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Best River Poems

Below are the all-time best River poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of river poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New River Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best River poems are below this new poems list.

River Life in River Line by Gupta, Probir
As I walk The River Line by duggan, peter
River Line by Roberts, Seren
Winding River by Haight, Sandra
River life by Krampe, Agnes
River Romance by Tate, James
River Life by Vinson, Doug
RIVER LIFE by Dutta, Anisha
His River by Ferrara, Kristina
His River Date Was Fun by rr, rr

View all new River Poems

The Best River Poems

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Crying River

Crying River (The Untold Ballad) 

Undercover waters of rain dash
Cold children, no smiling splash
Tragic sobs, epic force of the mountain rain
Beautiful as it may seem -shallow basin 
---Dream---

She cries a tune, 
Mocking the Maple lands, a beautiful tune
Crooked Cornwall, she steams with the moon
Oceanic dreams, monsoon season, she swoon's
Frozen, dead, ice skating rink
Her wind, Pretty Chains O Lake 
Wet and Wild, the Elk drinks from her garden
Water falls from the lids of Jordan
Beautiful as it may seem with open curtain

When the ocean succeeds away from the sea
She's wide awake during winter's rain and breeze
Lost in the mud's of Bellaire's heartache,
River Blues, ice cold snap, bayou stirring up
Racing rivers crying by the western gutter
Silent, bells chime in the Black Mallard waters
Streams, blowing and drying dew droplets
Little rapid tears, everything spotless
Sugar, Swan waves down by Devils Creek
Listen to the thunder bay rolling deep
Beautiful as it may seem, she weeps

A northern world with streaks of falling rain
Pretty running white hair pane
A weather vane, snow dangles above her domain 
Beautiful crying winds
In the Eyes of Michigan

~3/5/14~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

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The Last Call

He left his sneakers by the shore
A backpack too, was laid aside
to pick up when the sun had died

He claimed his other gear, instead
The thrill of rapids filled his head
and sounds of water drew him in
             His sneakers, backpack cast aside
             would wait 'til dusk, upon the grass
             when he returned to don again

They did not hear the roaring tides
They did not hear the shouts of fright
Nor did they hear, at last, the call
That came from voices through the night

Calls from those who searched the dark
While water surged and moonlight fell
And rushed instead,  to grip a life
              His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
              assumed that he would come again

His sneakers wait, .........he kicked them off
In haste his backpack, too, was tossed
The river flows...... and all was lost
The cost was more than words explain

There's someone home who got the call
The words so wild, the last, that came

                 His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
                 assumed that he'd return again
                 It lies not in their province now,
                 to know the cost of human pain


___________________________________________________________
(Based, sadly, on a true event, and someone I once knew)
10/23/15   For the Contest: "Hear The Call" triple prompt
Resubmitted for Skat's Premiere Contest # 11...... 9/16/16



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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Nature

(The Sun is Out)

I dare to hope and dream, 
Of flowers that never fade
Of splendid and exotic creatures
All living in perfect harmony. 
I dream of tranquil earthly paradise,
A keen euphoric garden of Eden,
Created by my one and true Lord.
Alas that man sinned and now
The garden of Eden is closed.
 
So let us together embark upon a journey,
In earnest search and ardent expectation
Of peace and love and blissful pleasure. 
Let us travel down a mighty river
In a small pirogue, winding its way
Along the fern lined banks
Admiring the cypress and the tall pine trees.
 
The river turns into a valley,
Where mighty willows weep and dip
Their lower branches in the fresh icy stream. 
All around, we smell the scent of flowers,
Butterflies with gossamer wings
Flit untiringly from bloom to bloom
While insects seem to have composed
A lively concert of their own.
 
We hear the music of the song birds,
Especially the multicolored martin pescador,
Finches practicing their fine tunes
to serenade the attractive female mate.
We spy warblers, sparrows, and orioles
Dancing from branch to branch
Or birds of prey soaring over the ancient firs
Trying to catch some unsuspecting fish
That swims beneath the calm surface
Of a smooth and tranquil lake. 

