By The Side Of A Brook Poem by Valsa George
By The Side Of A Brook
On the bank of a rushing brook
I sat for hours watching its course.
Peered into the clear gurgling mass
That cascaded down from a mountainous source
Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips
It babbles downhill night and day
Rolling and gliding thro plains and dales
It winds its way to the wider bay.
Dipping my fingers in its icy chill
How my hand got repelled as from a shock
In the ripples stirred by the kissing breeze
I saw trees, clouds and the jutting rock-
All floating in queer, fanciful shapes,
Shuddering, trembling and standing still
And the fishes leaving zigzag trails,
Swishing and swimming in the winding rill.
As I quietly watched her speedy flight
With her bosom rising in mournful heaves,
In my ears fell her whisperings soft
Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves
I hardly knew the time speeding by
Nor noticed the birds' homeward flight
Or the Sun moving to the west end side
And the Sky reddening at his sight
As the brook thus continued her headlong ride
To be mingled finally with the ocean wide
I walked, brooding over man's relentless stride
To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide.
Sitting by the side of a brook is definitely amazing that sprung out such a beautiful thought and when a beautiful thought springs out in Valsa takes a shower in it we get a beautiful poem to read..................10
Great imagery and simply this is a masterpiece......Valsa.....while writing poems on Nature you just present the very soul of her lively, forceful and vigorous to us......deserve 10/10
Valsa, interesting how the same basic stimulus inspired such a different outcomes as one compares the two poems, yours here and mine, A Brook. My feeling is that each poem is a gem in its own right, each rest easy on the Soul. Cheers!
As I read more of your poems, Valsa, I recognize that your imageries are always, always in motion; in magical interplays - sounds in resonances and gaps reversing into tactilities - and that's visual magic! - always under razor control. We readers only briefly dip our fingers in a poem, but always, always come away from yours with a sense of being touched, shocked even, by being carried along with you to some cosmic all ways. always.
Beautiful poem, Valsa. Thanks for mentioning it in a comment on my poem ONE PLEASANT MORNING. I especially liked the simile where you said the stream was like a snake.
A fantastic inscription has been made on Brook with touching words.This poem has a base finally on philosophy. As brook finally mingles in the ocean so also soul mingles with the supreme soul. In this regard it may be quoted..... As the brook thus continued her headlong ride To be mingled finally with the ocean wide I walked, brooding over man's relentless stride To be merged eventually with the Cosmic Guide. A brilliant poem brilliantly penned.10/10
What can I say? Absolutely brilliant! This lovely poem have made my day. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/6/2025 5:54:04 AM # 1.0.0
i didn't know: thro' THro͞o/ preposition, adverb, & adjective preposition: thro'; adverb: thro'; adjective: thro'; preposition: thro literary spelling of through...................calls for an ', apparently. who knew! ? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - i'm liking the rhyming. :) “rill” : another word which is new-to-me! “rill ril/ noun noun: rill; plural noun: rills 1. 1. a small stream. o a shallow channel cut in the ground by running water. o variant spelling of rille. verb verb: rill; 3rd person present: rills; gerund or present participle: rilling; past tense: rilled; past participle: rilled 1. 1. (of water) flow in or as in a rill. “ What a shame to be “brooding” over “mankind” after what sounds like a lovely afternoon visit to Nature! I especially enjoyed these lines: “Like a slithering snake, it slinks and slips” “As I quietly watched her speedy flight With her bosom rising in mournful heaves, In my ears fell her whisperings soft Orchestrated by the rustle of quivering leaves” AND: “As the brook thus continued her headlong ride To be mingled finally with the ocean wide” this reminded me of a poem I wrote while perched along the side of a stream one “lovely afternoon”. of course mine was not so lovely (my poem) and it dealt some with the ‘American/European” harsh treatment of Indians/”native Americans” in the 1700’s or 1800’s in upstate New York State. I’ll send this to MyPoemList. enjoyed! bri :)