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b e mccomb Jul 2016
Remember when
We took a daycation?

Waterfalls
For days.

Milk bottle
Sepia vinyl.

Ice cream and
Truck drivers.

Ballerina buns and
Bare necks.

Waterfalls
For days.

Oblivion, the
Falling leaves.

Backseat
Views.

Gravel paths, we
Walked.

Waterfalls
For days.

Blue, blue
Skies.

Crystal
Springs.

Damp red
Leaves.

Waterfalls
For days.

Apples
Were just in season.

Photos
Wagging tails.

Honey tea
Quilted snuggles.

Waterfalls
For days.

Maybe it was
Just a dream.

Next thing
I knew.

I was throwing
A textbook at the wall.

Waterfalls
For days.

I was
Okay.

I swear, for
One day.

I was
Myself again.

Waterfalls
For days.

Remember when
We took a daycation?
Copyright 11/22/15 by B. E. McComb
Venusoul7 Dec 2014
Clouds roll by overhead
Like giant rays coast a dried up ocean bed
Dancing winds blow a parody
Of swirling currents in a long forgotten sea

Shimmer glimmer shimmer on me
Oh the sparkling souls of dreaming children call
Shimmer glimmer shimmer on me
Oh in streets that shine like silver waterfalls

In your eyes in the skies
In the blood burning Indian sunrise
Shimmer on me

We were here long ago
And now we roam like ghostly buffalo
First two lies then two tears
Subtle curves, now glistening souvenirs

Shimmer glimmer shimmer on me
Oh the sparkling souls of dreaming children call
Shimmer glimmer shimmer on me
Oh in streets that shine like silver waterfalls

In your eyes in the skies
In the blood burning Indian sunrise
In sleep we grow

In your eyes in the skies
In the blood burning Indian sunrise
Awake and glow

Shivering in silver waterfalls
Anoint me in silver waterfalls

Siouxsie And The Banshees - Silver Waterfalls Lyrics
hear this !!!!  
http://youtu.be/u5UO0dpVD0s
John Dewberry May 2019
Hell has waterfalls?
I never knew that hell had waterfalls scanning from the world above
This is where love goes when we die as our souls wither in purgatory- the ultimate punishment for our lives- lived that served as portraits of
Endless contradiction despite fun times
I never knew hell had waterfalls until I was standing amid the myriads of broken hearts looking at me from their nooses. Blue eyes hide the fire inside- pain redefined through a hearts apartheid- waterfalls separate the fiery tide as a tornado brews above and we try to hide

I  never knew hell had waterfalls... Till I meditated under one- pressure- release the lethal syringes from your gun and send the anesthetic to my heart so that I don't feel any more pain.
I never knew Hell had waterfalls until today
TinyATuin Oct 2015
Dont go chasing waterfalls
my girl
please
stay here with the lazy flow
under
willow trees
Skyy Blu Nov 2013
Waterfalls
Skies blue when there's no rain.
Like a rainbow after the pain
That comes every time I hear your name.
I remember the first time you said that
It would be the last time
That you hit me
Made me see stars
I get it
Men are from Venus
Women from Mars
Acid rain
Coming from the sky
I'm a man
I refuse to lie down and die
Who could I tell
Who can I run to
The things you do to me
Did someone do to you
I go to work
I rush right home
I run your bath
Put your dinner on
I meet you at the door
Drink in hand...
Just the way you like me; wearing nothing but skin
I bow to you
My Queen
On your knees
I make ready for your mean
A kick to the face, heels dig deep into my side...
I'm going to take a bath; burn my dinner
I'll tan your hide
Eyes... black,
Blood running from my nose
You're all I know
This is how our story goes
In bed you take me, over-and-over
Sometimes I feel like
I'm your woman
You're my man
I want to be stronger,
I want to be free...
More than that
I long just to be...
Loved--by you
For the rest of my life
That's why I married you
Made you my wife
I can't keep hiding,
What you do to me
Who can I tell
Who would believe me
This secret, I will keep
Until death do us part
I remember waterfalls...
Natures work of art.
I remember
Waterfalls...
i like to watch the waterfalls such a lovely scene
makes life seem so tranquil happy and serene
rolling over rocks to the stream below
travelling to the rivers with a gentle flow

a lovely piece of nature such a sight to see
mother natures picture that makes me feel so free
there beside the waterfalls is where i long to be
We had wanted to leave our homes before six in the morning
but left late and lazy at ten or ten-thirty with hurried smirks
and heads turned to the road, West
driving out against the noonward horizon
and visions before us of the great up-and-over

and tired we were already of stiff-armed driving neurotics in Montreal
and monstrous foreheaded yellow bus drivers
ugly children with long middle fingers
and tired we were of breaking and being yelled at by beardless bums
but thought about the beards at home we loved
and gave a smile and a wave nonetheless

Who were sick and tired of driving by nine
but then had four more hours still
with half a tank
then a third of a tank
then a quarter of a tank
then no tank at all
except for the great artillery halt and discovery
of our tyre having only three quarters of its bolts

