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Jack Aylward Oct 2015
Flipped in the oven sun, arched like a bow
They jumped one by one
As they found their own way through the thick foam
Of the falls of Shinn
Where the rushed and glided
Flying through the air
Like dolphins in the cool
Seas  of Firth Of Forth;
Trying to find home
As the ice broke free.

Sitting on the cold rock
I feel the slime,
I feel my face burn with stinging
Coldness from the water spray
As I watch them leap
Into freedom.
I also escape...
Drinking my souvenir whiskies
From my 1970's
Led Zeppelin satchel.

Above me people snap shots with their flash
Cameras
As they rise like the sun.
Children laughing and feeling happy
Except one who wants to go home;
My brother who wants to watch TV!

Right next to him was the most beautifulest girl
I've ever seen.
Rainbows were in her auburn hair
Burning with autumn sun,
Blossoming with winter snow drops.
Her hair was like the river itself.

Her eyes were as green as the four leaf
Clover I held in my hand.
Maybe I was lucky to be in love.

Her eyes for that very second floated into mine
As she smiled
And I smiled back.
God how much I wanted to kiss her.
She was utterly beautiful.
But in that very instant she was gone
And I was never to see her again....

In the autumn light
Showering shadows
Were starting to collect crystals
In the melted waters below
And the gold is beginning to spread
Upon the leaping salmon.

©Jack Aylward
I wrote this after I went on holiday to Sutherland in the Scottish Highlands when I was about 15. It was my summer school holidays!
Tom McCubbin Apr 2015
In my little-boy town up north
rivers were not yet plugged.
Poled men came down and watched
for silvered flashes.

Pink would be inside and make
a mouth want to melt it down.
The river power we would sing
Guthrie-style in grade school,

how rolling power and darkness
were misaligned, how wild
river and light was such empty logic,
and little boys learn to forget.

In school, where poor men send
the next young nation, a new
nation conceived in hydrodamnation
and simple salmon ******.

Little boy rain from Rockies
going near my door, and whipped
whirlpools spinning funnels of
quick deadening swim traps,

so stay so far from bad river,
doing nothing more than
running off to sea. Stay near shore
and enjoy the new electricity.
So much depends
on a yellow
Bulldozer

Caked with mud
Beside thoughts
of payday
This poem is based on the famous William Carlos William's poem...
Atlantis Nov 2014
I had a dream you asked me if I remember just when it was that we fell in love,
and I think that's kinda funny because i've always known that's what we were in; not lust, not the moment, love.
You said to me that right from the start you sort of knew it was inevitable and that we were destined to fall into eachother, nevermind proper footwear or stop signs because it's winter now and neither of our cars have winter tires yet making drifting a definite.
The thing is that this was a dream and dreams just aren't reality but I think this is just a message from the universe,
a message stating everything that was, but you didn't want to say.
Serenity is overflowing my body
like i must've overdosed on easement pills
because the calm i feel now isn't like that before a storm,
when the sky is dark and still but you know something's coming;
it's that the storm is finally over and now i know that it was all intended and i can finally be free to continue living.
The storm served as a reminder to live free whenever possible because there will be times of confinement and captivity.
The storm was a warning that living your life under the control of another force will be dark and dreary and misleading
and mostly just cause you redundant pain that you've accidentally inflicted upon yourself.
Let the storm be a lesson learned that not everyone you meet will be a trickling stream,
that some beings take the form of cascading rivers
and you cannot let yourself float along down them; you must build yourself up to be a dam
or a salmon swimming upstream.
Proceed by your own rules and let nothing tell you otherwise.
Shin Jul 2014
So the salmon soars
And the bear bitterly
feasts on their flesh.

His voice is a roar,
Yet his heart does flee
At their very sight.

A shame it may be
That a beast so kind
Causes them to die.

He wants to be free
from fate in his mind,
He can't explain why.

Is it truly sin
if one feels regret,
and would rather die?

— The End —