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"riverbed" poems
Dear J, I may be at a loss for words half the time, and the other half I might have too much to say, but I can almost always say this; I love you. I have felt fear and I have felt bravery and I have felt loss. I can look pictures of us and I can recall everything we did that day. I can listen to videos of you and I can tell what you felt. And I know that you didn't think I was paying attention, but I knew how you looked when you thought something was unfair. And I knew the look in your eyes when you saw the light just right in a sunset and you knew that nothing could ever be recreated quite like that. I felt the same way about you. Wherever you are, know that loving someone isn't a matter of feeling something or not feeling something. It's a matter of knowing what you're feeling and when you need to let go. I think that people know that letting go involves unfurling your fingers and watching something fall from a great height. It's the act of following that objects downward motion that gets to us. That once it meets the ground or whatever surface it is deemed to hit, it's gone. What was there is gone. And once you think about that you think of what could have been there. That one last touch, that one last feeling of bliss that comes with knowing that the moment you wake up the sun will be shining in rivulets through fingers that tangle in hair fresh off the pillow. It's sad to know that nothing like that will happen again. The sun won't shine the same way. Instead it may simply fall. It won't cascade, it won't flow over the edges of noses or smiling lips. It's the same way water may lose a stone from a riverbed and from there on after it doesn't run quite the same way. But another stone, another pebble will fall in place because replacement happens. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that letting go is letting someone else take a spot. In order for something else to happen you have to let your joints move out of their grip and unfold from their hold on something that wasn't meant to be held by you anymore. Sometimes you have to let them land somewhere new. I only hope that it's somewhere even more beautiful than before. Claire
0
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
claire-elizabeth
The theory of letting go
Dear J, I may be at a loss for words half the time, and the other half I might have too much to say, but I can almost always say this; I love you. I have felt fear and I have felt bravery and I have felt loss. I can look pictures of us and I can recall everything we did that day. I can listen to videos of you and I can tell what you felt. And I know that you didn't think I was paying attention, but I knew how you looked when you thought something was unfair. And I knew the look in your eyes when you saw the light just right in a sunset and you knew that nothing could ever be recreated quite like that. I felt the same way about you. Wherever you are, know that loving someone isn't a matter of feeling something or not feeling something. It's a matter of knowing what you're feeling and when you need to let go. I think that people know that letting go involves unfurling your fingers and watching something fall from a great height. It's the act of following that objects downward motion that gets to us. That once it meets the ground or whatever surface it is deemed to hit, it's gone. What was there is gone. And once you think about that you think of what could have been there. That one last touch, that one last feeling of bliss that comes with knowing that the moment you wake up the sun will be shining in rivulets through fingers that tangle in hair fresh off the pillow. It's sad to know that nothing like that will happen again. The sun won't shine the same way. Instead it may simply fall. It won't cascade, it won't flow over the edges of noses or smiling lips. It's the same way water may lose a stone from a riverbed and from there on after it doesn't run quite the same way. But another stone, another pebble will fall in place because replacement happens. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that letting go is letting someone else take a spot. In order for something else to happen you have to let your joints move out of their grip and unfold from their hold on something that wasn't meant to be held by you anymore. Sometimes you have to let them land somewhere new. I only hope that it's somewhere even more beautiful than before. Claire
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9
The river forks at big stone eddy rending currents meandering course,   its silence speaks not with forked tongue as kismet's swirling eddies abide      as if time immemorial;      a river naturally cleaved in two separate distinct directions befallen destiny without a choice Spinning round and round in big stone eddy, time just drifting by in the throes of doubt — high water rising beyond the bounds of earth taking drowning souls up to the sky Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions, suffocating on the parting words left unsaid; distilling life into poetry hew from being — trickling out like the spilled out sky — taken down to the empty riverbed leave lay' til it's all washed away, in the music of the pourin' down rain Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations riding the prevailing currents it can't control Gravity-gathered  down to the shoreline, manifest reclamation after the deluge, from somewhere far above the high-water mark Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides, thinking you carry such a weight to hold... It seems all got a handful of sand to toss up into the wind to seed the clouds The totality of eclipsing silence grows that rent the stillness of a dream of peace on an eroding shoreline In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment dark waters will ebb and flow, imponderable as drowning hope, leaving it all out there to dry after the rain        believing in your heart —         the best is yet to come   Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
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Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