Such magic moments mesmerize our senses,
As we witness the birth of day.
We find ecstasy in Our Lord's creations. 
His wondrous hand enhances nature,
Fascinates our spirit with uninhibited joy
Expanding the joyous hope for all humanity.


Placed 8


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

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The Bridge

I walk towards you,
as you stand waiting at the center of the bridge.

Beneath my feet, aged timbers span the churning river below.
With each step I see you more clearly.
My eyes search out the younger you,
that wild child with chestnut hair.
I can still remember your pigtails and ear to ear grin.
Back then, laugher was such an important part of us.
Somehow,
thankfully,
from the start, 
we just seemed to get each other.

As I approach,
I see both of us in your eyes.
The twinkles hidden within the wrinkles,
laugh lines, the evidence of our pleasure.
As you open your arms we embrace.
For a moment, time relinquishes its dominion.
Two friends once again, occupy a sacred moment,
grieving and celebrating the passage of everything.
We wonder, what if anything can be reclaimed?
Together, wishing yesterday forward!

The bridge groans under our childlike expectations.

In a split second everything changes!
We place young hands on the bridges revived splendor.
Amazed, we look over its railing.
There below, the river reverses upon itself,
flowing backwards until it stops.
The glass like surface reflects back images of our younger selves.
I look back into your eyes with wonder, 
how is this possible?
Once again we are both twelve,
standing on this baby blue bridge.
You too look shocked,
What is going through your mind?

Age has loosed its shackles!
The years reeling back like hands on a sprung clock.
I think my eyes deceive me, but it is you.
A cowlick sticking straight up and you have that crooked smile.
Your blue eyes playfully daring me,
to follow you into a new adventure.
This adventure occupies the reaches of our imaginations!
Your hand rests beside mine,
it feels familiar and safe.
How I have missed you my friend,
missed your voice, your exuberance for life.

As twilight lingers
and the stillness of time settles about us,
I see us as we were.
Long ago we said our goodbyes on this very bridge.
We promised one day we would return to this very spot.
A pinky swear magical promise!
Then we waded into our unknown years.
The river of time split us in two directions.
Many escapades, broken hearts,
triumphs and horrors.
Somehow, we grasped at the memories of a forever friendship.
A phone call, a transformative whisper,
beckoning us to return,
to a bridge,
to a time,
to a feeling.

Twelve years old,
hands clasped and swinging.
We skip to the beat of our own accordians. .
Together we dare life to give its all.
We are ready once again,
for skinned knees,
adventure,
perhaps some heartache,
but mostly belly laughter and ear to ear grins!

Written in collaboration with Monterey Sirak.
It is a pleasure to work with such a talented poet.






Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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My lacking

I laughed and the world was silent
For it seemed the joke was me
I wished to be a comfort
Yet, it was not meant to be

I stood upon the broadest shoulders
and still in the end I felt quite short
I couldn't see past lonely mountains
What goodly news could I report?

Those things I saw off in the distance
Raced towards me with a blinding speed
I dreamt of how they'd satisfy me
Yet sadly they did not meet my need

Within broken mind, I searched for justice
The lady outpaced by quite a bit
She said "If you really want to catch me,
You have to do oh so much more than sit!"

I chose to climb, the highest of mountains
Surveyed the majestic valleys below
Expected I'd be warmed by the sunshine
But Instead, I felt the fridgid winds blow

I shifted my gaze towards the heavens
Wondered deep down, why I felt all alone
As I sat cross legged I tried to listen
Felt a deep aching within tired bone

My greatest lacking was understanding
Until God's Mercy allowed me to cry
Temporary would lead to forever
The cycles of life connected to why

So my tears flowed into rivers
Down the tall mountain into the sea
It seems, I was always connected
Yes, the whole world was crying with me











Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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The Reunion