Saved by the local sobriety
and the mystic conscious kindness of the wise and the elderly
and the strangers: Autoshop Gale with her discount familiar kindness;
Hilda making ready supper and Ray like I’ve known you for years
that offered me tools whose functions I’ve never known
and a handshake goodbye

     and "yes we will say hello to your son in Alberta"
     and "yes we will continue safely"
     and "no you won’t see us in tomorrow’s paper"
     and tired I was of hearing about us in tomorrow’s paper

Who ended up on a road laughing deliverance
in Ralphton, a small town hunting lodge
full of flapjacks and a choir of chainsaws
with cheap tomato juice and eggs
but the four of us ended up paying for eight anyway

and these wooden alley cats were nothing but hounds
and the backwoods is where you’d find a cheap child's banjo
and cheap leather shoes and bear traps and rat traps
and the kinds of things you’d fall into face first

Who sauntered into a cafe in Massey
that just opened up two weeks previous
where the food was warm and made from home
and the owner who swore to high heaven
and piled her Sci-Fi collection to the ceiling
in forms of books and VHS

but Massey herself was drowned in a small town
where there was little history and heavy mist
and the museum was closed for renovations
and the stores were run by diplomats
or sleezebag no-cats
and there was one man who wouldn’t show us a room
because his baby sitter hadn’t come yet
but the babysitter showed up through the backdoor within seconds
though I hadn't seen another face

        and the room was a landfill
        and smelled of stale cat **** anyhow
        and the lobby stacked to the ceiling with empty beer box cans bottles
        and the taps ran cold yellow and hot black through spigots

but we would be staying down the street
at the inn of an East-Indian couple

who’s eyes were not dilated 
and the room smelled
lemon-scented

and kept on driving lovingly without a care in the world
but only one of us had his arms around a girl
and how lonely I felt driving with Jacob
in the fog of the Agawa pass;

following twin red eyes down a steep void mass
where the birch trees have no heads
and the marshes pool under the jagged foothills
that climb from the water above their necks

that form great behemoths
with great voices bellowing and faces chiselled hard looking down
and my own face turned upward toward the rain

Wheels turning on a black asphalt river running uphill around great Superior
that is the ocean that isn’t the ocean but is as big as the sea
and the cloud banks dig deep and terrible walls

and the sky ends five times before night truly falls
and the sun sets slower here than anywhere
but the sky was only two miles high and ten long anyway

The empty train tracks that seldom run
and some rails have been lifted out
with a handful of spikes that now lay dormant

and the hill sides start to resemble *******
or faces or the slow curving back of some great whale

-and those, who were finally stranded at four pumps
with none but the professional Jacob reading great biblical instructions at the nozzle
nowhere at midnight in a town surrounded

by moose roads
                             moose lanes
                                                     moose rivers
and everything mooses

ending up sleeping in the maw of a great white wolf inn
run by Julf or Wolf or John but was German nonetheless

and woke up with radios armed
and arms full
and coffee up to the teeth
with teeth chattering
and I swear to God I saw snowy peaks
but those came to me in waking dream:

"Mountains dressed in white canvas
gowns and me who placed
my hands upon their *******
that filled the sky"

Passing through a buffet of inns and motels
and spending our time unpacking and repacking
and talking about drinking and cheap sandwiches
but me not having a drink in eight days

and in one professional inn we received a professional scamming
and no we would not be staying here again
and what would a trip across the country be like
if there wasn’t one final royal scamming to be had

and dreams start to return to me from years of dreamless sleep:

and I dream of hers back home
and ribbons in a raven black lattice of hair
and Cassadaic exploits with soft but honest words

and being on time with the trains across the plains  
and the moon with a shower of prairie blonde
and one of my father with kind words
and my mother on a bicycle reassuring my every decision

Passing eventually through great plains of vast nothingness
but was disappointed in seeing that I could see
and that the rumours were false
and that nothingness really had a population
and that the great flat land has bumps and curves and etchings and textures too

beautiful bright golden yellow like sprawling fingers
white knuckled ablaze reaching up toward the sun
that in this world had only one sky that lasted a thousand years

and prairie driving lasts no more than a mountain peak
and points of ember that softly sigh with the one breath
of our cars windows that rushes by with gratitude for your smile

And who was caught up with the madness in the air
with big foaming cigarettes in mouths
who dragged and stuffed down those rolling fumes endlessly
while St. Jacob sang at the way stations and billboards and the radio
which was turned off

and me myself and I running our mouth like the coughing engine
chasing a highway babe known as the Lady Valkyrie out from Winnipeg
all the way to Saskatoon driving all day without ever slowing down
and eating up all our gas like pez and finally catching her;

      Valkyrie who taught me to drive fast
      and hovering 175 in slipstreams
      and flowing behind her like a great ghost Cassady ******* in dreamland Nebraska
      only 10 highway crossings counted from home.

Lady Valkyrie who took me West.
Lady Valkyrie who burst my wings into flame as I drew a close with the sun.
Lady Valkyrie who had me howl at slender moon;

     who formed as a snowflake
     in the light on the street
     and was gone by morning
     before I asked her name

and how are we?
and how many?

Even with old Tom devil singing stereo
and riding shotgun the entire trip from day one
singing about his pony, and his own personal flophouse circus,
and what was he building in there?

There is a fair amount of us here in these cars.
Finally at light’s end finding acquiescence in all things
and meeting with her eye one last time; flashed her a wink and there I was, gone.
Down the final highway crossing blowing wind and fancy and mouth puttering off
roaring laughter into the distance like some tremendous Phoenix.

