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Where the wind ruffles my hair
The rain kisses my lips
The sunrays embraces to keep me warm
And the serenity makes me break into a song
Or just a simple humming and wiggling
Where I can lie on the grass to catch my breath
And for hours watch the birds fly
And watch the kids play
Where the innocence once more beats in me
That I run up to them just to taste the shear joy in playing
Where I can spontaneously plunge into a river and then decide Whether to drink it's purity or drown in it's abyssal depth
Or just watch my reflection on its glistening surface
And drift off to distant thoughts with the shepherd's kulning
Where the farthest stars lead me to my deepest emotions
Where the silence of the dark night awakens my soul
There I'll make my bed
On the grass under the sky
And not sleep a wink
For I'll be already living in my sweetest dream
With its parched dreams,
beneath the zizzing sands,
the river waits for a surging swell
to take it to the labyrinths of a
new consciousness.

You choose your own course
when you crash into the
chasms of meaninglessness.

You hibernate to the still zone
trancing between words
when words fail to contain you.

As you flow through me,
you become the sacrarium
in the labyrinths of my consciousness
for me to diffuse in your soul’s stillness.
A touch we took, because each breath we wore, whispered yes, inside the searching.  So, we circled all our pride with warmth of reason, so we could keep from hurting.

We both smiled at those clouds of divine truth, spinning backwards as they dispensed.  Since an appetite for silence, fueled the moon and stars in this world, as our defense.

One storm caught a kiss we thought had touched the ground of breathtaking rivers to the sea. Yet, neither of us cried out in fear or yearned to fill the empty space, left for free.
Neva Flores Varga Copyright@09/17/18 - Changefulstorm Poetry
SeeBee 3d
Sitting at the river, watching, feeling, listening
The wind is gradually rising
Little egret wading
Heron on high alert
Arrows of ducks
Geese in straight lines
A pair of turtle doves perch together, nearby
I wish you were here
Perched with me
Holding hands
Silently Sharing
Renhui 6d
You went suddenly -- without a word
Days, hours, minutes, and more days

I no longer could see your loving face
So vibrant and serene
No longer could visit you at your elegant home
Chatting about anything and everything
No longer could call to hear you laugh
While driving on DC’s congested roads

You went suddenly -- without a word
Days, weeks, and soon to be months
Yet you left me so much
The spirit to achieve and always improve
10,000 details to check for a project no matter how small
Many memories of joy and meaningful work
Two decades of friendship
And a river-side home with glorious views

I did not know such grace, such love
Until you came to visit again
A small figure draped in silk
Over the river, the trees and peonies
An angel this time
-- Quietly in the moonlight
-- Across our window
A river spirit in bliss
Written to a dear friend
rob kistner Sep 12
(inspired by “Under Windsor Bridge” by Adolphe Valette, 1912)


dead calm envelops me

moist morning fog
adrift on the water
wraps 'round me
like a cool blanket

it muffles the sounds
of daybreak's industry

alone with my thoughts
and this stoic river
in peaceful privacy
under this resilient old bridge

the regrets of last night
dim and fade

this brief sanctuary
a soothing balm
so welcome
at the start of this heavy day


rob kistner © 2012
This is a poem of place, which I love to write. The writing always takes me there, so I visit and contemplate. It's a wonderful escape for me.
My sweet glowing moon,
Let us  float on your crescent spoon,
Baby and I , baby and I,
O'er the ocean's trail,
Where big ships sail.

My sweet glowing moon,
Let us ride on your crescent spoon,
Baby and I, baby and I,
O'er the hills  and o'er the vale
To catch fishes in the river and put it in a pail.

My  sweet  glowing moon,
Let us swing on your crescent
Baby and I , baby and I,
Give us your pleasant smile,
So baby and I go to sleep for a while.
Like a nursery rhyme for children.Hope it is loved.
Kora Sani Sep 11
how much
of your life
has been decided
for you?

by the passing faces
on sidewalks

all life travelers
traversing dual rivers

what is
what shouldn't be

how often
do you enter
If spirits can walk the earth after life ends,
Or even before, to soar in flights unhindered
By physics, let me dance then!
To reel, arms out, on a vivid green lawn
In a garden before a comfortable house,
Where lush flowers grow and summer reigns,
Touching rows of Constable trees that tower, emerald,
And violet-shadowed even at noon or painted
In twilight, soft before a rising moon.
I would skip over roads and find that field
That lies, protective, above the Connecticut,
Watching as it winds lazily northward.
Then, being sure that all is right,
That the corn is tall and full,
I would speed up to a rounded hill
Above a Victorian barn in Leyden,
Ten acres of rye grass for the cows.
I would stand at the summit and gaze
Far away, down the sleeping valley in its haze,
To the little towns and glittering in
The sun, my alma mater, towers
Of attempted wisdom, of spires and dreams.
Then I might then bathe in a little lake
Where I once romped with friends
After a wedding, nude and laughing
While puzzled farmers watched and leered.
As before I would flee to the river that wound
Down between the hills, splashing through
Pools in shade and sun, basking on smooth stone
Whose marbled veins glow in the canyon light,
Remnants of an ancient era, of pressure and time.
Then on I’d go, bounding from one hilltop to another,
Turning north from the cesium-laced Deerfield,
Passing Vermont’s border to stroll the streets
Of Brattleboro, Putney and Newfane.
I might find a canoe and glide up the West River,
Somehow floating above the rapids and dam,
To rest on the flat water as the sun sets,
Skimming lightly, watching the trout rise
To sip dancing insects or hear the splash
Of a bass as it flicks the surface with its tail.
And then I would sit with the ones I love,
Silently, breathing in the mist that rises
As the sun slips below the hills;
Sunset-colored, elliptical echoes
Catch the low swells like waving glass.
I would wait here until morning returns,
Not ready to leave this beauty or the world.
Reverie about the places I love.
acacia Sep 7
down to your toes
up to your eyes
you didn't seem like the woman
who hurt herself with cries for a sacrifice
though i am no judge, not god either,
i will place it upon myself to do just for you have sinned
the heart is weak but the flesh is weaker
and your flesh is considerably weak
against an edge and an impact and a hushed current
though, i'll never know where you drift to
i sure can feel the tides swell your pores
and the cool rush of the wind in your heart
and the locks of hair stuck to your nose
an incredible loss of clarity, this vignette
makes the trees look even more intense from here
with leaves filtering sunlight
and a light hits your eye
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