In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud Collin comes across her in the coffee house One of his friends calls his attention Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere A descent of birds pecking at his brain The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while The face and the figure look like his He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus His friend confounded when he is told Collin does not know who his mother is He had been adopted when he was just two The lady too looks at them off and on When a bridge comes up none can say The next few hours he passes in a daze Is the quest for four years going to succeed Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair He recites poems and talks to himself Same grace radiates from the daffodils The plant with the flowers hangs in the air The charm and the fragrance are irresistible He craves to rush forward and hug it tight And flood the flower with crimson kisses The scented air stays elusive nonetheless Collin says everything to his adopted parents They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth There would be no problem in living all together Collin laughs and says very forcefully The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert When the magnet works in the very stem cells The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously She takes him to her apartment She lives alone her husband dead No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms Thousand wasps biting inside his head The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth Light and dark interchange day after day Poems of love keep churning the two hearts Drama outside and a flood within The day DNA test confirms the gene The two intermingle to a river serene ______________________________________________________________ August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family Sponsored by Silent One


Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

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Love in my veins

Your love flows through my veins
like the Nile River flows through
the sands of Eygpt.
Love flows through my veins
like rivers that break off into endless streams
and water the gardens of the green stems
of torn covered rose bushes.

In my veins, you flow, as a sparrow
flies through the blue skies in beauty.
You are the blood that flows through my veins
and later settles deep in my heart
and embraces me with a hug of intimace.

Love flows through my veins
like endless notes played by the sweetest composer
along with his private orchestra playing a lovely melody.
Rivers, streams break off and flow into lakes and oceans,
Like my veins that lead to my heart,
you are always there flowing through my veins.
Your love flows through my veins.


Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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A river called Ebola

Thathud, boom boom boom 
Thathud, boom boom boom
I listen
As drums beat in Africa
Voices rise above the pounding
Mourning 
Crying out for their lost
For their feverish
Helpless people dying one loving touch at a time
Ebola, your tears bring destruction
You methodically  make your way to the city
The river from which you flow is cursed
A stream of blood gushes forth
Pouring out and through Africa
Thathud, boom boom boom

You, Ebola
Travel in secrecy
Disguised as lesser diseases
Now the uncommon more common cold
You wear malaria like a illusionist's garment
Making your way through the marketplace
Taxicabs fill with your unsuspecting victims
Fear and ignorance, your loyal companions 
Following you to the hospitals
Places of healing become decimated 
The healers hands are not protected
Their fingers become your own
You whisper "take me home with you,
let me kiss the face of your loved ones!"

Still the drums continue to beat
Thathud, boom boom boom
Hear the beat of Africa's heart
Bring your Doctors across her borders
Open Samaritan's Purse
Ebola, must not win
Let us love Africa one person at a time
God's loving hand's poised to heal
Redemption is possible
He has not forgotten his children
Strength will once again course through their veins
Africa will sing a new song
The fever will break
Ebola, you cannot
Shall not
Will not
Silence the drums of Africa!
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom
Thathud, boom boom boom........









Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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Mississippi Moments

History journeys along with its meandering flow as
a wide birth from bank to bank has eyes straining
trying to see across to the other side, far too wide.
Muddy rivulets stirred up by the river boats drift by
and my dreams become intertwined with what
I have read and the sleepy house boats floating near 
the banks that the river dwellers call home.

A huge stainless steel arch with its catenary curve 
looms gracefully nearby as a gateway of welcome,
built as a monument to Thomas Jefferson and the
pioneers who braved making their way to St. Louis, 
why it is fondly called “the Gateway to the West.”
I felt as if the Arch was paying homage to the mighty
Mississippi with its tall shadow falling on her erratic waters.

Children were waving from the banks at contented tourists 
waving back as they drifted slowly by and time stood still 
with the music of the river taverns mingling with the 
contrasting sounds of riverboat whistles, and I drifted along 
with them sensing serene pleasure into another time and place.



Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014

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River Song

On the bank of the river, I watch the brown leaves drifting,
and let the current lift me, to where the sun resides
Rock rimmed, and cold,  the waters ever shifting,
without a hesitation, with no reason to abide
I watch the brown leaves drifting, to where the sun resides

Somewhere down the river,  the thrushes and the swallows,
fly high above the rushes, with bright, satin wings 
Reeds grow in shadowed shallows, there are ducks in all the hollows
Moss is green, and willows lean, and the haloed twilight clings
There are ducks in all the hollows, with bright, satin wings

As I watch the streams meander, I can hear the seasons call
Water soothes the jagged stones, and shadowed day is done
The moon arrives, and sun declines, as if from earth, it falls
Does it melt into the river's flow, as the seams blend into one?
I can hear the seasons call, as the seams blend into one

_____________________________________________________
1/15/15  For the Contest: Manassian Quintain
Sponsored By Craig Cornish


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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A River flows

A river in an African deep jungle,
They saw you and me as foreigners
when we decided to throw our selves 
beneath the waters with our clothes on. 
We let our waves of thoughts
get us wet, 
and spoke the truth to each other
without words. 
We smiled and shed some tears,
we held each other,
and never touched the ground.
We dived into the warmth,
and touched transparency….

They always lived here
and never noticed 
that dreams are found 
within their reach. 
The rives runs,
Its warmth is infinite,
and yet for them
its cold and still.
We had a dream,
and they had none.
Our dream is true
and who should know
if they would see,
our dream as theirs,
or just one day
create their own,
and see the way
their river  flows…


Copyright © Omneya Kamal | Year Posted 2012

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The River

Before the weary pilgrim, flowed a river fair and wide
The way was filled with danger,  he couldn't cross the other side;
So the pilgrim sought another to be his expert guide
With a boat that could take him through the surging tide.

The sailor man was strong and he steered the boat so well
Or did the river bear the boat?  It was so hard to tell;
The sailor told the pilgrim of the signs that he might seek
Of the secrets of the river and the message it would speak.

Then the pilgrim felt the peace so he listened and he heard
The murmer of the river and sighs of whispered word;
He heard the river laugh and then he heard it cry
And the pilgrim heard the message as sad tears filled his eye.

He heard the drums of war in the torrent of the rain
And the awful cries of anguish that he never could explain;
Was there a reason for the crossing, or where the river ran
Was there another reason for the journey of this man?

He heard the sounds of death, he heard the sounds of mirth
But nothing that he heard gave tribute to the earth;
The sounds were fused together till they reached a common goal
And the quiver of his heartbeat found a cadence in his soul.

The river lost its birthplace and embraced the open sea
And the pilgrim gave his thanks on reverent bended knee
He opened up his eyes as the sunrise slowly died
But the sailor man had gone and the boat rocked on the tide.

The river filled his veins till the two at last were one
While the tide rolled on forever and earth went round the sun;
The pilgrim was the river and the boat and sailor man
Were the journey of the song, the singing river sang.




This is my adaptation of "The Ferryman" by Herman Hesse


 


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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Char-Ben or Ru-Maine Collaboration

To be revised.....


In my universe of dreams				
under velvet jazzy sky					
there is an ocean of stars                  
twinkling diamonds above high           
         Across that ocean, I left  
         the air dulling my eyes  
         empty blue in darkest night 
         Cease the fancies...and awake
In my evergreen of dreams                        	
there's a mattress of silk leaves				
hundred candles by the river                         
on a blanket...you and I  
         My fall has ripped all the leaves
         while your river just dried up
         As those candles, we've been blown out
         We won't never feel again
In my orchestra of dreams                       
we are dancing cheek to cheek		
your strong hands around my waist        	
my pink lips brushing your face                
         Single echo of goodbyes
         in cold silence we're apart 
         Mockinbirds are no longer
         and oblivion's now stronger                                                       
In my sailing boat of dreams                       
it is only you I see
laughing happy close to me                       
reaching our sweet destiny                         
         Open your eyes and awake
         those illusions aren't fate 
         your dreams drift in lasting storm 
         I left to never return
In my universe of dreams                        
under velvet jazzy sky
there is an ocean of stars...