Goodnight Lady Valkyrie.

The evening descends and turns into a sandwich hysteria
as we find ourselves riding between cities of transports
and that one mad man that passed us speeding crazy
and almost hit head-on with Him flowing East

and passed more and more until he was head of the line
but me driving mad lunacy followed his tail to the bumper
passing fifteen trucks total to find our other car
and felt the great turbine pull of acceleration that was not mine

mad-stacked behind two great beasts
and everyone thought us moon-crazy; Biblical Jake
and Mad Hair Me driving a thousand
eschewing great gusts of wind speed flying

Smashing into the great ephedrine sunset haze of Saskatoon
and hungry for food stuffed with the thoughts of bedsheets
off the highway immediately into the rotting liver of dark downtown
but was greeted by an open Hertz garage
with a five-piece fanfare brass barrage
William Tell and a Debussy Reverie
and found our way to bedsheets most comfortably

Driving out of Saskatoon feeling distance behind me.
Finding nothing but the dead and hollow corpses of roadside ventures;

more carcasses than cars
and one as big as a moose
and one as big as a bear
and no hairier

and driving out of sunshine plain reading comic book strip billboards
and trees start to build up momentum
and remembering our secret fungi in the glove compartment
that we drove three thousand kilometres without remembering

and we had a "Jesus Jacob, put it away brother"
and went screaming blinded by smoke and paranoia
and three swerves got us right
and we hugged the holy white line until twilight

And driving until the night again takes me foremast
and knows my secret fear in her *****
as the road turns into a lucid *** black and makes me dizzy
and every shadow is a moose and a wildcat and a billy goat
and some other car

and I find myself driving faster up this great slanderous waterfall until I meet eye
with another at a thousand feet horizontal

then two eyes

then a thousand wide-eyed peaks stretching faces upturned to the celestial black
with clouds laid flat as if some angel were sleeping ******* on a smokestack
and the mountains make themselves clear to me after waiting a lifetime for a glimpse
then they shy away behind some old lamppost and I don’t see them until tomorrow

and even tomorrow brings a greater distance with the sunlight dividing stone like 'The Ancient of Days'
and moving forward puts all into perspective

while false cabins give way
and the gas stations give way
and the last lamppost gives way
and its only distance now that will make you true
and make your peaks come alive

Like a bullrush, great grey slopes leap forth as if branded by fire
then the first peaks take me by surprise
and I’m told that these are nothing but children to their parents
and the roads curve into a gentle valley
and we’re in the feeding zone

behind the gates of some great geological zoo
watching these lumbering beasts
finishing up some great tribal *******
because tomorrow they will be shrunk
and tomorrow ever-after smaller

Nonetheless, breathless in turn I became
it began snowing and the pines took on a different shape
and the mountains became covered white
and great glaciers could be seen creeping
and tourists seen gawking at waterfalls and waterfowls
and fowl play between two stones a thousand miles high

climbing these Jasper slopes flying against wind and stone
and every creak lets out its gentle tone and soft moans
as these tyres rub flat against your back
your ancient skin your rock-hard bones

and this peak is that peak and it’s this one too
and that’s Temple, and that’s Whistler
and that’s Glasgow and that’s Whistler again
and those are the Three Sisters with ******* ablaze

and soft glowing haze your sun sets again among your peaks
and we wonder how all these caves formed
and marvelled at what the flood brought to your feet
as roads lay wasted by the roadside

in the epiphany of 3:00am realizing
that great Alta's straights and highway crossings
are formed in torturous mess from mines of 'Mt. Bleed'
and broken ribs and liver of crushed mountain passes
and the grey stones taxidermied and peeled off
and laid flat painted black and yellow;
the highways built from the insides
of the mountain shells

Who gave a “What now. New-Brunswick?”

and a “What now, Quebec, and Ontario, and Manitoba, and Saskatchewan";
**** fools clumsily dancing in the valleys; then the rolling hills; then the sea that was a lake
then the prairies and not yet the mountains;

running naked in formation with me at the lead
and running naked giving the finger to the moon
and the contrails, and every passing blur on the highway
dodging rocks, and sandbars
and the watchful eye of Mr. and Mrs. Law
and holes dug-up by prairie dogs
and watching with no music
as the family caravans drove on by

but drove off laughing every time until two got anxious for bed and slowed behind
while the rambling Jacob and I had to wait in the half-moon spectacle
of a black-tongue asphalt side-road hacking darts and watching for grizzlies
for the other two to finish up with their birthday *** exploits
though it was nobodies birthday

and then a timezone was between us
 and they were in the distant future
and nobodies birthday was in an hour from now

then everything was good
and everyone was satiated
then everything was a different time again
and I was running on no sleep or a lot of it
leaping backward in time every so often
like gaining a new day but losing space on the surface of your eye

but I stared up through curtains of starlight to mother moon
and wondered if you also stared
and was dumbfounded by the majesty of it all

and only one Caribou was seen the entire trip
and only one live animal, and some forsaken deer
and only a snake or a lonesome caterpillar could be seen crossing such highway straights
but the water more refreshing and brighter than steel
and glittered as if it were hiding some celestial gem
and great ravines and valleys flowed between everything
and I saw in my own eye prehistoric beasts roaming catastrophe upon these plains
but the peaks grew ever higher and I left the ground behind
s y kalindara Mar 16
I miss you in tides,
high as the summer afternoon sun in the skies
we danced beneath.