jesse-stillwater
In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
The river forks at big stone eddy rending currents meandering course,   its silence speaks not with forked tongue as kismet's swirling eddies abide      as if time immemorial;      a river naturally cleaved in two separate distinct directions befallen destiny without a choice Spinning round and round in big stone eddy, time just drifting by in the throes of doubt — high water rising beyond the bounds of earth taking drowning souls up to the sky Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions, suffocating on the parting words left unsaid; distilling life into poetry hew from being — trickling out like the spilled out sky — taken down to the empty riverbed leave lay' til it's all washed away, in the music of the pourin' down rain Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations riding the prevailing currents it can't control Gravity-gathered  down to the shoreline, manifest reclamation after the deluge, from somewhere far above the high-water mark Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides, thinking you carry such a weight to hold... It seems all got a handful of sand to toss up into the wind to seed the clouds The totality of eclipsing silence grows that rent the stillness of a dream of peace on an eroding shoreline In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment dark waters will ebb and flow, imponderable as drowning hope, leaving it all out there to dry after the rain        believing in your heart —         the best is yet to come   Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
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39
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
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Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
kristo-frost
Tree of Life
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
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1
There once was a time Gone by, gone by, Picking blackberries till the vine was plucked dry. Pricked finger and the blood of kings washed the riverbed clean again paving path for new bled love. Story of my life: Hot Hand-Grenade. Tripwire tickled by trespassing travelers Red wire arteries clipped and clipped and clipped and simple minded times when birds sang songs to other birds and chirped lyrical lines in the dusk. More wonder. More trust. Less wanderlust. Dust in the air. Still in the sunlight. Through glass. Broke. Fall. Cut. All roads lead to home. Wood, River, Stone. A guide, a path, alone. We all walk on our own Striving for independence Together. Now is a time of faded glory, daffodils in freshly-mowed fields. I still catch myself wishing I had the words to share The bigness of what's out there. I still hear myself singing your song of longing. Still find myself longing for days of childish peace and ignorance when we could pick blackberries from the bush without bombs falling in our basket. Still a long way to go to hear the sound of surrender and the silent unfurling of egos into how alone we feel. Still my heart, that lost love long ago, and surrendered a savior forever. Hart, of dreams, slip into the stream. Interstitch the seams.
0
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
orion-schwalm
Dream of the Split Spartan
There once was a time Gone by, gone by, Picking blackberries till the vine was plucked dry. Pricked finger and the blood of kings washed the riverbed clean again paving path for new bled love. Story of my life: Hot Hand-Grenade. Tripwire tickled by trespassing travelers Red wire arteries clipped and clipped and clipped and simple minded times when birds sang songs to other birds and chirped lyrical lines in the dusk. More wonder. More trust. Less wanderlust. Dust in the air. Still in the sunlight. Through glass. Broke. Fall. Cut. All roads lead to home. Wood, River, Stone. A guide, a path, alone. We all walk on our own Striving for independence Together. Now is a time of faded glory, daffodils in freshly-mowed fields. I still catch myself wishing I had the words to share The bigness of what's out there. I still hear myself singing your song of longing. Still find myself longing for days of childish peace and ignorance when we could pick blackberries from the bush without bombs falling in our basket. Still a long way to go to hear the sound of surrender and the silent unfurling of egos into how alone we feel. Still my heart, that lost love long ago, and surrendered a savior forever. Hart, of dreams, slip into the stream. Interstitch the seams.
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30
Wind chimes dangle from her ears, Whispering in sweet clarity all the sounds Of a riverbed in June, telling you about the sun, The moon and the stars in a way I never could. Tell me what she said to make you forget – You once called me your kaleidoscope.
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Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
emily-schumann
Kaleidoscope
Wind chimes dangle from her ears, Whispering in sweet clarity all the sounds Of a riverbed in June, telling you about the sun, The moon and the stars in a way I never could. Tell me what she said to make you forget – You once called me your kaleidoscope.
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6
The cave opens it's great crumbling maw, streaks of light fall on the sparse green blades, which dot the floor, mushrooms push forth from the ground, like fingers reaching to air, the gurgling of a stream, dances along a riverbed path, paradise enclosed, by earthen walls and canopy, the glen lit by diffused and dappled sun.
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Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
chrisbeausire
Valley in the Cave
The cave opens it's great crumbling maw, streaks of light fall on the sparse green blades, which dot the floor, mushrooms push forth from the ground, like fingers reaching to air, the gurgling of a stream, dances along a riverbed path, paradise enclosed, by earthen walls and canopy, the glen lit by diffused and dappled sun.
