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Poems On / About RIVER  7/9/2014 8:47:53 PM
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  341.     

The Good Old Powlett River

The good old Powlett river so very old in time
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
From the hills above Kilcunda it flows downland to the sea
Centuries before the first Australians came down to the South Country,
The good old Powlett river will flow down forever more
From the hills above Kilcunda to the great Pacific shore
By the sandhills near saltwater where the surf waves one can hear
The good old Powlett river to my heart is ever dear,
Out of the sunshine by powlett river in the shadows of the trees
Centuries ago the first Australians danced their corroborees
The people like Nature's Seasons to life they come and go
But the good old Powlett river forever it will flow
From the hills above Kilcunda babbling on down to the sea
It will babble on forever century on century.
 
Francis Duggan

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  342.     

My Daddy The Kern River And Me

When I was just a little girl
My daddy said it's time
To show you where I go to think
on a favorite river of mine.

But first you have to promise me
that no one else will know
Where this secret place is
Where nobody else goes.



We stood upon a rock that lies
just over the roaring white waters.
That's so very hard to get to and
that's why no others bother.

The river, called The Kern River has
always been our favorite spot
To go and think, and enjoy the peace
And we went there quite alot.



Some day I hope to go back to the
river where daddy took me.
And stand upon that same old rock
and dream of how things use to be.

The Kern River holds a memory of
the first man I ever loved.
And now I've found another man that
I am sure was sent from above.

I LOVE YOU DADDY
 
Dianna Nally

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  343.     

RIPPLING CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

Rippling Childhood Memories
Melvin Banggollay


Sitting in solitude in the bank of a river
I behold waves to keep coming back
Gently kissing the shore long and forever
With their murmuring songs like flashback
While cool breeze rippled the serene water
With sweet memories just like a while back
When I used to play in this pristine river
Along with childhood friends on the block.

When I gaze the surface of the serene river
I saw smiles of swimming kids like ducks
Merrily playing as they build castle’s tower
along the river’s shore but waves took them back
with splashing moves from the naughty players
playing and throwing mud from the river bank
but at a distance I behold two young lovers
Building a castle of their own fortune and luck.


Who’s that, well that was me and girl of my life.
 
MELVIN BANGGOLLAY

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  344.     

Vistula

A cascade of ices, cold fury
gargling down the Beskids
waiting basket of Baltic,
great span of your lakes
infinite stretch of Mazury-
you, marshal land-giver-
to our lives along banks
into houses and history-
what do you make of us,
God of this river?

Those who would plumb
the crevice dry cracks
fetch in your mystery,
the deep green in you,
River whose currents still
shape us with influence,
run blood in our vein-sinew
wild into your wilderness,
What do you build in us
God of this river?

As we cross the ice packs
winter’s water hidden us
floods and droughts sung
to your rhythm- fit eyes
flicked at the universe,
town’s heart pumps a pulse
just a mere quiver, under
thick ice for so long, what
have you forbidden us.
God of this river?

For us the smart facts, snatch
a glimpse of you from high
bridges across in the rush
cars trams train and bus
fast metros under you
to nest in sky-scrapers
shrinking you down to
a summer’s small slither
our lives blunder through
your slow current’s residue
What thinking, wonder you
pagan God of this River?
 
John a'Beckett

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