I miss you in hues
of grey, green and blue;
akin to carbon copies of your eyes.

I miss you like cities miss the stars,
I'd switch this country's lights off for just a glimmer in the dark.

I miss you with my throat exposed,
heart pacing back and forth down your road,
itching for your call.

I miss you in reveries,
and silent dreams,
in distractions, and the mindful winds I breathe.

I miss you through all these whirlwind feelings.
I miss you when I'm numb to them all.
I'll miss you tomorrow like I did today.
I'll miss you in waterfalls.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Missing J.
These waterfalls flutter in the rains
These are like your eye drains
Want to say something
Say something more
By their smooth flow
The stones do not melt
Just like that
From the waterfall of your eyes
This world does not melt.

Drying of these springs
Brings melancholy on the hills
Just like that
Drying your eyes
Brings sadness on your face


Can be said
The waterfalls are the same
Like your eyes
When waterfalls loom
Birds tweet
Just like that
When your eyes are full of joyous rain
Children sing and zoom.

Waterfalls should never be in ego
as their source is not their own.
Eyes you never forget this too
that your source also does not belong to you.
Colm Jan 2017
Alluring eyes like waterfalls flow right on by
See not the graffiti on the rocks
But the beauty which resides
Deep inside her watery eyes
Wo...
Bo Burnham Mar 2015
Why do poets always talk about the ocean's waves,
about their single file march to shore,
and yet never talk about my grandmother's farts,
which arrive in time, one after the other, with equal
     regularity?

Are these poets too holy to comment on anything
less than nature's flashiest gestures?
Are we going to spend another millenia searching
for meaning in sunsets and waterfalls?

Or will we finally turn our ear to Grammy's ****
and away from all that pretty stuff,
and hear that foul, muted trumpet sing,
marking the end of an era?
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
there wasn't any money but there was
plenty of rain.
it wouldn't rain for just a night or
a day,
it would RAIN for 7 days and 7
nights
and in Los Angeles the storm drains
weren't built to carry off taht much
water
and the rain came down THICK and
MEAN and
STEADY
and you HEARD it banging against
the roofs and into the ground
waterfalls of it came down
from roofs
and there was HAIL
big ROCKS OF ICE
bombing
exploding smashing into things
and the rain
just wouldn't
STOP
and all the roofs leaked-
dishpans,
cooking pots
were placed all about;
they dripped loudly
and had to be emptied
again and
again.
the rain came up over the street curbings,
across the lawns, climbed up the steps and
entered the houses.
there were mops and bathroom towels,
and the rain often came up through the
toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling,
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had problems starting on a
sunny day,
and the jobless men stood
looking out the windows
at the old machines dying
like living things out there.
the jobless men,
failures in a failing time
were imprisoned in their houses with their
wives and children
and their
pets.
the pets refused to go out
and left their waste in
strange places.
the jobless men went mad
confined with
their once beautiful wives.
there were terrible arguments
as notices of foreclosure
fell into the mailbox.
rain and hail, cans of beans,
bread without butter;fried
eggs, boiled eggs, poached
eggs; peanut butter
sandwiches, and an invisible
chicken in every ***.
my father, never a good man
at best, beat my mother
when it rained
as I threw myself
between them,
the legs, the knees, the
screams
until they
seperated.
"I'll **** you," I screamed
at him. "You hit her again
and I'll **** you!"
"Get that son-of-a-*******
kid out of here!"
"no, Henry, you stay with
your mother!"
all the households were under
seige but I believe that ours
held more terror than the
average.
and at night
as we attempted to sleep
the rains still came down
and it was in bed
in the dark
watching the moon against
the scarred window
so bravely
holding out
most of the rain,
I thought of Noah and the
Ark
and I thought, it has come
again.
we all thought
that.
and then, at once, it would
stop.
and it always seemed to
stop
around 5 or 6 a.m.,
peaceful then,
but not an exact silence
because things continued to
drip
  drip
    drip
  

