Long River Poems
Long River Poems. Below are the most popular long River by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long River poems by poem length and keyword.
When the first rain kisses the dust,
The earth remembers every seed.
Silent roots begin to stir,
And hungry fields awaken.
Nature is a mother without pride,
A giver that counts no tribe,
No language, no religion, no name.
She spreads her table before all.
The rivers do not drink their own water,
The trees do not eat their own fruits,
Yet both stand faithfully every season,
Serving life without complaint.
The farmer bends beneath the sun,
Trusting clouds he cannot command.
And still the soil answers him
With yam, maize, cassava, and rice.
In the forests, wild berries ripen.
In the valleys, vegetables bloom.
The oceans carry silver fish,
And the wind escorts pollen to flowers.
Even after fire,
Green shoots rise again.
Even after drought,
The stubborn rain returns.
Nature never abandons its own.
She hides tomorrow’s harvest
Inside today’s smallest seed,
Teaching hope through seasons.
The birds wake to songs and worms,
The goats find grass upon the hills,
Children laugh around cooking fires,
And pots dance with fresh harvests.
What greater miracle exists
Than a tiny grain becoming bread?
Than bare land turning gold
Under the mercy of rain?
So when the barns are full,
Let gratitude rise like smoke at dawn.
For the earth still keeps her promise:
To feed every hand willing to plant.
Nature never abandons its own—
She whispers it through rustling leaves,
Through ripened farms and flowing streams,
Through every season that returns alive.
We left New York City moving to a Mid West town
Where the sky was a pretty blue and a land of greening gown
Buildings painted white stood out against the scene
But a sensing of the untouched made my mind internally scream
I always got this feeling as we walked their streets of old
What could I be not be seeing, what have we not been told
When we stopped to say hello we felt that we were all alone
It's not what we seen in the brochure when we decided to move our home
As the weeks and months progressed our daughter became very withdrawn
Which is very out of character for she's normally as fresh as the dawn
Then the day arrived that would change our lives forever
She never came home the previous night, the worry of parental sever
As we awoke the following morning it appeared so different from other days
The skies were a strange shade of red no voices from children's play
No sounds of life could be heard, no insects or birds on the wing
When normally it's as vibrant as life, buzzing whilst others sing
We set off to look for our daughter shouting her name as we go
Walking through empty streets as our minds drift in worried grow
We hear some strange kind of chanting, it's from that white building ahead
Whilst above us the skies turn a redded grey, I feel a sensing dread
We reach this building of white past the river turned red by the sky
Peering through the window I'm now in parental cry
For standing by the alter is my daughter in demonic stare
Around her are hoards of locusts, whilst down her body a snake she wears
Strange chanting's resonate with echo as the congregation screams in wild display
What events are unfolding in front of us it should be a normal summers day
As they turn and look towards the window so many eyes stare through the pane
We become suffocated by their hoards, it appears the locusts reign
Somehow we escaped this horror from that white building beside the river
Every time I look into my thoughts it's leaves me in a cold cold shiver
The same brochure appeared for years alluring families to this Mid West town
Who would move where no children play, in it's silence you could easily drown
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-8.php
Written 11/13/2010 5:50:00 PM
My finger launched the dropped dews
In a dreamy flight and intense swiftness
At the receive of your arrival news.
The lines of your gait….lofty goodness
The scent of the white roses … pure richness.
Lost in the music of your sung passion
Such that I a pray for an everlasting immersion.
My eyes are sparkling with the brightness of love brews
My inner source nurtures a radical sickness.
The joint of the pulpit and felicitations of the pews.
Break me and break me, this love retains its fearlessness
Try harder, I would not bulge even at your strange fairness.
Let me drown in this river-battled love mission
For I care for you beyond apprehension.
For your feelings I had had enough rues
Regretful not my betrothed you; my hearty faithfulness
Search it not for invincible are the initiating clues.
My search for you is for the wanted oneness
Of our bond in a deep depth of openness.
Soothe my pains and satisfy my poor tension
Let this emptiness revive at your angelic unction.
GOODNESS LANRE
CONTEST: Romanticism In Rime Royal
In the quiet morning, light pierces the dawn,
Each ray a soft reminder:
Breathe deeply,
Step forward without hesitation.
Moments cascade like a gentle river,
Passing over pebbles, around bends unseen,
Their song low and constant,
Whispering of presence and peace.
Hands open to the sky, we gather time,
Not holding, but letting it flow through fingers—
A dance of shadows and warmth,
Each touch a story of now.
Evenings come with a soft closure,
Stars watch over the world's slow exhale,
In the hush, life’s simple truths resonate,
Echoing the heartbeat of the universe.
We walk through days as through a garden,
Noticing each bloom, each faded petal,
Life's fleeting nature, the beauty in its briefness,
Each step a silent celebration.
So we live, so we learn:
Embrace each breath as if it is the first and last,
See in every fleeting moment,
A vast eternity waiting to be known.
I REMEMBER THE LITTLE GIRL
BMWs shine on the lot, row after row,
reflecting the blinding summer sun of Pinedale, California.
Their windows blink back stories of 4,792 Japanese Americans
interned on this same lot seventy-eight years ago.
I remember a black and white was taken
of a little girl with two suitcases
standing amid crowds in this former lumber town.
I can hear her chatter, excited to go to camp.
Would there be log cabins or tents? Swims in a big pool?
Campfires with songs and marshmallow roasting?
Lots of other children to play with?