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10
If the time ever comes when human touch is taken from you (because you are sick or in solitary or castaway or...) you will understand how much you need it: your skin will ache as a riverbed cracks for want of rain; you will never take it for granted again
0
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
masikanicrocodile
X=kissing O=hugging S=cuddling
If the time ever comes when human touch is taken from you (because you are sick or in solitary or castaway or...) you will understand how much you need it: your skin will ache as a riverbed cracks for want of rain; you will never take it for granted again
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18
You're lookin' at the river Feelin' down and weak When you're Wadin' in the water and it's rushing 'round your feet When you want to Reach the other side And feel you can't retreat The same insane song In your head And it is on "repeat"... *Just remember there are Bridges They are made of words Remember there are Bridges Things you haven't heard Remember there are Bridges Made with human hands Remember there are Bridges Then you'll understand* The waters in that riverbed They are cold and deep They have a riptide current So look before you leap! You can't stand against them They will take you down You may just go under Brother, sister, *you will drown! (chorus)* Reaching out ain't easy But it don't get much worse Than feeling down and vulnerable Living with a curse It's like picking up the planet To lift that lifeline phone But there *people who Will care for you... You are not alone! Just remember there are bridges They are made of Words, Remember there are bridges Things you haven't heard, Remember there are bridges Made with God's own hand Remember there are bridges Then you'll understand.* BRIDGE: Remember there are Bridges When you are at a loss They weren't made to jump from They were made to CROSS. SoulSurvivor (C) 2/12/2016
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Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC
SoulSurvivor
Bridges
You're lookin' at the river Feelin' down and weak When you're Wadin' in the water and it's rushing 'round your feet When you want to Reach the other side And feel you can't retreat The same insane song In your head And it is on "repeat"... *Just remember there are Bridges They are made of words Remember there are Bridges Things you haven't heard Remember there are Bridges Made with human hands Remember there are Bridges Then you'll understand* The waters in that riverbed They are cold and deep They have a riptide current So look before you leap! You can't stand against them They will take you down You may just go under Brother, sister, *you will drown! (chorus)* Reaching out ain't easy But it don't get much worse Than feeling down and vulnerable Living with a curse It's like picking up the planet To lift that lifeline phone But there *people who Will care for you... You are not alone! Just remember there are bridges They are made of Words, Remember there are bridges Things you haven't heard, Remember there are bridges Made with God's own hand Remember there are bridges Then you'll understand.* BRIDGE: Remember there are Bridges When you are at a loss They weren't made to jump from They were made to CROSS. SoulSurvivor (C) 2/12/2016
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52
She stands at the window a fine white stream of goodevil trickling down her chin Heaving against the pane heaving against the pain She longs for a killer breeze from the die-hard fan Yellow-eyed seconds slither out the clock hi S S ing in rhythm as they crawl On the table the used core of a once juicy red delicious hourglass figure, cyanide hearts and all She is aware of her nakedness Moon ogles on bleeding silver from stab wounds by dagger branches awaiting a crack in the window through which to enter Tree of Life towers menacingly overhead He walks in AdamAnt intelligent designer suit businessgod attire briefcase in hand brief case in point He knows She knows Time knows Electric Goliath stirs in the depths Ego awakens lifts its rod beckons to waves of children behind it parts the folds of red sea charges head on Rides long and hard hooves pounding the riverbed Ready to pull out on the other side Branches find their crack Enraged Goliath stumbles Ego trips relentless walls close in It goes under in a seizure frothing at the mouth drowning as its children swim Time holds the couple's breath in suffocating grip Tree binds Life to a cell at the center of her flower prison Pane, reflecting pain, reflected Window souls mirror soul's Window Branches regain their higher dwellings Exhumed goliath stirs on a distant shore She stands at the window a fine white stream of goodevil trickling down her shin
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Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
semitone
Eve at the Window
She stands at the window a fine white stream of goodevil trickling down her chin Heaving against the pane heaving against the pain She longs for a killer breeze from the die-hard fan Yellow-eyed seconds slither out the clock hi S S ing in rhythm as they crawl On the table the used core of a once juicy red delicious hourglass figure, cyanide hearts and all She is aware of her nakedness Moon ogles on bleeding silver from stab wounds by dagger branches awaiting a crack in the window through which to enter Tree of Life towers menacingly overhead He walks in AdamAnt intelligent designer suit businessgod attire briefcase in hand brief case in point He knows She knows Time knows Electric Goliath stirs in the depths Ego awakens lifts its rod beckons to waves of children behind it parts the folds of red sea charges head on Rides long and hard hooves pounding the riverbed Ready to pull out on the other side Branches find their crack Enraged Goliath stumbles Ego trips relentless walls close in It goes under in a seizure frothing at the mouth drowning as its children swim Time holds the couple's breath in suffocating grip Tree binds Life to a cell at the center of her flower prison Pane, reflecting pain, reflected Window souls mirror soul's Window Branches regain their higher dwellings Exhumed goliath stirs on a distant shore She stands at the window a fine white stream of goodevil trickling down her shin