and there was no smog then
and by 8 a.m.
there was a
blazing yellow sunlight,
Van Gogh yellow-
crazy, blinding!
and then
the roof drains
relieved of the rush of
water
began to expand in the warmth:
PANG!PANG!PANG!
and everybody got up and looked outside
and there were all the lawns
still soaked
greener than green will ever
be
and there were birds
on the lawn
CHIRPING like mad,
they hadn't eaten decently
for 7 days and 7 nights
and they were weary of
berries
and
they waited as the worms
rose to the top,
half drowned worms.
the birds plucked them
up
and gobbled them
down;there were
blackbirds and sparrows.
the blackbirds tried to
drive the sparrows off
but the sparrows,
maddened with hunger,
smaller and quicker,
got their
due.
the men stood on their porches
smoking cigarettes,
now knowing
they'd have to go out
there
to look for that job
that probably wasn't
there, to start that car
that probably wouldn't
start.
and the once beautiful
wives
stood in their bathrooms
combing their hair,
applying makeup,
trying to put their world back
together again,
trying to forget that
awful sadness that
gripped them,
wondering what they could
fix for
breakfast.
and on the radio
we were told that
school was now
open.
and
soon
there I was
on the way to school,
massive puddles in the
street,
the sun like a new
world,
my parents back in that
house,
I arrived at my classroom
on time.
Mrs. Sorenson greeted us
with, "we won't have our
usual recess, the grounds
are too wet."
"AW!" most of the boys
went.
"but we are going to do
something special at
recess," she went on,
"and it will be
fun!"
well, we all wondered
what that would
be
and the two hour wait
seemed a long time
as Mrs.Sorenson
went about
teaching her
lessons.
I looked at the little
girls, they looked so
pretty and clean and
alert,
they sat still and
straight
and their hair was
beautiful
in the California
sunshine.
the the recess bells rang
and we all waited for the
fun.
then Mrs. Sorenson told us:
"now, what we are going to
do is we are going to tell
each other what we did
during the rainstorm!
we'll begin in the front row
and go right around!
now, Michael, you're first!. . ."
well, we all began to tell
our stories, Michael began
and it went on and on,
and soon we realized that
we were all lying, not
exactly lying but mostly
lying and some of the boys
began to snicker and some
of the girls began to give
them ***** looks and
Mrs.Sorenson said,
"all right! I demand a
modicum of silence
here!
I am interested in what
you did
during the rainstorm
even if you
aren't!"
so we had to tell our
stories and they were
stories.
one girl said that
when the rainbow first
came
she saw God's face
at the end of it.
only she didn't say which end.
one boy said he stuck
his fishing pole
out the window
and caught a little
fish
and fed it to his
cat.
almost everybody told
a lie.
the truth was just
too awful and
embarassing to tell.
then the bell rang
and recess was
over.
"thank you," said Mrs.
Sorenson, "that was very
nice.
and tomorrow the grounds
will be dry
and we will put them
to use
again."
most of the boys
cheered
and the little girls
sat very straight and
still,
looking so pretty and
clean and
alert,
their hair beautiful in a sunshine that
the world might never see
again.
and
Styles Jan 2018
He is;
caving in her walls, raising up her hips
tighten his grips, pulling her into him
crashing her body into his like waterfalls
her jaw drops as he massages her walls
motioned by her motions
his motions are
stirred up with deep emotions
It lifts her up to give him a rise
their thirsty bodies capitalize on the synchronized ride
eyes closed like they are hypnotized
her peaks climbing the highest of highs
temperature rising, fire between her thighs
her soothing heat, his body mesmerized
she came so hard even he is satisfied


What an "ANGELUS" time it is
These times of LOVE

The "SALATS" of the moment
embraces everything around us

Is it the "FAJR" of birds kissing?
Is it the "ASR" of cats stretching?
Is it the "MAGHRIB" of peacocks screams?

Those are the sound of LOVE I suppose

I can see on the cheeks
The wetness of the kiss
That has not dried yet

Who is the LOVE
(BELOVEDz /  LOVERz) who causes
The tears swell in the eyes
Of the one who LOVES?

Why is the eagerness to touch
The bare shoulders so enticing?

Why the heart longs to
drown into LOVE
(BELOVEDz / LOVERz) core?

Placing one's face on the lap
The flower smells jasmine rains

Close eyes and experience my LOVE
When I seal your pores with my lips?

Can I sing you lullabies
When you sleep besides me peacefully?

Can I snap a new art sculpture
Out of your hair every morning?

Forget your thoughts
While feeling my LOVE
By being in LOVE with me

Why the words become worthless
When we share
A common breathing between our lips?

Who is listening to the music
Of our heart-beats?

Why do roses rain over us
When we share our chromosomes?

Who are they?
There, below the waterfalls
Behind the mountain caves
The two magical unicorns in LOVE?

Who will pray "TEFILLAH"
When we are in
Ultimate union of LOVE?

Who will "TENEBRAE" our lives
To illuminate our souls?

So that we "THEOPHANY" the
LOVE deity of ONENESS

Now tell me...

Will the clouds answer our LOVE-call?
Will the first ray of sun ever find us?
Will the moon ever illuminate dark lives?
Will the stars sparkle over our springs?
Will the dew drop give birth to seedlings?

To save the cosmos & planet EARTH
Let us embrace into
Single semantic of LOVE


Salmane Driouch Jun 2014
I came from a vast Desert
to see what waterfalls look like
but I found out
that
which I had not thought about!
Water falls down
hits the ground
makes a sound.
He stands beside me,
In awe of the sight before thee.
His hand has mine.

We both look at each other.
Nothing can be told from his eyes.
The eyes of Ashure haze.

"Do not be afraid..
We are home."

The sound of rushing water,
Crashing into its ever blue.
The beauty of the growth around it.
I call it home.

This was the place,
Where the wolves shall be born.
Creation of a pack.
Has just begun.