I can picture her crestfallen eyes, her fading smile
as she stares at tar paper shacks on dry, barren ground,
nothing left of any sugar pines.
Where was she from? Oregon? Washington?
What did she leave behind?
Family farm? Friends? Pets? Dolls?
What did she manage to stuff into her tiny suitcases?
How did she survive the sweltering July heat of 110 degrees
with only black tar paper to protect her?
Where was she taken after Pinedale with other dispossessed,
bled of their livelihoods, packed like dried fish onto busses?
Tule Lake? Poston? Gila River?
Shacks gone, customers stroll through the BMWs.
Can they remember this was an assembly center for Japanese Americans?
Do they even know?
I remember the little girl. I remember for them.
-Jennifer Fenn
This poem was inspired a California State University, Fresno lecture on the history of Pinedale by David Rodriguez, followed by research on encyclopedia.densho.org.
Published in Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2020.
Stone Cathedrals of Glenwood Canyon
Stone cathedral spires rise sharply from freely flowing waters -
Birthing renewal through eternity’s eyes -
Lifting up to the eternal
A psalm, a canticle, to serenade the seasons,
Singing celebration in Heaven’s waiting ear;,
Reaching down to lift up
Majestic mountain praise through hallowed halls
With lyrics of the hawk and meadowlark -
Walls decorated by the many hues of whispering aspen leaves
Fluttering in perpetual praise and clothed in cleansing rains;
No prodigal peaks
Sneaking away from the thanksgiving song
While a winding thread of chanting melody follows
The path of renewing waters,
Sounding then resounding -
Captured then released in sanctuaries of red stone
Cradling in the waiting womb ever breathing vitality
Rising upward on wings of sunlight
Shimmering with celestial awakening and the waning light;
Eternal beating pulse
Stretching up for majesty into a bottomless sky
Feeling winds of winter storms - tickling stars in moonlight;
Embracing ever new cathedrals
Formed by flowing winds and winding waters.
10/16/19
Emile Pinet - Sponsor
Give Me Your Best New Poem
Time, be of the essence!
O spark of head and heart!
Fate and Fortune, Chaos, Chance!
Anoint, O my art!
Will, be with me! Stand and hold!
Glow in fiery cold!
River bottom, hast thou gold?
Underneath the mold...
Glass, clear vision, futures sought.
Slice of seer's trade, tell.
Flicker, form of friend? We ought?
Brightly rung the bell.
Eagle, lend thy mightiness!
Coyote, thy tricks!
Heaven and Hell, say God bless!
Priest, thy crucifix!
Questions trapped in wrinkled time?
Cane or cone or crime?
Yule! The choice of sung sublime!
Draped upon the dime...
Trillium flower of decay!
Shine upon the bay!
Dynamite, discord, dismay!
Point me out the way!
When we seek, we're sought? Well... Hail.
Prisoner, pay bail!
Drape thy life, O garbage pail!
Afford not to fail!
Carrion crow, about me caw!
Dread not, O my saw!
Thorn within the lion's paw?
Stab them 'neath the jaw!
Friendless is this wizard!
Thus look thee not away!
Blow and blanket, O blizzard!
Doom and Death, thy day...
Tell me a tale of humanity
Paint me the love of your life
Show me a path to humility
How a man should honour his wife.
Help children believe in magicness
Describe the warmth of a smile
Feelings invoked by happiness
A tree that’s been watching a while.
Explain the pain of solitude
Gift me the smell of a flower
Tease me with dreams of magnitude
Sights that are seen from a tower.
Convey the sound that a river makes
Define your fear of the dark
Textures and tastes of a freshly cut steak
A walk with your child in the park.
Interpret the touch that a lover leaves
Recount the flaws of your youth
Depict a man with his heart on his sleeve
Confront and search out the truth.
Weave me a yarn with your poetry
Spin me with poetic release
Take me away with ingenuity
Fill my mind and my soul with your peace.
One day as I threw stones into my river
one day as I threw stones into my river
the first time I laid eyes on you
you asked if you could throw some too
one day as I threw stones into my river
We spent our childhood playing by the river
we spent our childhood playing by the river
we'd swim, skip rocks, play hide and seek
you'd scold me, "Close your eyes, don't peek!"
we spent our childhood playing by the river
In school you liked to borrow my old pencil
in school you liked to borrow my old pencil
the other girls all wrote in pen
they teased you, back when we were ten
but still you liked to borrow my old pencil
We grew up, you and I, down by our river
we grew up, you and I, down by our river
the trees all sighed as though they knew
that chilly day I first kissed you
we grew up, you and I, down by our river
One day the doctor came to your front door
one day the doctor came to your front door
your folks sat down to speak with him
your mama cried, your pa looked grim
the day the doctor came to your front door
I sailed a paper boat down your big river
I sailed a paper boat down your big river
"I miss you, friend" is all I wrote,
in pencil, on that paper boat
I sailed a paper boat down your big river
There, resting in stoic frame, it
reflected its sheen surface; glowing
like a stilled black water river—The stage
mocking banks at high tide.
Ebony rowed keloids rose in-between
marshmallow like parallels—Aping
a skewed checkerboard smile
frozen in time: a 9 to 13 tuned ratio.
Marooned in this tuned ratio,
all held rhythmic visions
that veiled eyes could not see;
all held tuned sounds
that clogged ears could not hear.
88 heartbeats per time—Waiting.
There in stilled silence, lived an eternity
of unity—abiding in melodic bliss: a quiet
concerto of beauty—awaiting its released.