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59
Oh, to see without my eyes The first time that you kissed me Boundless by the time I cried I built your walls around me White noise, what an awful sound Fumbling by Rogue River Feel my feet above the ground Hand of God, deliver me Oh, oh whoa whoa is me The first time that you touched me Oh, will wonders ever cease? Blessed be the mystery of love Lord, I no longer believe Drowned in living waters Cursed by the love that I received From my brother's daughter Like Hephaestion, who died Alexander's lover Now my riverbed has dried Shall I find no other? Oh, oh whoa whoa is me I'm running like a plover Now I'm prone to misery The birthmark on your shoulder reminds me How much sorrow can I take? Blackbird on my shoulder And what difference does it make When this love is over? Shall I sleep within your bed River of unhappiness Hold your hands upon my head Till I breathe my last breath Oh, oh whoa whoa is me The last time that you touched me Oh, will wonders ever cease? Blessed be the mystery of love
0
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
MayElizabeth1027
Mystery of Love (by Sufjan Stevens)
Oh, to see without my eyes The first time that you kissed me Boundless by the time I cried I built your walls around me White noise, what an awful sound Fumbling by Rogue River Feel my feet above the ground Hand of God, deliver me Oh, oh whoa whoa is me The first time that you touched me Oh, will wonders ever cease? Blessed be the mystery of love Lord, I no longer believe Drowned in living waters Cursed by the love that I received From my brother's daughter Like Hephaestion, who died Alexander's lover Now my riverbed has dried Shall I find no other? Oh, oh whoa whoa is me I'm running like a plover Now I'm prone to misery The birthmark on your shoulder reminds me How much sorrow can I take? Blackbird on my shoulder And what difference does it make When this love is over? Shall I sleep within your bed River of unhappiness Hold your hands upon my head Till I breathe my last breath Oh, oh whoa whoa is me The last time that you touched me Oh, will wonders ever cease? Blessed be the mystery of love
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36
sometimes there are rocks in my hands and only tight clenched fists can keep them from smashing the mirror world below into delicate shards of broken promises. i long to float among the clouds - one with the stratosphere - but the rocks weigh me down so that i cannot touch them. reaching but never reached. people in glass houses aren't supposed to throw stones. so i am sure to keep locked my loaded palms hiding in plain sight. only your lips with homemade ice-cream touches can coerce my stagnant fingers to melt back into warm flesh. skin bones knuckles joints. i release the stones over a waterfall cliff - rushing rolling rambling - and they ripple in the water and sink to the soil of the riverbed making a home for fragile fish in search of shelter.
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May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
xok
A Weight
sometimes there are rocks in my hands and only tight clenched fists can keep them from smashing the mirror world below into delicate shards of broken promises. i long to float among the clouds - one with the stratosphere - but the rocks weigh me down so that i cannot touch them. reaching but never reached. people in glass houses aren't supposed to throw stones. so i am sure to keep locked my loaded palms hiding in plain sight. only your lips with homemade ice-cream touches can coerce my stagnant fingers to melt back into warm flesh. skin bones knuckles joints. i release the stones over a waterfall cliff - rushing rolling rambling - and they ripple in the water and sink to the soil of the riverbed making a home for fragile fish in search of shelter.
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28
(haiku x 3) Life is a river we swim, we drift...a cycle of rising...falling.    equanimity is hard on soft riverbed we reel....sometimes drown, we give up, they dry we fight...we breathe....rivers flow! ripples do follow. Sally Copyright March 2015 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
sally-a-bayan
RIVERS
(haiku x 3) Life is a river we swim, we drift...a cycle of rising...falling.    equanimity is hard on soft riverbed we reel....sometimes drown, we give up, they dry we fight...we breathe....rivers flow! ripples do follow. Sally Copyright March 2015 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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13
