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
Since remarks from the T.V, and a stocking of my soul to breathe...
I relax eagerly when I await the heat and see that nothing come's out of me unless I can be free-
now they said in many many books that this is how we plead,
the defiance of a boarder stronger and foreigner as the hoarder from outer space descends,
but like my mentor contends with me as I ease into the heavenly shrine above mine,
I allow for only a sanctimony of time,
like I would wonder if my gun no longer shined-
and my face only ate pine,
and my body enveloped love of binds rather than the free floating chime...
I was a walker and yet no more than the other stalker a boat bought in a saunter.
Let's wait for the sunset one summer's day
down by the river where I always liked to play
we can kick off our shoes and bury our feet in the sand
come on please be my sweet river man
We can call the wild geese up with a little dab of feed
or jump in the water a little too deep
in that old Red River we can laugh and sing
take me by the hand, make that leap
Write our names in a heart in the sand
you can be my sweet river man
and I'll be your sweet lady river friend
we can hold on for life and scare the catfish twice
anything’s possible that time of day
my white sundress is a little bit dirty
from that red water that always stays so murky
I wouldn't want to be any other place
than down by the river where I always liked to play
and when the moon comes out tonight
and the stars shine bright
your sweet river lady
is going to sing to her sweet river man under the moonlight
watch those stars shooting in the dark as you hold me tight
until we see the sun start to rise
yeah down on the river where I always liked to play
nothing’s changed much since I was just a babe
but now I share with my sweet river man, my favorite place to play
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
Written March 9, 2013
There was a girl in Alsace, France
With her bread and wine
She may go crazy
She may just learn to dance
That little girl in Alsace, France
In another world
In another time
In another world
In another time
She may go crazy from that red red wine
In her chalet on the mountain top
With champagne from her private stock
It kills her just to hear the pop
Her smile spins around nonstop
Now it's her time to shine
On the river river Rheine
She may go crazy
That little girl, I'll make her mine
And she'll be sane in no time
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
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.
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...
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
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.
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
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
I saw her wandering out by the trees
colored hair like the red autumn leaves
a forest of flame
and I called out her name
And the lonely river looked on
We made love by the banks every day
whenever she passed by this way
though she wasn't mine
she would be in time
while the lonely river looked on
She whispers her love for me now
in my ears as the soft willow bows
I left her alone
as I ran way on home
as the lonely river looked on
As I walked up my well trodden track
to see if my love had come back
she was laying right there
skin as red as her hair
and the lonely river looked on
Winds rustled round me with cries
as I saw in my lovers cold eyes
laid open in fear
of what came to her here
and the lonely river looked on
By the banks of the river she'll stay
buried under the willow that sways
while I silently weep
in the silence she keeps
and the lonely river looks on