Werewolves alive.
Waterfalls of Beauty.
A family.
For eternity.
Colin Kohlsmith Nov 2010
(After a seven day hike in Pacific Rim National Park, British Columbia)

The wilderness is a beauty
Unforgiving,
She’ll take your breath
You glance deeply
Through the forest
Hear the waves
Crash through and crest
This land has not been conquered
It barely has been tamed
There’s many a spot unspoiled
And many a place unnamed
And life is all around you
The way it’s always been
It’s as if the world’s forgiven
Just this once, all of man’s sins
So you tread carefully on the footpath
You pay attention to each step
Cross canyons and each precipice
Scale the granite cliffs
This place, it is rewarding
For those who are aware
You see life teeming in the ocean
And eagles in the air
You live in the present
Your senses re-attuned
Whatever else is happening
Is suddenly consumed
You get up with the sunrise
Build fires when darkness calls
You pay attention to the tides
And sleep by waterfalls
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***,
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.

Logan Robertson

7/25/2018
Dagen Kipling Jun 2018
Words burning my throat
    the same burn
    as the shot of whiskey.
    Waterfalls of ethanol
    trying to drown my sins.
    But they have learned to
    swim.
    
    [DK]
Rivers Kay Jun 2015
Why would you stick to the rivers and the lakes that you'r used to...

When you could be chasing waterfalls?
Jen Sep 2018
Waterfalls
Are
A Magnificent
Force of Nature,
Formed over
Softness,
And Hard rock-
Creating
New life,
And it
Flows down
And continues
All the time.

There is
A mysticism
That surrounds-
Standing
Behind
It as it
Rushes down
To the bottom;
And wouldn’t
It be surreal;
And, I wonder
What it would
Be like to be
That water
In another life,
Becoming alive
In another form,
Resplendence,
Shining
Forever.

The wind
Carrying
You,
In this life
And the next one...

Don’t be afraid,
I dreamed this.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
I wish you all the happeiness
I wanted for myself and more.
I wish you find that one person
You can appreciate and adore.
I wish you songbirds at dawn
And cool breezes at night
I hope all your fondest dreams
Will turn out to be just right.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.

I wish you romantic dinners
And walks along the river
Under twinkling skirts of stars
And long, loving talks together.
I wish the joys one finds in love
And being close to each other.
I wish you mutual respect
And that it goes on forever.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.

I wish you what I'm sure love is,
Which is that I want for you
That all the best should happen
And my wishes will come true.
I wish you all the best of life,
And the heaven it can be.
I wish wondrous days for you,
I just wish it were with me.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.
Nicx Sep 2014
White, my hands of ice
Warmed by the chilled blade upon my palm.
A touch of red
Blurs pink.
No light,
Just white, and fade
The frozen air begins to warm
as the water drips from my soul
onto the bedroom floor.
Ola Radka Jan 2017
We all paint our lives.
The mountains of challenges,
The rivers of tears,
The waterfalls of joy.

We mix the colours of sorrow and laughter
And add the colours of experience and the years that passed.
The souls we will always remember
And the moments we will never forget.
The worries of some
Are mere dreams to others
So distant, so irrelevant
And so, this makes them ignorant?

So strange, to worry about
Appearances: the reflection seen
On the glass slab of self esteem and

Stranger yet, is the concern of
The appearances of others. Shallow, too.
The spare thought space that

Once was filled with dreams of
lemon rivers and
strawberry waterfalls

Now crammed with petty problems
of textbooks and paperwork
And how much you know
What better way to boost your ego

Once the bed of a lemon river
Now the graveyard of imagination

And last, ah, sweet envy
Of the one who stands above others
But what for?
A life that's ruled by paper
Rather than pen?

And so, I worry still
about the pen, and the paper,
And all things insignificant.
But when Gods knocks on the door
Or when Satan calls
I'll still be dreaming of lemon rivers and strawberry waterfalls
Neo Madime Mar 2014
I still remember you
I lost you because non-commitment was all I could give.
Now I wake with my sheets soaked with the residue from my nightmares, suffocating me.

I long for those days when the sun was setting and hand in hand we'd sit, in silence.
You'd pull me closer to share your excitement with me; grab a fist full of my hair to allow you to enter into matrimony with my lips.

I long to have your presence next to me; to see the rise and fall of your chest reminding me that that is where my home is.
To have you wake me in the morning with your arms protectively caressing  me, rhythmically and suggestively moving along my body...
To have you send shivers down my spine with your hot breath as I feel you smile into my neck

I remember your lips became the metaphor for our young hasty affair:
your lips often grazing every crevice on my body, arousing feelings in me I never thought existed and exciting this dormant precious place between my thighs.

My thighs, which are now the empty hallways you used to roam with so much passion and ferocity used to release waterfalls that cascaded down in a pleasurable release,
long for one more body trembling exhilarating encounter.

But most of all I long to be loved again.
Some things are just forbidden
Lenny M Jun 2015
The Ocean is her home,