A white horse body armor a fire-breathing dragon a sword a Knight a Warrior a Prince a Lover….He is… **A lady in waiting her love my destiny her desire my need** That connection of the heart, of the soul… of each breath…. just breathe, deep feelings, trust of the heart, the essence of each soul touching, blending, combining, linking, joining, connecting, entwining, merging together, deep feelings….Love… a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is…. **she is the faith I have lived each day hoping she is the horizon come closer be real and it is her which essence takes as truth and honesty** Dreams, serenity, peacefulness, that calm feeling of tranquility, that connection of the heart, of the soul… hope and faith, trust and love, those deep feelings, stardust sparkles and moonbeam glimmers, fireflies, soft kisses, gentle embrace’s, finger traces….Love… a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is…. **depths of hearts are lethal and mine has been broken died now in her eyes words of future peace arise take wing on Angels make beauty real and on that glimpse I breathe** That connection of the heart, of the soul… a quaint riverbed, big oak trees, leaves singing a gentle breeze, the moon, stars the sun, hearts embrace, souls collide touching deep inside, mornin giggles, toast and jam, moon pies, warmth and hot coffee…. forehead kisses, lips brushing the shoulder and…Love… **That word she knew that promise that thought the knowing the sublime connection I saw her there giggling sweet coffee and normal things my dream** A white horse body armor a fire breathing dragon a sword a Knight a Warrior a Prince a Lover…My Heart…He is… ~ **A lady in waiting her love my destiny her desire my need**
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Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
wordvango
That Connection written by Brianna Love and wordvango
A white horse body armor a fire-breathing dragon a sword a Knight a Warrior a Prince a Lover….He is… **A lady in waiting her love my destiny her desire my need** That connection of the heart, of the soul… of each breath…. just breathe, deep feelings, trust of the heart, the essence of each soul touching, blending, combining, linking, joining, connecting, entwining, merging together, deep feelings….Love… a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is…. **she is the faith I have lived each day hoping she is the horizon come closer be real and it is her which essence takes as truth and honesty** Dreams, serenity, peacefulness, that calm feeling of tranquility, that connection of the heart, of the soul… hope and faith, trust and love, those deep feelings, stardust sparkles and moonbeam glimmers, fireflies, soft kisses, gentle embrace’s, finger traces….Love… a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is…. **depths of hearts are lethal and mine has been broken died now in her eyes words of future peace arise take wing on Angels make beauty real and on that glimpse I breathe** That connection of the heart, of the soul… a quaint riverbed, big oak trees, leaves singing a gentle breeze, the moon, stars the sun, hearts embrace, souls collide touching deep inside, mornin giggles, toast and jam, moon pies, warmth and hot coffee…. forehead kisses, lips brushing the shoulder and…Love… **That word she knew that promise that thought the knowing the sublime connection I saw her there giggling sweet coffee and normal things my dream** A white horse body armor a fire breathing dragon a sword a Knight a Warrior a Prince a Lover…My Heart…He is… ~ **A lady in waiting her love my destiny her desire my need**
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72
There were efforts to sling a steeple around a cloud, to enclose a smoke ring in a palm, bring a mountain to a riverbed. They failed. Something of a Pythagorean charm is retained for garbing oneself in white, the precision of mathematics performing beautifully the rites. To refrain from bean-eating. One who has held their hands beating the air for a long time gains a kind of theorem for dignity, despite having no solution to show. Wrinkles reveal this was not the beginning but a palimpsest, set over another work so old the efforts must continue as the equation foretold.
0
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
akr
The mathmatics
There were efforts to sling a steeple around a cloud, to enclose a smoke ring in a palm, bring a mountain to a riverbed. They failed. Something of a Pythagorean charm is retained for garbing oneself in white, the precision of mathematics performing beautifully the rites. To refrain from bean-eating. One who has held their hands beating the air for a long time gains a kind of theorem for dignity, despite having no solution to show. Wrinkles reveal this was not the beginning but a palimpsest, set over another work so old the efforts must continue as the equation foretold.
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16
#***Blackwater rise up from artesian fountains Upsurge from the provenance of earthen soul Mingle unto a river of willow’s bend and sway Rooted in boulders***                                                           *scattered  within                                  milestones                                                   and*                                                                 ***riverbed Cornerstones                                                                                           Gray As though empowering sown seeds mightily strewn With intent a higher law's freshet flows For to stream from silence in a satiating tongue Rolling currents thickly bestow A  river  of  simple  truth lay  bare A stream of random kindness betides, Rivulets of unconditional love abounding    Rootstock birthplace coursing passage from whence Unbounded rivers' silent reverie manifests Rippling cadence immersing pulsing whispers Unbounded rivers rushing deep and wide Blossoming undercurrents gushing, resounding, rhythmic  ebb  and  flow Verve undulating wholly alive Genesis of soul marrow's enlightened shine ― Wellsprings arise from bedrock ancient mother earth A surmounting light leavens abidingly From imploring water's flowing river song To illuminate the beckoning pathway's bearings divergent from thither and yon                  Through  which  to  portage A way to carry back home in psalm*** h.a. rivers ... November 4th, 2017
0
