River Poems

The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.
...

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
...

All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
...

The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
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Broad sun-stoned beaches.

White heat.
A green river.
...

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
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At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
- like kings of old, or like a miracle.
...

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
...

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
...

Then Almitra spoke, saying, 'We would ask now of Death.'

And he said:
...

if there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon if
...

At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke
ribbons past Chrysler Building's silver fins
tapering delicately needletopped, Empire State's
taller antenna filmed milky lit amid blocks
...

Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
...

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
...

What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
...

The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
That I can see farther into paintings.
...

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction they are going!
There's no knowing where they're rowing,
...

I said to the wanting-creature inside me:
What is this river you want to cross?
There are no travelers on the river-road, and no road.
Do you see anyone moving about on that bank, or nesting?
...

born from a spring
from mother earth's womb

an adventurous child hood and teen
...

It was January 4th 1778, and once again the General had not slept well. He rose before dawn and as was his practice, he wandered down to the southern banks of the Schuylkill River. Valley Forge had been particularly cold since New Year's Day, and he was awaiting any word about new supplies being smuggled out from the friends his Army still had in Philadelphia.

The Congress had recently been moved and sheltered in York which was about seventy miles due West of his current position in Valley Forge. The British had taken Philadelphia and were rumored to be encamped in the heart of the city. Many residents had fled the Capitol just before the British arrived. Fresh off their success at the Battle of Brandywine, they did not receive the warm welcome that they were expecting when they entered the city. According to European standards, when you capture the capitol city of your enemy, the war is then over. The problem with Philadelphia however was that this was not Europe — and Washington was no ordinary General.
...

Stale Tales Of The River

The river froths at the mouth
choked by all manner of modern life artefacts
...

I'm walking through a slimy foggy world and I can't find any way out. That simple light of my world has flashed off and away. Little interest, slimy sorrow, all the things that were once fun they are long over and done. No ease to the brain and sorrow it pours over us dragging us down, down, down into a slimy cold graying river of sorrow suppose we are built with stone our minds tortured and grim, hauntings of past or future drag us down to ways of little or no return things feel wrong to feel Ahh judgments are in the air but we still get pulled and dragged way, way down a slimy cold river of sorrow turning us to stone never fear the end isn't near we may be tortured but there's a desire to live and breathe Ahh yes we are the broken never a dull moment I suppose to the other eye they see fine perhaps even pretty? But they see no further than to skin while deep down in our bones and our detached souls we are the broken our commands of light never answer the broken shadow of us we may haunt others the strong the ones that have broken us and torn us from good screams of our voices broken by dawn the slime of our sorrow moved to yours sure we have differences but our shared river of loneliness, sorrow, destroyed love, our world is different why can't you see? Perhaps you pretend to seam the hurt the pain but you really can't wrap it around your brain perhaps the untouched wonder or ask how can one be like that? It must be a tale A faking of such! But truly we walk around in haze these days only lighted by friends but guarded with stone and perhaps sorrow Indeed you may ask but truly our days of our heads held proud It's no longer around we hang our heads in defeat showing that truly as we walk perhaps drown in the slimy river that we know as sorrow we must be built of stone the river of sorrow it clearly seems our feet are sinking perhaps there's a door somewhere upon this foggy mist perhaps we'll escape someday...
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calmest river flowing reality of change
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The crystal river flows,
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Brodie rained for; 9 months,1 week, and 1 day..and made a River
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water-wisdom in river of impossibility and multi-universal truths of socratic knowthyself -cup
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Yellow River mother

I'm coming.
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Self-realization of no-self-no-ego river of mental formations.
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the river the river whispers memory my life bleed waters
the river the river flows extravagant quiet birth born dreams
the river the river drowns lifeful measures time scent hunts
...