But she wishes to venture places Unknown,

Above her world, The Surface world

Bottom feeders have left her post modem bored,

She is convinced to Pursue "New",

Can you blame her for chasing Waterfalls,

Instead of sticking to the rivers that she is use to,

She fiends to be Free,

From the shackles of conformity
My Little Mermaid .. Swim on :)
Cori MacNaughton Jul 2015
Fed by waterfalls
fast and muddy from the rain
Calfkiller River
Second of four poems written this morning.
Our place is bordered on our eastern side by the Calfkiller River.
Elizabeth Jul 2018
And when the time comes my tears won't be falling like rain for it will be warm tea and fresh honey streaming down my cheeks.
I hope one day I will bathe in sunflowers and new love - I'm tired of the dead leaves that burden my body, they soak in like fresh coconut on my skin.
I sit underwater where time stops for a second, and I am at peace. I hope one day I can run into rushing waterfalls without begging for that moment of altered reality. I hope one day I bathe in roses instead of my sorrows.
What do you hope for?
arizona Nov 2018
I elbowed the universe
when I saw it flirting
with you as if I wasn’t
also capable of
sunrises and waterfalls.
These shifting continents
tried to pull you away
so with these hands of purpose
I began shifting the stars
to draft love letters
left above for all to see that
I can outworld this earth,
our sun and
the relentless seas
all asking to touch your skin
just as much as
I.
Serendipity Nov 2018
Her beauty cascades like waterfalls,
in blooming waves of curls upon her back.
Hair, black as night, bouncing to the beat of her soul.
She was the kind of 'different' beauty,
they never taught us to love in school.
So we burned the textbooks,
and I watched her plaid skirts and hair,
surf the waves of the wind,
and neither of us looked back,
as we ran from it all.
Alexis (Laura-Lee) this one's for you.
Amanda Victoria Nov 2011
A tear slowly makes its way down her face
And this time, she cannot catch it.
Instead her sadness spreads like wild fire
Igniting every thought in her mind,
Lighting all that she knows and all that she wishes.
Dreams turn to bright embers.
They burn magically while quietly dying with each passing second.
Silently dancing, Waiting,
For a breath of hope to restart their short lived lives.

And she drops to her knees at the mention of the end.
And tears drop like small waterfalls.
She brings her hands to her face,
And falls the rest of the way to the ground.

The only thing stable, the cold wet grass,
Embraces her wholly.
It holds tight all her broken pieces, until she can stand again.
But she may have waited too long this time,
And certain parts will not mend.
She needs to forgive, but cannot forget.
The past is the past,
moving on is all that is left.
Diverseman2020 Sep 2009
Misty waters whisk my body
I cannot see
Right before me
Blurry is my vision
A mystify sound, I hear
With footsteps not very far
Who can that be
Feeling a precious touch
Behind me
I turned in this steamy irrigate
A mistress stands near
Before I speak
Her soft fingers surrenders my lips
Whispers in my ear
Her maiden name
Sounds so melodious
Attempted to grasp her by hand
As she refuses
The haze clears up
To an unbearable sight
A divine creature of elegance
As I imagine
How can this emergence of love mend a broken heart?
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
I was with the ocean last night and your body
Was its vessel, overflowing.  Words were frail,
Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky,
Water reaching for its own height and breath,
Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged,
Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they
Disappeared in our hands.  Inklings of tide-
Pool and driftwood.

                               My blood was a river that ran
Its course.  Members feeding your deltas and birds
Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas
And inverness.  Eyes like wing through ever—
Green, empties the fossil shell.  Fire, brimming
Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia,
Sleeping.  Did I mention that the earth moved?
No?  Her displacement was involuntary.

Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout
Time.  The scent, searching for its identity,
The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean,
O— cean.  And flowers, opening like galaxies
In the after-light.  A universe of face and hand
With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud
Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent,
Deities, in joyous creation.

I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.
Azad Akkash Apr 2015
To Jody;
My five years old friend and nephew

I put down the telephone,
entering a nap of elation,
till the echo of your sweet utterance
On the back of expatriation's wind
Swims away, dims.
By then, medusas of melancholy with their thick sorrow
fill up my throat
and my heart
would blindfolded fall on the knees and
die down…

With good and bad big wolves
tracing lost children or stuffing shaking goat kids into their paunch.
With ravenous bears, malignant hyenas
and crude giants,
garrulous  gracious squirrels, laborious ants
and active voracious hares.
With them, the two of us
had upholstered the land and sky of the wonderland,
and with their voices and whoops all,
we had irritated the dreamland's walls.

No matter how many times
we were building the villages for stories of straw, furze sticks and bricks,
I would only visit your house of mattresses and pillows.

Only for you,
I did revived the dead wolf
in order to revenge the "predatory" lumberjack.
With no regret I kept sending "wolfy" to the roasted chicken's shop
to defeat the hunger,
So that he won't eat the trapped little girl.
And before your smile,
the wolf in walrus moustache would play with the girl till daddy comes and takes her home.

And you are …
popping out, never closing the wide eyes of yours,
waiting for grandpa to take us to the village.
Up from the houses' roofs,
with Qarmeetlak's1 rabbits,
beyond the barbwires and in secret,
we stick the tongues out to the Turkish barracks.
Along with goat kids,
in tracking smugglers' traces,
we fool the landmines,
sneak to the other side of the border.
With smiley faces and hidden bleats,
We ****** the poppies and the grass that grow out from the edges of spring and the craters.
We hide from smuggler's ghosts who
in the  labyrinths of landmines
because of the unclaimed hands and legs are grabbing the collars.
We taunt the jackals' yowling and the patrolmen.
And in front of the rumbling sky, we do our best to look prettier;
Isn't  it "God taking photos of us"?
And like coward puppies we flee and go back to the safe village,
just before the dusk's winds could carry our smell to the angry spirit of Salan2
who is scouring the Kurmanj's Mountain3,
pursuing his endless vengeances.