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 7:59 PM UTC
harlon-rivers
Blackwater River
#***Blackwater rise up from artesian fountains Upsurge from the provenance of earthen soul Mingle unto a river of willow’s bend and sway Rooted in boulders***                                                           *scattered  within                                  milestones                                                   and*                                                                 ***riverbed Cornerstones                                                                                           Gray As though empowering sown seeds mightily strewn With intent a higher law's freshet flows For to stream from silence in a satiating tongue Rolling currents thickly bestow A  river  of  simple  truth lay  bare A stream of random kindness betides, Rivulets of unconditional love abounding    Rootstock birthplace coursing passage from whence Unbounded rivers' silent reverie manifests Rippling cadence immersing pulsing whispers Unbounded rivers rushing deep and wide Blossoming undercurrents gushing, resounding, rhythmic  ebb  and  flow Verve undulating wholly alive Genesis of soul marrow's enlightened shine ― Wellsprings arise from bedrock ancient mother earth A surmounting light leavens abidingly From imploring water's flowing river song To illuminate the beckoning pathway's bearings divergent from thither and yon                  Through  which  to  portage A way to carry back home in psalm*** h.a. rivers ... November 4th, 2017
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34
PART I: ADRIFT Madness passed Misery and bumped into me. We travel together now, Islands lost at sea. Ahead, Tomorrow rides, pinned to the sunrise. Yesterday dogs us, marking our tides. Empty atolls pass on windborne paths. Now homes to only bones; more dead outcasts. The Ocean never laments or attempts to make sense. We just wander across it until living relents. PART II: VAGRANT Lagoon to lagoon, harboring my tether. Giving me shelter from daily storms. Lost in the masts, a paper boat. Taking on water... as expected. A lucky hook snares the soggy craft. Dried and opened: a cry for          . When no reply came, a folded flotilla Whitened the water, a cry now screaming. This harbor now empties. My travels resume. PART III: DREAM The sea fades to gulls, and then, a delta rushed with mountainfulls. I've become a salmon fighting upstream, an island lost in a riverbed dream.
0
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Inqhawq
Wandering Islands.
PART I: ADRIFT Madness passed Misery and bumped into me. We travel together now, Islands lost at sea. Ahead, Tomorrow rides, pinned to the sunrise. Yesterday dogs us, marking our tides. Empty atolls pass on windborne paths. Now homes to only bones; more dead outcasts. The Ocean never laments or attempts to make sense. We just wander across it until living relents. PART II: VAGRANT Lagoon to lagoon, harboring my tether. Giving me shelter from daily storms. Lost in the masts, a paper boat. Taking on water... as expected. A lucky hook snares the soggy craft. Dried and opened: a cry for          . When no reply came, a folded flotilla Whitened the water, a cry now screaming. This harbor now empties. My travels resume. PART III: DREAM The sea fades to gulls, and then, a delta rushed with mountainfulls. I've become a salmon fighting upstream, an island lost in a riverbed dream.
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41
I never got to love the girl she spreads wide her rainbow net where the sky plunges on crystal river tides swell to hide her shame ebb to fill her bag of catch I never got to love the girl her hairs in the wind my dreams spawn a flower rising from the riverbed she grants a love in my head spreads wide her rainbow net thru the long night of blue moonshine her frock fills up with sparkling life I never got to love the girl could no way be the right match.
0
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC
pradip-chattopadhyay
Blue Moonshine
I never got to love the girl she spreads wide her rainbow net where the sky plunges on crystal river tides swell to hide her shame ebb to fill her bag of catch I never got to love the girl her hairs in the wind my dreams spawn a flower rising from the riverbed she grants a love in my head spreads wide her rainbow net thru the long night of blue moonshine her frock fills up with sparkling life I never got to love the girl could no way be the right match.
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15
Nine years later I still feel everything. Potent ****** reaction. Guilt has caused Riverbed cheeks. This single image That I've kept buried In an attempt to leave behind Is seared into my mind. It plays out: My mother is there; up against the wall. Pig-tailed braids And slender in overalls. Cowering In hyperventilation And sobs Looking so child-like, Cornered By 3 betrayals in human form. Voices raised in accusation Ripping into her In my bedroom. Feeling ill and lost I lie face down on the bed, Covering my ears, Screaming. Blocking out The family fight Chaotic and ferocious, Like worlds end Crumbling my foundation Only feet away Words like daggers Slathered in anger, Hate, and distrust. I couldn't handle Seeing my mom like that; Bullied, scared, And broken down. Hated and attacked By a husband Who vowed to love and protect her; By a son-in-law Who was meant to respect her; By my sister Who was first-born to her. All because a misunderstanding, A rumor, A lie. And I, Too young to understand What this meant, But who knew the truth, Didn't come to her rescue. And now she Is outcasted and alone And I Can't wash myself Of this searing recollection. 21 years old I still find myself Lying face down, Covering my ears, Screaming.
