Under forest canopy:
Hippie kids, Hippie parents,
Hippie grandparents.

Culture of Saskatchewan
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culture_of_Saskatchewan
.
#hippie   #kid   #forest   #saskatchewan   #creek   #canada   #beryldov   #ness   #wikipedia   #canopy  
AVD
AVD
Oct 18, 2013

The wind is pulling my hair as I come to greet you.
The shades of green all around my eyes.
And the chirping noise that gets louder and louder as I come near.
I could lay on your soft ground for ages and that feeling will still be there.
The feeling that I'm going to help you get away from the people that ignore your worries.
And as the leaves fall down
The sun rays open my eye lids
I wake up to your smile.
A smile that shows me kindness
That shows me friendly-ness
After this, I knew I have never seen beauty so pure like this before.

Flowers creek
Meggie D
Meggie D
Jul 3, 2013

Flowers creek
against the pressure from
The wind,
Subtle melody
Erupting in a
Brilliant burst of
Melancholy. Seldom does the
Breeze go
Noticed. These bones
Will soon begin
To rust, laid
Placidly atop the aching
Blades of grass, soothed only
By the
Chanted promises of
A bitter tongue
Safely lodged within the moist mouth of
Godless head
Of
Thick
Tangled
Hair.
Abrupt reconciliation realigns
The spine as the
Soil remains ever
Inviting.

Julia Ann
Apr 26, 2011

Influenced by the Creekology*

The beer cans decorate my dulled land.  I’m jaded by the un-bothered creekers.  Cigarette butts speckle my ground like confetti on New Year’s Eve in NYC.  

I flow rapid as I turn corners, slapping against rocks, carrying the beer cans of those too arrogant to bring back their own trash; allowing my minnows to swim in and out cutting their fins and scales on the aluminum forcing their crimson into my waters.

The tulips and daffodils that have been planted for me try to bud every spring, but are normally stomped down by visitors who stumble their way back missing my trails and making a ruckus waking my flowers from their slumbers.

At least I have my dedicated creekers.  The ones who actually care about me and organize the cleanups, even though they know it was not them who left their old cups to fester in the sun.  Nor were they the group that sharpied my rocks with names and poorly drawn pictures.

I have been here for years to assist the new college kids to finding their batch of friends.  I have seen many come and go but I have always taken the satisfaction of knowing I am helping  young adults when they need a place to be left to their solitude.
I watch the poets drinking their beers jotting down their thoughts it notebooks that will never be read, the photographers that dip around me and take their pictures.  

They hang around and listen as the warm breeze rustles the earth around me until the time comes where they pack up Their trash in their back packs and turn to walk up my paths, just leaving the other filth behind them.

And for that, the ones who appreciate me
are even still

no better 
than anyone else.

The creek stinks;
Hailey P
Hailey P
Feb 25      Feb 26

The river flows,
The creek stinks;
Both are canals,
But a creek is much narrow.
And the river and the sea,
are connected,
The creek?
Most of the time it really,
really stinks.

Pretty little creek,
Marian
Marian
Nov 15, 2012

Pretty little creek,
Thy beauty I always seek,
Sweet creek I love you!

~Marian~

By the creek at Night
Marian
Marian
May 14, 2013

Lacy ferns growing
By the creek at Night
The creek is forever flowing and singing
Especially tonight
A full Moon hangs in the sky
And the Fairies are dancing in the Enchanted Forest
And as the clouds are passing by
I'm laying down by this creek getting my rest
'Til all at once I fall asleep
And my head is flooded with the most pretty dreams
That forever are with me while I sleep
By this Enchanted Creek
Where the Fairies often are
Hushing the world to sleep
Telling them to wish upon a star
Then go to bed and fall asleep without a peep
Lacy ferns growing
By the creek at Night
The creek is forever flowing and singing
Especially tonight
I'm laying here dreaming the hours away
I've stepped into a whole new world of sunshine
I've stepped into a whole new world and I'm going to stay
I've stepped into a whole new world that is mine
I'm laying by this creek getting my rest
'Til all at once I fall asleep
And my head is flooded with the most pretty dreams
That are forever with my while I sleep

~Marian~

at the bottom of my creek
tracey g
tracey g
May 3      May 3

so you can be the flaw
in this poem
the inconsistent melody
word that doesn't rhyme

a lover and a dreamer
but never the seed
in my ripened apple

or the heart that lies
at the bottom of my creek
like a smooth grey stone

Their farms lay either side of a creek
David Lewis Paget
David Lewis Paget
Nov 2, 2013      Nov 3, 2013

There wasn’t a lot of love to lose
Between Joe Brown and Brent,
Their farms lay either side of a creek
That now lay dry, and spent,
They used to talk in the early days
When they had no axe to grind,
But Brent came back with a bride one day
Who had been on Joe Brown’s mind.

But Joe was slow in the love-me stakes
While Brent was a bit more flash,
He’d cut on in at the Farmer’s Ball
To the girl with the bright blue sash,
While Joe walked off to sit on his own
And wait for a second chance,
But Brent hung on and dazzled the girl
Right through to the final dance.

The courtship took a matter of weeks
Then they came new-wed to the farm,
And Joe was down inspecting the creek
As Brent showed Jill round the barn,
There wasn’t a fence between the two
They used the creek as a line,
‘The land to the west is yours,’ said Joe,
‘The land to the east is mine.’

The balance wasn’t so equal now
With a new bride over the way,
Joe would have married the girl himself
But hadn’t been game to say.
He soon withdrew to his farmhouse, sat
And wallowed in his despair,
He’d been so set on marrying Jill
There was nobody else out there.

The Autumn rains came on with a flood
And the creek had begun to flow,
Brent stayed at home with his new found love
Not even a thought of Joe,
While Joe lay plotting to get him back
He’d teach him to be so flash,
And walked on up to the top of the creek
With a shovel and old pick-axe.

He felled a tree, and shovelled some stone
To block off the old creek line,
Watched the water form in a lake
Then rested, taking his time.
He chopped a hole in the old creek bank
The water washed it away,
And formed a new creek bed to the west,
And wondered what Brent would say.

When Jill got up at two in the morn
The tide was flooding on through,
In through the back door of their house
And cutting the house in two,
Brent went roaring up to the hill
Astride of his old half-track,
‘Have you gone crazy, Joe,’ he cried,
‘You’d better be putting it back!’

‘Too late, too late,’ said his surly mate
‘The creek is forming a bed,
And anything to the east of it
Is mine, the agreement said!
So move your things to the west of the place
For the east of the house is mine,
The creek that’s flowing right through the house
Will be the dividing line.’

Brent went muttering back to the house
And divided the house in two,
He shored up all the rooms to the west
As the water came tumbling through,
While Joe sealed off the east of the hall
Made sure that his rooms were dry,
While Jill looked over the barricade
At Joe, and started to cry.

‘Why have you done this thing to us,
What did we even do?’
‘He cut me off at the Farmers Ball
In the course of a dance with you.
You never gave me another chance,
I was waiting to propose.’
‘But I would never have married you,
Brent was the man I chose!’

Brent went over and burnt the house
On the other side of the creek,
There wasn’t water to fight the flames
So it smouldered there for a week,
The farms are empty and vacant now
Two creek beds, dry as a bone,
With Brent and Jill now living in Nhill
And Joe in the scrub, alone!

David Lewis Paget

Joanne Fuda
Joanne Fuda
May 3, 2013      May 4, 2013

Silence thou art wise still waters run deep under the crawling sun upon this gentle earth lay hope. Sweet soul be not afraid of thy heart..

 
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