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an early
moon made
falls shine  
and being
a kind
of archer
where he
was taught
with ingenuity
that ritual
his prowess
in hunting
would tell
arrows here
in forrest
succumbed to
their inclusion
Shahola in Pike County and one of sixty-seven in Pennsylvania..
saranade Sep 2017
It was always a joke, phrase or idiom
It wasn't an analysis of what we did to them
The paralysis which was led by God or men
Who left a woman with a life condemned
And "he" is not found, but here I am.

I lost my arm to a waterfall
Fostered harm by something beautiful
A hand and forearm unmade musical
Water on land intersects not once, several
A band of storms lay down by that Neanderthal.

Waters splash like cymbals crash
Like whiplash from 3 cars smashed
Like fast paced life becoming past
Like a harassed female, never asked
And at long last... I'm unembarrassed.

Soft as water came, it became a hurricane
Pain blows through my veins and brain
I sound insane as I strain to explain
Doctors abstain and became inhumane
Riding the insane a-train to remain...
...a soft stream of water.
Finding my own beauty reminds me of the storms on tv. They hurt people, and are yet, so majestic, beautiful.
Seema Sep 2017
Quivering leaf, in
a small waterfall, dancing
to and fro fanning,
splashing water on the green
Crawling slippery algae.


©sim
Tanka
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
As I walk
upon the
pavements,
rain fills the
atmosphere
with endless
rivers, the
people I
pass
create
gardens
of words,
ages will
pass, and
you may
always
relive the
lost art of
conversation,
where two
souls can
become
one, lushly
grown from
the eternity of
beautiful minds,
I pause,
as a tear
within
the oceans
of eyes
In this
night,
lanterns
of paradise,
unaware
of their
own
beauty,
I close
my eyes,
wishing to
sleep
forever,
under the
waterfall
flowing
until the
end of
time,
the
milky
way
opens
from
this chest,
a lighthouse
spreading
endless
depth,
reaching
the hearts
of the
wounded,
I awaken,
and see
a reflection
within the
glass of
a secluded
home,
a man
falls to
the ground
with his
hands
upon the
earth,
his dew
Is mine,
her dew
Is mine,
their
dew
Is the
cries of
my soul,
and so,
I open
my hands,
and cradle
the warmth
of this love
as a birthplace
of healing,
the sun
dawns
upon the
golden
waters,
I enter
the train
with the
other
passengers,
waiting
upon the
journey
to return
home
Shelley Yater Sep 2017
A caged rainbow cries colors into a stream
That carries broken hearts to a lake of dreams
The sun pries through the branches above
Sending down light with warm bright love
A waterfall cascade mirrors moments past
When it's realized you belong loved at last
by: Shelley
Wrote when I was getting over first love : )
Anthony Reynolds Aug 2017
Stuck in the moment of here and now
The writers hand becomes clouded by self doubt
He turns on his music for his mind to allow
The power of his words to crash about

A waterfall of his life flows from his wrist
Explosions of emotion fill up the page
Every new story a different experience
Showing why he stays in waters so shallow

Self love finds the sun to scare
Those doubtful clouds of grey
Bringing him strength to write
A heart aching pain away
Had some bad writers block and threw on some tunes to clear my mind
Phoebe H Aug 2017
I come to the hidden waterfall to which I promised to return
To write a poem.
I passed people who shifted their eyes; unwilling to understand.
But here is a dark green smell that is fresh yet ancient.
Here are flowers like jewels and late-summer berries not even the birds have found.
Here a few fallen leaves are noticed after all.
Here moss fills in the layers of rock that are so carefully sculpted by the water that does not ever stop arriving and does not ever stop
Falling down the fall.

I try to choose a place to sit, not knowing if anyone will sit there again
When I see a perfectly crooked line of stones upon the water,
Waiting for someone to cross.
Not to disappoint them, I hop from stone to stone, feeling a spark
That makes gold melt across my shoulders and down my arms.
I wander on, my mind unfolding, and around the corner I see
An open river, free and wild and grand.
In the water are minnows, twigs never remembered enough to be forgotten,
And a handmade stack of stones, standing alone.
I turn and descend
Back down the fall.

I wonder who he is, this Placer of Stones.
If he came here, too, waiting for adventure to find him.
If he hoped somebody would discover his pile of rocks,
Simply to be thought of.
If he wanted to lay down and close his eyes and let the water dissolve him.
If he was just as lonely as me.
I feel the layers of stone in my lungs, the moss on my skin,
The flowers in my heart, and the water in my eyes
As they add another drop to the pool of endless drops.
And I watch as it, too,
Falls down the fall.
Postman Aug 2017
Hazy veil
of mazy
grey-white-jade
abstract cumulo tangle
quasi-close to the ground
accentuates the beauty
of the mighty river
at the edge
of a dangerous
denim cascade
leading to a free fall.


At every step
fading spiral shades
of lighter hue
entrenched in white
rashly caress
those fine
fascinating fringes.


The rugged rocks
hugging dusky tone
have fought
the flowing frenzy
of the heavy fume,
tried in vain
to obstruct the drain,
but at the end
laced the azure
with a golden chain,
witnesses the green
that grows within.
She flows patiently like a river.
Her love was perennial for you.
Then you stuck her like a tsunami.
Your pollutant words turned her grey.
With a brave heart, she turned courses,
Keeping you thirsty of eternal love.
She flows patiently like a river,
Jumps off cliff into a fearless waterfall.
O Lord, once again, I have made a
conscious decision to set aside…
my ego and earthly plans to spend
quality time with You; as I strive
.
against the nonsense, troubling my
heart, allow your Holy Spirit to
cascade as a waterfall upon this
flesh, with the freshness of a new
.
dew that joyfully enhances my world
in unexpected ways. Overwhelm my soul
with an outpouring of Your Essence,
whereby the inward, God-shaped hole
.
in my heart is… filled by You alone!
On this path for me, I’ll freely roam
in search of songs and poetic verses
that lead me towards my Heavenly home.
Inspired by:
Psa 42:7-8

Dedicated to Rev. Marilyn S. Glavin

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
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