This Collaboration is obviously a work of fiction...
...Who can refuse to her Charms?


.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

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River Walk

River Walk
streaming from heaven, moonbeams stroll on the river … gazing up at stars
Entered in contest:"One Solo EPIC Senryu or Haiku- River Walk," sponsored by Poet Destroyer A (8-27-2014)


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

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The Magic River

Deep inside the forest of the Elvin King. There flows a magic river from an ancient spring. They say its special waters hold the mystery of youth. And should you take one little drink you’ll know that it’s the truth. The waters all originate from way up in a fountain. That’s hidden very cleverly inside of Elvin Mountain. The extraordinary liquid looks like little diamond chips. Granting youth to everyone with one or two small sips. The river has a secret that is only known to elves. For centuries, the mystery still kept between themselves. They say it is the reason that they live so very long. And that aside from giving youth it also makes them strong. People come to drink the waters from the distant lands. Even from the ocean and the beaches rich with sands. Everyone has tried to guess its power through the years. Little do the people know the river’s strength is tears. For every time a little baby elf begins to cry. They take the little baby tears up to the mountain high. They drop them in the fountain where they travel down the spring. Creating all the magic that the river waters bring. One small sip of precious water on a person’s tongue. Will instantly transform them to the way when they were young. So if you find the Magic River take a sip or two. For it will surely make you feel just like you are brand new.


Copyright © Samia Ali Arroyo | Year Posted 2012

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The River Mersey and The Black Pearl New Brighton

 The River Mersey and The Black Pearl New Brighton 

Let the Caribee and sultry sea call to the pirates bold. 
But on this shore, with its tales of lore, The Mersey keeps its hold
For merchants, priests and pirates too left these docks to find
A new life abroad with bible or sword, leaving their old life far behind

They ventured near and ventured far across the seven seas
Across foreign lands, jungles and sands and swamps way past their knees
And though they prospered, lived and fought in many a distant place
The Mersey’s banks beckoned them as fast as its tidal pace

No matter where in the world they are they’ll never forget the sound
Of the Mersey’s constant ebb and flow or the feel of the sandstone ground
So dream and wander; take to sea and soothe your wanderlust
For you know that within yourself, you’ll return - and that’s a must

Whether mortal body, spirit or mind, or everlasting soul
The wanderer always returns to the place that made them whole
Empires built and Empires lost and many a treasure gone
There’s always the constant, aching yearn by each and every one

To step on this land, on the Mersey sand, or mud up to their shin
And reminisce of the old ferries and the loud New Brighton din
To sail across the river on an ancient battered boat
That’s survived the years of ravages and yet still remains afloat 

The Black Pearl’s every timber was washed upon the beach
Beyond salvage from wrecks of ships, beyond anybody’s reach
Returning too to their resting place they floated harmlessly
Or tossed upon the sandstone rock with a tempest’s cruel fury 

Her many flags fly from her masts as if in a never-ending toast
To ships and boats of every size and shape from every coast
They too salute this edifice of flotsam, debris and waste
As they sail from mighty Liverpool to beat the tide as they make haste

But Black Pearl is deeply anchored with piles into the rock
Her builders come from all walks of life, from every social stock
She thrives on more additions from visitors galore
And let’s their imaginations carry them further still and more

To the Caribee and the sultry sea and to pirates in their coves
To the hidden buried treasures and stories of wealth and loves
Children young and children old and children in between 
Can stand upon her shipshape decks and be what they want to seem

For the Black Pearl’s made of magic and stories still untold
And to all who step upon her decks she lets their tales unfold
So climb aboard and let’s set sail and ride the river’s waves
And never move a moment amid stories of lagoons and caves

Let the stories wash and ebb and flow and be spun with yarn and jest 
Cast off the fetters of your mind and let your tales just be the best
Close your eyes, feel the breeze and smell the salty air 
Allow your fantasies to unfurl, like the flags fluttering there.