Till the break of day,
with your slim clever squirreliness,
out of the branches of the most interlocked sorrowful stories,
you were shaking the attached laughs and guffaws
on the  hair of the deceiver Ashrafieh and the grumpy Sheikh Maksood's4 night.
Eventually, in taking its revenge,
the night would stuff you in a small basket and throw you away into the waves of sleep and dream
accompanied with all that eager to see the giants' kingdom and the mice's storehouses,
squirrels' village, their dances and bridals,
the departure will lead you to the waterfalls' cliffs of a dreamy sparrow's new day.
With the beaming love out from our eyes,
you dry up your tousled feathers and
take into the open.

Nevertheless, how simple-hearted the lies were when I kept telling you:
"Dog is a dog, a wolf is a wolf and the kitty is a kitty, and what are we, my Jody?
We are humans!"

I didn't want you to know
how in the world, could a dozen of
rabid armed dogs
smash down the door
and out from your eleven months old eyes,
with a persistent thronged barking,
they did take your dad away to the deepest liars of the ranch of malevolence,
introducing him to all kinds of animality.

How might I explained to you
why in the world, they reduced 'dad' for you
to that thing which every month
from behind a doubled bars
keep sending you a tearful laugh?
Why did they minimized the ancient capital for you into
both of the Political Security Branch and Siednaya's Jail5?

Your fingers had just started taking to writing and drawing.
You had just started
cantering your own stories
along with unsaddled breezes' foals
when herds of jackals with dark mouths
deported 'your Azad' into a fool refuge.
Again,
they
made
you
an orphan.

Inside the brushwood of the story and the wilderness of the epic,
since neither your fingers have become able to rise the sign of victory correctly,
nor could your throat match the letters of 'Kurdistan' properly,
whatever cave you step in,
no matter how shiny is the globe in the witch's hands,
she would never be able to tell you,
these lacrimatory mist and clouds,
with the emerging of every spring,
from which valleys of the ranch of malevolence  
did they come to overflow the Kurdish neighborhoods.
How did they vilely with no permission go up to the third floor
in order to join you in a poisoned feverish soiree.
And since when
the creatures of darkness
that they had brought
have been grazing their hyenas
among our fresh hopes.


Hence…
when I tell you that
I'll come back with the snowfall,
it is nothing but a lie!
When you ask me to come back in summer
in order to hang on my back
and swim together
along with the little fishes,
such an imagination!
When you are not sleeping in my empty bed anymore
Intending to let my pillow and blanket await for
my return,
only a childish dream!!
Yet, when you
in the sweet and soft Afrini accent of yours
say to me
'Ozod, I mithed you thoo thoo thoo much',
my heart
would blindfolded fall on the knees and
die down…

Azad Ekkaş
Roni_alend@outlook.com
Erbil: 3-1-2011
1-The village that Jody's family decsends from. It is located on the very Syrian Turkish borders.
2-  A traditional hero of the region.
3- Kurds in Afrin district in the remote north western corner of Syria call their region the Kurmanj's Mountain
4- The two largest Kurdish neighborhoods in the Syrian city of Aleppo.
5- The largest political and militaty prison in Syria where Jody's father was imprisoned. It is located in namesake town near to the Damascus.
Khalif Apr 2017
Her fingers are freeze frame waterfalls,
Beautiful. They always find a way to glisten
even when the sun feels like sleeping in a little.

It worries me how unresponsive they are.
I just want to taste the brush strokes
until I develop a fondness for still life.

But I don’t want to look towards her eyes,
I'm afraid those will be just as dead.
Maria Cordero Nov 2014
We were promised
Glitz and glam
Love and security

Never the beating down
Of our own
Never the feeling
Of an unlovable soul

Waterfalls into the night
We all know something ain't right
The nonsensical millennial
Smokes into the night

The harder we work
The harder we fall to our dying depths
And you wonder why
We haven't slept yet

We were promised
And now we are *******
Simon Clark Aug 2012
My eyes waterfall as I watch you walk away,
And my cheekbones form a river as you drift away,
My lips earthquake and tremble as you fall through the cracks,
My hands are vines; grasping; my skin starts to crack,
As I watch you walk away my eyes waterfall,
As you drift away the river breaks and waterfalls.
written in 2011
YoungGentleman17 Sep 2014
as i awaken from Heaven
there's this sound
it's no ordinary sound either
but where is it coming from

the sound is loud
but can make a person feel great
the sound is also pure
and will make a person feel calm

a sound of peacefulness
that has me took
legends say it even has a beautiful look
some seen it in person some seen them in books

as i followed the sound
i approached this place
i was shocked by it's beauty
that has approached my face

out of all these years of looking
i still can't believe
that this whole time
waterfalls were the peace of heaven i hadn't seen
Sanjali Sep 2018
17
-Hello Love-

Perhaps it’s been a thousand years,
the rivers have shifted so,
the lakes I swam in, have gone dry
the waterfalls though, overflow.
And so it is, that I have wandered back
tugged furiously throughout days
by this rugged tinkling thread
back to this ancient maze.

Most surely it’s been several weeks
the leaves are rough to touch,
the grass withers where I step
but trees don’t ask for much.
And so it is, that I have rambled on
pulled strangely through the haze,
at last I fall under the rays of morn,
My love, I’m home again.
Lost and found

— The End —