Best Red River Poems
rivers of scarlet
flood across the USA
packed greyhound bus leaves
11~10~16
Poetics Poem, Red River Gorge, KY
I traipse the course of a forking, rambling stream
Barefoot from the rounded top of one small boulder
To another, the slashing strikes of cold water
Startling my every careful leap, place to place,
Landing with deep, short gasps, yet wordless
In an utter joy of intense sensation over sun-sprinkled
Spots so bright against the deep gray hollow splotches of
Drenched stone. The stream does not trickle
Along this gorge, but roars the air and throws
Its echoing roundabout the cliffs like a newborn
Learning its scream forth from being
Buried for years beneath massive storeys on up to
Greater views. But, the stream continues its carving around
The hillside. And the newly-born cries will
Find the voices of self-expression with each gasping
Leap from boulders to cliffs, climbing in a wrapabout
The gorge’s hidden, grand lowlands and rising
Of its own ineffable poetry so fully held within the birthing
Of Nature herself, all that which carries
Of language as spoken
In the heart of God.
**********. **********. **********. **********
(C) sally Young eslinger 10/9/2020
On early morn
children were playing
at the river’s shore
close to the noon
soldiers came
out of the blue
by the dim
river red
played theirs sins
The River runs fast
The red mud falls from the walls
Impressions soon left behind
Natures story told
Like the rings on the large trees
The red stain remembers all...
Bloody tears still fall, feverish and dry.
The river flows on even though,
I'm already dead inside.
I'm no longer welcome at my own funeral.
I lay still and I wait.
For someone to take the burden away,
Along with my limpness body.
I lay in anguish as the smoking gun fades away.
All there is left to do, is to move on and deteriorate.
Our ghost will not rest in peace.
Our dreams won't be killed easily.
The Red River will overflow.
The truth will be known.
The earth will shake,
From the unbearable silence left behind.
In the graveyard of lost dreams,
The truth dies with you.
RED RIVER
I sail the rapturous red river, where the sunrise
swallows the redwood trees, and equator clouds rain
dance ‘round the sun. Effervescent virtue kneels down
swirling a seascape of citrus lemon and blood orange hues.
Dove-white sails wave like linen on a clothes line.
A spectator iota bows her head in praise.
5/29/2017
Ekphrasis Form
2nd Place/Premier
Rick Parise's 6 Line Max any subject
His day on the river cutting board
He pitched his tent on river bank,
when big bears roam near, his heart sank.
On white rapid's rock stood three blacks,
fishing salmon to feed their cubs.
As autumn leaves spilled the forest orange,
sky and water dance blue, his day was red.
connie pachecho
3/3/17
red river
the water flows in the little river.
not very fast so you can see the rocks on the bottom.
as you walk this river you see change that is a fear.
the river changes to red what a deed/
for the red is blood of a solider that died............
a blood red for freedom given
many have come and many have gone.
but the blood flows in this red river.of war blood
John Wayne rode across the screen
And was able to beat the bad guys no matter how mean
Look at Red River as a movie about a cattle drive
With Wayne the trail boss so alive
This movie was one of his best
And for his Westerns made above the rest
If you look closely he always wore the Red River belt buckle aloud
Given to him by Howard Hawks who directed the Red River so proud
And look at the wanted posters in the Sheriff offices closely
You will see Hondo and his other characters mostly
So next time you are enjoying these movies now
Look for these things showing your know how.
© Paul Warren Poetry
And perhaps the blood had to flow like a red river under the moon,
Perhaps the skin had to open like a flower in a storm,
To let the soul break free from the grip of silent shadows,
I do not blame the hands that painted a silent story on the body.
But how do I tell the one who still brings silk bandages,
The one who kneels beside me as gently as a breeze,
Trying to gather the shards of a stained glass that has learned to be broken,
How do I tell them that I have learned to live in fragments of a forgotten soul?
How do I tell them that this wound feels more alive left under the open sky?
How do I tell them that what they carry is a treasure of light,
The tenderness of their hands, the desire to heal the shadows within me,
But that I no longer carry a heart that beats to the same desires?
I don't want to break them as I was broken by life's storms,
I don't want to shatter them with the burden of the pain that enveloped me.
So let it bleed like a spring flowing from the mountain,
Let it breathe like a wind whispering through autumn leaves,
Let this pain be a part of me,
Not something that needs to be repaired, but something that needs to be known and felt.
Please, leave it uncovered under the starry sky.
Perhaps healing does not lie in covering with silk,
But in freeing the soul from the cage of pain,
In letting go of what can no longer be held prisoner.
I stand; barely breathing
Beneath the shower spray
As her blood drips slowly
From my finger tips
Mixing with the water
Dancing at my feet
I felt no remorse
Watching red fade to pink
For the only little girl
Ive ever made bleed
Is the one in the mirror
Always taunting me
-ARI
My skin is a delicate porcelain.
Never used, and well taken care of because it is fragile.
Always on display because fragility is beautiful until it actually breaks.
One wrong move and it chips, followed by a crack then ends up shattering.
Lines to me are cracks in the beautiful porcelain I called my skin that used to hold me together.
The lines grew deeper with each one to become more visible.
A cry for help that nobody sees until it is too late.
Lines led me astray and out of touch with everything inside of me, teetering on the edge, my skin was set in motion
Begining to fall with no hope of being caught.
Catching me after I fell was pointless because by then I was already shattered.
The red rivers had already been drained.
I soon fell again and like humpty dumpty I couldn't be put together again.
Now I'm just broken, dropped one too many times because the lines grew too deep.
As I kept my raised eyes hooked to rivers
A shining swing of swords like the sliced moon
In polkas of blood a dark blue shiver
From red jungles comes up a meaty Hun
_____________________________________
September 15, 2019
Arbitrium Divisa 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
Source :My Sonnet “As I Took the Right Turn”
dated 27 June, 2019
Vibrant chroma dots the mountains and valleys;
we hike the Red River gorge, taking in it’s
majestic pigmentation; leaves of October
crunch beneath booted feet.
We take our journey with care, as the cliffs
can be deadly in an instant; still, the crisp
Kentucky mountain air is rejuvenating to
lungs, too long in the city’s smog.
I stop at the edge of a cliff, checking my sure-footedness and spot a doe leaping in the lower valley; taking out my camera, I snapped a shot
of this bold being.
I’ve taken lots of wonderful photos on this hike and as the sun sets, My friend whispers, shh...I look to see a Copperhead less than six feet from us; we are fortunate that he is not coming towards us; knowing its bite can kill, we stand perfectly silent and still, so as not to startle it until he gets far enough away.
I shove my camera into my backpack and we resume our slow trek down, the cliff where we’ll head back to our car.
October in Kentucky is full of amazing fauna;
still one must beware the dangers,
for the bliss of the resplendent autumn experience.
2-7-2022
A STRAND (1068) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
My heart belongs to the Red River girl,
with her smile and her eyes ever bright.
Her long hair in a Red River curl,
how I long to be holding her tight.
I know by her kind eyes of blue
that I won't let her out of my sight,
and I hope she will always be true,
but first, she must decide to swipe right.