Copyright © Thomas Mansfield | Year Posted 2015

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Farm Girl

On a Sussex farm works a golden haired girl
Surrounded by guys as she makes their hearts twirl
But her love and soul are miles away
In a Highlanders heart, she hopes to meet one day.
 
Its nearly a year since they were first in touch
As she's grown to adore him oh so much
Her delight will be, is too invite him down
And show him round her lovely town.
 
Her joy and smiles, as she holds his hand
Her heart pounding as she feels a million grand
Stopping for cuddles as they share a kiss
With her Highlander she's in sheer bliss.
 
The countryside where this English Rose stays
Flowering crops grow and animals graze
Noisy tractors Harvesters reap
Under a blistering sun, the baaing of sheep.
 
In her yellow dress, flowing golden hair
She takes his hand, as they climb the stair
Above up here is where we keep the hay
Again she takes his hand and down they lay.
 
Facing each other they start to kiss
This English rose in her mind she wish
To share her body with her Highlander
To adjoin their bodies as their loving stirs.
 
As they undress each other on this summers day
Bare skin warms the golden hay
Passions flow as their hands explore
Loving scent from their loving pores
Joys and sighs, they feel their bodies mix
Emotions and feelings in adrenalin fix.
 
Warmed and content,consumed in each others arms
Two heavenly bodies sharing each others charms
Kissing and cuddling on the flattened hay
As they stand up and look where they just once lay.
 
Dishevelled clothes, hair astray 
This loving couples summers play
Standing embrace their bodies quiver
Holding hands they head to the river.
 
At the river bank they undress each other
Under a shaded green leafy cover
Her naked body and long golden hair
Makes him proud to be standing there.
 
As they enter the river 
They caress and wash each other
Under this shaded leafed cover
They kiss and embrace to share their love
Under the leafy tree, chirping birds all above.
 
Heading home hand in hand
This loving couple feeling two million grand
They head to bed, spooned and cosy
This Highlander and his English Rosie.


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

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I Am The River

I Am The River…
I am the river;
poured out
of God’s  
celestial pitcher:
a full river;
swollen with His tears.

I am the river;
my banks hold
the flow
of a nation:
denied, crucified, died,
resurrected and sanctified.

I am the river;
my tributaries flow
wide and deep—
outward, inward, upward,
downward and back
to the source.

I am the river;
The flowing essence
Of a mother’s womb—come 
Wade in my history
And let the wetness of ourstory
bathe away all your delusions.

I am the river;
the river 
of your birth:
come and swim in me.


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2016

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My hovercraft is full of eels

I'll try to tell you without my usual cant
that all I wanted was to go sailing with
Sherry Saturday morning but I can't!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

The watchman phoned when I was lying  
in bed to notify me of this.
I was shocked to find he wasn't lying!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My good-will has been weakened
because of this horrid event
which completely ruined my weekend.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

These morbid creatures are serious
party-poopers. Remember!: Their
electricity is deleterious.
My hovercraft is full of eels!

My beloved Birthday present invaded by
these heinous monsters! I will have to buy  
a new one 'cause to this one I must say bye!
My hovercraft is full of eels!

Ghastly! You don't know how this feels!
My hovercraft is full of eels!


Copyright © Ivo Cosentino | Year Posted 2014

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Feeding the Ducklings

Listen to poem:

Feeding the Ducklings


She is a princess sitting on her throne;
her subjects down below now make their way
towards waiting hands, for only them alone
she holds a prize she wants to give away.

They paddle towards her through the river flow
to the reward she holds for them to share,
for she is here most every day to throw
this sustenance to them with gentle care.

She is their princess, and to her, they look
with eyes intent on gifts within her hand.
So cute they are, like in a story book,
the ducklings come; they seem to understand.