0
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
KristensPen
Family Breakdown
Nine years later I still feel everything. Potent ****** reaction. Guilt has caused Riverbed cheeks. This single image That I've kept buried In an attempt to leave behind Is seared into my mind. It plays out: My mother is there; up against the wall. Pig-tailed braids And slender in overalls. Cowering In hyperventilation And sobs Looking so child-like, Cornered By 3 betrayals in human form. Voices raised in accusation Ripping into her In my bedroom. Feeling ill and lost I lie face down on the bed, Covering my ears, Screaming. Blocking out The family fight Chaotic and ferocious, Like worlds end Crumbling my foundation Only feet away Words like daggers Slathered in anger, Hate, and distrust. I couldn't handle Seeing my mom like that; Bullied, scared, And broken down. Hated and attacked By a husband Who vowed to love and protect her; By a son-in-law Who was meant to respect her; By my sister Who was first-born to her. All because a misunderstanding, A rumor, A lie. And I, Too young to understand What this meant, But who knew the truth, Didn't come to her rescue. And now she Is outcasted and alone And I Can't wash myself Of this searing recollection. 21 years old I still find myself Lying face down, Covering my ears, Screaming.
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65
I want to be the stones to your riverbed, pipeclayed satellites, so that you move forever about my body and I sturdy along the soft banks of your heart.
0
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 11:04 PM UTC
shayla-v-1
Gem
I want to be the stones to your riverbed, pipeclayed satellites, so that you move forever about my body and I sturdy along the soft banks of your heart.
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4
Don't try to move Just Be still You must prove It"s your will Just be, Quietly Silently Chill No technology No phones No emails No fax Mythology Bones Trails Relax Thoughts flow through my head like streams upon the riverbed Constantly haunting me Is it a plague or am I free Wondering what it is I truly do seek On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure Once I finally reach the highest peak Will I even care if there isn't any treasure And even if there was, how much is really ever enough? No matter how much was there I would still feel rough The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed Look a brand new thing to crave How much money did you save? I"ll take that secret to my grave As a true consumer ridden slave Everyone wants what they just can't have Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture I want more more more, that's mine not yours So blessed to have our choice of each amenity We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ****** So stressed when all we should seek is serenity
0
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
drifton-a-way
Use...Less
Don't try to move Just Be still You must prove It"s your will Just be, Quietly Silently Chill No technology No phones No emails No fax Mythology Bones Trails Relax Thoughts flow through my head like streams upon the riverbed Constantly haunting me Is it a plague or am I free Wondering what it is I truly do seek On this Hedonistic journey for pleasure Once I finally reach the highest peak Will I even care if there isn't any treasure And even if there was, how much is really ever enough? No matter how much was there I would still feel rough The journey is over, but at least you can buy more stuff Many toys to play with but your hands are tightly cuffed Look a brand new thing to crave How much money did you save? I"ll take that secret to my grave As a true consumer ridden slave Everyone wants what they just can't have Eyeing your neighbor"s prize like a vulture Euphemise it veal instead of saying calve Euthanized a deal, our throw away culture I want more more more, that's mine not yours So blessed to have our choice of each amenity We"ve bore ourselves into consumer ****** So stressed when all we should seek is serenity
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40
Walk along the riverbed. You will come upon a nymph, Aged and smooth As a riverstone Sighing and singing with The water’s flow Ask her, “How are you, Nymph?” And she will Smile Up at you and say “I am but a tired soul In a tired sea Of tired souls.” Her voice the soft bubbling of the river. Walk among the trees. You will come upon a dryad, Ridged and furrowed As the tree limb Upon which she sat as she watched The leaves fall with the autumn breeze Ask her, “How long have you sat here, Dryad?” And she will Gaze Down at you and say “I grow and grow old With the tree. And the tree has grown tired.” Her voice the raspy crinkle of the fallen leaves. Walk amidst the flowers. You will come upon a deva, Light and sweet As the honeysuckle she sat amongst Watching and humming with The many bees Ask her, “Who are you, Deva?” And she will Frown Away from you and say “We, those of us that Belong To this place, We are Afraid. And we wish to no longer be Afraid.” Her voice the wavering stems of delicate flowers. The nymph chokes on her sisters' remains as the dryad is cut down and shredded and the deva is forced into restrained clay pots. They cannot be freed by one but by the response of all.
0
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC
CAS
Response
Walk along the riverbed. You will come upon a nymph, Aged and smooth As a riverstone Sighing and singing with The water’s flow Ask her, “How are you, Nymph?” And she will Smile Up at you and say “I am but a tired soul In a tired sea Of tired souls.” Her voice the soft bubbling of the river. Walk among the trees. You will come upon a dryad, Ridged and furrowed As the tree limb Upon which she sat as she watched The leaves fall with the autumn breeze Ask her, “How long have you sat here, Dryad?” And she will Gaze Down at you and say “I grow and grow old With the tree. And the tree has grown tired.” Her voice the raspy crinkle of the fallen leaves. Walk amidst the flowers. You will come upon a deva, Light and sweet As the honeysuckle she sat amongst Watching and humming with The many bees Ask her, “Who are you, Deva?” And she will Frown Away from you and say “We, those of us that Belong To this place, We are Afraid. And we wish to no longer be Afraid.” Her voice the wavering stems of delicate flowers. The nymph chokes on her sisters' remains as the dryad is cut down and shredded and the deva is forced into restrained clay pots. They cannot be freed by one but by the response of all.
