I don't mind meandering,
But I prefer it with you.
For the river doesn't travel alone,
It's swept up in the beauty of the trees,
Or the glassy grains of the sand.
Whether our path is wavy and wanders,
Or straight to the point.
I will find a certain joy,
In each meandering moment I share with you.

Yesterday
The streets were wider
Now they're narrow
I would go
To the place of mystery
Is gone

Truths revealed
The wide-eyed wonder
Of a child has seen
Into the eyes
Of that distant dream
I had dreamt
The visions
Of a peaceful life

I live
The remnants
Of that child's
Dreams come true

Take my hand
And take my feet
On the paths
That no one
Has tread before
No one knows the pain
That dreamer's feel

I cross these rivers
Deep and wide
I search through
Valleys deep and wide
The other side starts
Where each new day begins

Now today
I will walk the streets
Of yesterday have passed
Into a new beginning
Is in what I see

From the bridges
On the rivers
That flow from yesterday
It's clear
That I am dreaming
My reality

Dreams are real
Make them happen
As a child
Plays the games
That are reality
At any age.

Run river, run wide,
Don't let them **** you, be free,
Run river, run long.

We are all rivers, you see.

Your own reflection is held by the fish you catch, at breeze point of day. At golden oaks Sunday sun.

At summer’s hold, a the chapel’s bell, heard, prayed, taught that…

THE SAND, fate, a stranded old dog, like myself. At early morning lunch, I hunt at rivers. And so my face washed by the glass like greens of water, watermelon.
We are rivers, this is mine, this is reflected by my memories and my torments.

atoned sinners, contrite heart

A book full of blood, washed up, up to her simmering feet, her lovely, tanned feet. The women I’ll forever hold my service too, and my heart hung at the museum for her, to remember devotion.

unspoils ungrateful, heals the lost.

Like a gun in the down LOW of whiskey barrel
O a gambler sombrero, who drinks sotol at the Pacifico of México. And walks by wine bodegas, not found, not lost, but searching. She somehow found me. By my river, her river, both our. You see, we are all rivers.

TIME is much more valuable, when you sort out your troubles with stories to tell…

In your eyes darling, I see:
Infinite beauty
Blooming flowers
Dancing butterflies
Singing birds
Moving rivers
Spring air
The Full moon
Twinkling stars

In your eyes darling, I see:
A cozy home
Soft heart
A Rainbow of hope
An Ocean of love
Fountain of determination
A Life boat,
Safe Shores

In your eyes darling,I see:
Sweet dreams
Warm sunshine
A new dawn
Fresh day
Thousands of smiles
Happy songs and
Enchanting nature

Hussein Dekmak

I feel
how you
are always
there, as
ripples
in rivers,
clouds
moving in
dreams
by the
window
as the
flight of
stars,
I am
here, in
your eyes
of the
lanterns
of heaven,
I dream
as a flower
dreams
under your
gaze, it
brings me
to tears,
I wish
for you
to know of
how the
rain of the
heart’s ocean
is the beautiful
depth of the
pain of love, so
rest upon
my wings,
we shall fly in
the sky, let us
soar beyond
this earthly
realm, with
feathers
of my
words
in the little
poems
written
all for
you,
forever.

(In memory of Norris Hickey 1935-2014)

Love of family and fly-fishing: twin tributaries flowed
into your heart like a braided river.
Paradoxically, a sociable man who preferred to be alone
on some braided river,
basking in the peace of the wilderness,
hearing only birdsong and the gentle whirr of the fly line,
its nylon whipping to where you hoped the fish would rise.
Patience comes easily in peaceful surroundings,
unlike waiting for the blessing of grandchildren.
Eventually rewarded with five blessings.
You always said what a lucky man you were.
I’m glad your luck held because you would weep to see
your precious braided rivers drying up down here,
****** dry by the farmers’ greed for white gold
and the threatened tarāpunga (Black-billed gulls)
getting their nests crushed by callous four-wheel drives.
It would be enough to make your big, generous heart burst.

© Andrew M. Bell