The sun is bright and water ripples dance
as these sweet creatures visit her today.
There is an air of symbiotic trance...
they come, she feeds...all share a 'love buffet'.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: Feeding the Ducklings
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 05/30/2016


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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River of Dreams

I watched the purple morning rise, high over the misty streams, and clung to hope, when faith had gone, along with all my dreams. The soothing sounds of river's song, will smooth the jagged stones.
____________________________________________________ 2/18/16 Inspired by contest: "River of Dreams" Sponsor: PD


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

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As I Paddled the River Nile

As I paddled the river Nile
I met a monstrous crocodile. 
She smiled at me enticingly.   
I smiled deferentially.  
Through large white teeth to me she said, 
"I want you in my river bed." 

"We are not acquainted enough
for such intimate, tasteless stuff," 
I cried.  A hippopotamus 
opined, "Hey, we're amphibious. 
We're inclined to romp through marshes; 
come, let's crush some reedy rushes." 

I paddled hard away.  The Nile 
now swirled by rapidly awhile
to the sea.  There where its two brinks 
grow apart it flows past a sphinx 
who lies prone and thinks endlessly 
deep thoughts about eternity. 

For eons and eons his mind 
thought thoughts about how to unbind 
gravity from mentality    
throughout universality, 
that we might freely float;  
no more need to paddle my boat.  

Unfortunately, he has no gumption 
to follow his least assumption; 
but we do chat on fluently
of, to wit, stuff way beyond me 
like hieroglyphic-ally writ 
papyri.  When he will not quit 

I wander alone to a tomb 
where lies Cleopatra, of whom 
each schoolgirl knows; how her last gasp 
came as she clasped to breast her asp. 
Grasp that story's significance
twixt geometry class and dance.

Whilst she patronymic-ally 
reigned, a most royal Ptolemy; 
she told Marc, "My new last 'nym' now'll
be 'Anthony'."  This, post her roll 
out, quite nude, from Julius' rug.  
His offer of sex met her mere shrug.  

I stood amid a pyramid 
or three and pondered where they hid, 
these pharaohs, all their treasury. 
Was power or mere pleasury 
their true architectural plan? 
To ever tell, no pharaoh can.  

These writs I write as my boat drifts
midst original hieroglyphs 
through the Mediterranean.  
I don't need a librarian  
to see, no sociology 
compares to Egyptology.   




Copyright © John Smith | Year Posted 2011

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Weeping Willow - Tanka - Your Welca

hey there willow bank admire your hanging eyes  mine are far from dry withdraw tears another time now...i’ll cry you a river
  10/01/2014


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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I've Never Kissed A Toad - HexSonnetta

I've never kissed a toad,
or lived a fairytale,
or seen a spouting whale.
I'm silent as a road,
or where Euphrates flowed
when Moses made the veil.

I've borne the greatest minds
the Father ever made;
each one with care was laid
where common folks could find
each ancient treasure's kind.
Some left, but others stayed.

A tall library shelf,
I'm trapped within myself.


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015

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Shaped by the River

Silvery ripples and swirls of viridian currents
Moving through ancient gorges,
	Molding and shaping solid shades of gray granite…
Soft and round, 
Craggy and sharp,
Here and There…

Solid rock thrusting up 
Shaped by shifting currents of the river
		Rising and falling,
		Rushing and fading,
		Over time.

Who knows where 
The current will go next
Or what shape the rocks will take,
Over time.

Nevertheless
	The river and rocks remain,
	One, solid and steady,
	The other, fluid and ever-moving.

Sitting here
	My heart longs to shed its burdens
	To let them slide like a rock into the gently swirling water
	And be carried away by the swiftly flowing current beneath the surface.

I want to know …
	Can I remain solid and steady, yet fluid,
                As the currents of change swirl 
                Around me?
	
I want to know …
                Can I be molded and reshaped 
                As the river of life courses
                Through me?

I want to know …
               Can I be moved in new directions by love, 
               Harmonious and true to the voice of my heart 
               Echoing in the ancient gorge of my own soul?

The only answer that comes
              Is the flow of my tears and 
              The sound of the river as it continues 
              To ripple and run around the rocks. 

Maybe       
             That
             Is enough, 
             For now.


Copyright © Krista Kurth | Year Posted 2009