivers
that travel many miles through the earth
are once again together when it reaches its final destination
the “Ocean”
So, rivers that started up high in the mountains
and then separated are united
again as a family.
poem by Felix Lugo
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On the wings of youth…
Mayfly if ever an angel be
It was you and me
Pirouetting in the air so free
Above a cobweb lea…
If ever a child had azure blue wings
As blue as a periwinkle sky
Then sweet tenderfoot, swimming
It must have been you and I.
Down amongst the meadows
Where the green-woods wend:
Down amongst the willows
Where the reeds draught an end.
There I came a dancing…
A roving like a bee
With honey-dew brown eyes,
By the rivers spree!
Soft as ephemeral moonlight
You took wing with me
Oh mayfly green and tender bright
True angels once were we!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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My Testament
When I am dead, bury me
In my beloved Ukraine,
My tomb upon a grave mound high
Amid the spreading plain,
So that the fields, the boundless steppes,
The Dnieper's plunging shore
My eyes could see, my ears could hear
The mighty river roar.
When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears
Into the deep blue sea
The blood of foes ... then will I leave
These hills and fertile fields --
I'll leave them all and fly away
To the abode of God,
And then I'll pray .... But till that day
I nothing know of God.
Oh bury me, then rise ye up
And break your heavy chains
And water with the tyrants' blood
The freedom you have gained.
And in the great new family,
The family of the free,
With softly spoken, kindly word
Remember also me.
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by John Weir
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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Candy sweet kisses on rivers of red
Deep, and dark
the inner recesses of my mind
blood flows like rivers
on lolipop islands
Candy sweet kisses
..s so deep
you could swim in
the rivers
of my arms.
And i live there now
And i pray there now
for god to come take me
and make me whole
For i am shattered
And broken
and frayed
And i want to see the light again
So dark
So dark
Are the candy sweet kisses
on rivers of red.
poem by Katherine H. Belle
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Have hues a role?
Grass lends beauty to ‘green’;
Tooth lends beauty to ‘white’;
Sky lends beauty to ‘blue’.
So do lips to ‘red’.
Red lips excel red blood;
Brown horse excel brown ass;
Yellow gold excels yellow brass.
So does black hair, black skin.
Black hair yields to white hair;
Green meadow yields to gray one.
Brown curls yield to fallen leaves
So does tender skin to one wrinkled.
The stuff rules; the merit rules;
The young rules. Have hues a role?
13.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The bird of paradise
The King of Saxony bird of paradise is a male
Black and yellow with brown iris, aqua-green mouth, grey legs,
With two enamel-blue brow-plumes. It seems to be so frail
Guarding its grey- brown female with chicks emerging from eggs
This wonderful bird is named in honor of King Albert.
A German king, devoted to military affair
Re-building Saint Afra School in Meissen like an expert
Proclaiming constitutional his monarchical chair.
He was a great Knight of the Order of the Golden Fleece
And a Grand Cross of the Order of the Tower and Sword
Arbitrating between the claimants of Lippe for peace
He was a very wise king constantly moving forward.
Birds of paradise or Pteridophora alberti
In montane forests of New Guinea guard and stay
Their diet consists of fruits, arthropods and sweet berries
And they're hunted by natives for ceremonial play.
Bird of paradise, Lophorina superba, is small
The male has iridescent green crown and erectile cape
Preparing its '' dance floor'', it attracts females with a call
Hopping in frantic circles having elliptical shape.
The competition amongst males for mates is very fierce
Because they do not have as many females as they need
It's like a bizarre courtship when their songs the silence pierce
Curious females approach but they're not prepared to cede.
Magnificent bird of paradise has complex plumage
The polygamous male owns incandescent yellow wings
Blue-green feathers and the yellow mantle for its image,
Its olive-brown female laying two creamy yellow eggs.
Wilson's bird of paradise male is very red and black
Its head is naked blue with black double cross pattern on it.
With green mouth, blue feet and the yellow mantle on its neck,
It has a brownish female and eats small pieces of fruit.
So red iris has the Twelve-wired bird of paradise male.
It has yellow plumes and twelve blackish wire-like filaments,
While Blue Birds have wire-like feathers emerging from end- tail
Being sexually dimorphic they live on some islands.
Lesser bird of paradise male has an emerald throat,
Those polygamous birds perform courtship displays in leks.
Even to their females themselves do not need to devote
In their nests, their females usually lay two pinkish eggs.
Carolus Linnaeus was named legless paradise bird
Skin being prepared without feet for Europe by natives;
People thought birds were visitors from Heaven but 'Surprise! '
They heard that birds can touch the earth and they were so naive
MCN: CE65W-7U2JW-EGQJA
© copyright Fri Feb 04 00: 31: 58 UTC 2011 - All Rights Reserved
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is Your True Love Tonight
Oh, where is she now, your true love, my son?
And where might she be, when the night is done?
She's gone to the field, where the moonlight's in sight
I'll see her in the morning, when the sunshine is bright
Oh, where is she now, your true love, my son?
And where might she be, when the day is done?
She's gone to the tree, where the fruit is so sweet
I'll see her in the evening, when we sit down to eat
Oh, where is she now, your true love, my son?
And where might she be, when the winter is done?
She's gone to her mother, who's ill and so weak
I'll see her in the springtime, when we bathe in the creek
Oh, where is she now, your true love, my son?
And where might she be, when the days are done?
She's gone to her father, who cares for the sheep
I'll see her by the river, when we lie down to sleep
Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved
poem by Göran Gustafsson
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Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Negro Speaks of Rivers
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Negro Speaks Of Rivers
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stronger Through The Years
(ferry)
Through the undercover hour
Bad and bleak
To be brief - too much sorrow
And flesh is weak
No more feelings
No more tears
The rivers wide enough
Flowing stronger through the years
Silver lips - kisses borrowed
Glances steal
To quick - how they quiver
Too late theyre sealed
No more feelings
No more tears
The rivers wide enough
Flowing stronger through the years
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By The Rivers Dark
By the rivers dark
I wandered on.
I lived my life
In babylon.
And I did forget
My holy song:
And I had no strength
In babylon.
By the rivers dark
Where I could not see
Who was waiting there
Who was hunting me.
And he cut my lip
And he cut my heart.
So I could not drink
From the river dark.
And he covered me,
And I saw within,
My lawless heart
And my wedding ring,
I did not know
And I could not see
Who was waiting there,
Who was hunting me.
By the rivers dark
I panicked on.
I belonged at last
To babylon.
Then he struck my heart
With a deadly force,
And he said, this heart:
It is not yours.
And he gave the wind
My wedding ring;
And he circled us
With everything.
By the rivers dark,
In a wounded dawn,
I live my life
In babylon.
Though I take my song
From a withered limb,
Both song and tree,
They sing for him.
Be the truth unsaid
And the blessing gone,
If I forget
My babylon.
I did not know
And I could not see
Who was waiting there,
Who was hunting me.
By the rivers dark,
Where it all goes on;
By the rivers dark
In babylon.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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