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50
I wrote four words today. Just four. I bleed my hours into them. Each syllable I weigh. Like lifting stones from a dry riverbed, turning each over and over, until one feels just right in my hand. Carefully carving, studying and playing with each one:   Which catches the light just right?   Which plays well with the others?   What are you trying to tell me? But mostly, I discard. Four words. All my labor for the day-- Just four words. It was a good day.
0
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 6:38 PM UTC
stevesouza
I Wrote Four Words Today
I wrote four words today. Just four. I bleed my hours into them. Each syllable I weigh. Like lifting stones from a dry riverbed, turning each over and over, until one feels just right in my hand. Carefully carving, studying and playing with each one:   Which catches the light just right?   Which plays well with the others?   What are you trying to tell me? But mostly, I discard. Four words. All my labor for the day-- Just four words. It was a good day.
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27
When they were entangled in the orange coils of passion again, she reminded him of the moonstone. **When he and she were in a band, at its wild crescendo, the moonstone had melted, a molten green fluorescent liquid, roared in his ***** she felt the tremor, the spasms that comes like waves, to embrace the shores, wild winds, cloudburst. "Come deep" she pleads to him in between. Winds still in the wings kept roaring as if the thirst remains, didn't he see moonstone in her eyes, an eager glint, unspoken words, obscene perhaps, erupting from deep? He ate apples, she had peaches, she combed her long hair, with a ritualistic meticulousness.** He  spat the seeds of the fruit. She stared at him with unbelieving eyes, at that night, something strange happened, the river went dry, in the morning he saw dead fish amidst pebbles smooth and round, shaped by long years of rolling through the riverbed,  now lying orphaned, naked without the cover of water. *She had already left, was the moonstone yet another myth?*
0
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
k-balachandran
The Moonstone
When they were entangled in the orange coils of passion again, she reminded him of the moonstone. **When he and she were in a band, at its wild crescendo, the moonstone had melted, a molten green fluorescent liquid, roared in his ***** she felt the tremor, the spasms that comes like waves, to embrace the shores, wild winds, cloudburst. "Come deep" she pleads to him in between. Winds still in the wings kept roaring as if the thirst remains, didn't he see moonstone in her eyes, an eager glint, unspoken words, obscene perhaps, erupting from deep? He ate apples, she had peaches, she combed her long hair, with a ritualistic meticulousness.** He  spat the seeds of the fruit. She stared at him with unbelieving eyes, at that night, something strange happened, the river went dry, in the morning he saw dead fish amidst pebbles smooth and round, shaped by long years of rolling through the riverbed,  now lying orphaned, naked without the cover of water. *She had already left, was the moonstone yet another myth?*
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35
POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL. IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME, STANZA AND STRUCTURE, ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION. POETRY IS NATURE. POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR. POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE. POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY. POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT. POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION. POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES. POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR. POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS. POETRY IS ORGANIC. MALLEABLE. THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY - LIFE IS POETRY. DEATH IS POETRY. LOVE - LOSS - STRIFE - SUCCESS - POETRY. WE ARE POETRY.
0
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
raymond-johnson
POETRY
POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL. IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME, STANZA AND STRUCTURE, ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION. POETRY IS NATURE. POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR. POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE. POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY. POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT. POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION. POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES. POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR. POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS. POETRY IS ORGANIC. MALLEABLE. THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY - LIFE IS POETRY. DEATH IS POETRY. LOVE - LOSS - STRIFE - SUCCESS - POETRY. WE ARE POETRY.
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32
words go dry before they leave the mouth the will to write has gone the stories have left me the minds distract the heart, intact no emotional ups or downs no feverish laughs no sobbing sounds time finally learned to freeze and the words go dry in the riverbed of thought a desert landscape until a monsoon comes again to drown it in new metaphors
0
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
alaina-michelle
Words go dry
words go dry before they leave the mouth the will to write has gone the stories have left me the minds distract the heart, intact no emotional ups or downs no feverish laughs no sobbing sounds time finally learned to freeze and the words go dry in the riverbed of thought a desert landscape until a monsoon comes again to drown it in new metaphors
Continue reading...
16