OF RED RIVER AGONY
In this river,
Only crocodiles can be;
Alligators, no!
This is not only nasty,
It is red reality:-
The river’s bordering banks,
Are as red steaming lava:-
But let us not be dismayed,
There is that other river;
The rain-bowed river of God—
Banked by the soil of oneness:
Let us cross over:-
Crimson scaled serpents
Sinuously slithering
Winding through the reeds
Red hourglasses
drawn thin and narrow waisted
sparkling motes fall
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.
Phosphoric pillars
crimson against oily black
gently flickering
Red orbs float above
their shattered crystal columns
reflected below
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.
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
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
Somewhere in your heart it is everdark
Through all its pumping terrain
Red on the river flows
Blood lands ever tart
Germinates the flowers grow
Environmental fathoms start
Red rivers pumping heart
8/14/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
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
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.
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
the red river runs the ship between the moon and the rooster’s awning
9/1/2018
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.
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