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The River That Murmurs

I will ask the river, that flows serene
I will speak to the sky
I will ask the river that murmurs

Not to ask me why
I cannot speak for myself.
That time has long since passed me by.

The river can murmur and sing
Unspent by passion: my voice
Will break like a terribly taut string.

My words will be grammatically and academically
Twisted (like that leafless tree) , unfortunately!
I want the river to speak, to speak
Alone, alone with thee.

The river can, softly and without tears
Tell you my dreams and my fears
I know you will listen:
And while city lights in the water glisten

You wont see the tears that shine on my face
No, that is a serious, sentimental place
That only I know;
Flow, river, flow.

Flow, river flow.
Speak to the only love I know.
Daybreak approaches soon
You and he by the light of the moon
Will murmur whilst I -
Will wait for you to bring me his reply.

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River of Tears

River of tears flows,
Tearing banks of sanity,
Will you ever see?

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River Of Tears

my eyes ache and i am afraid sooner
if my hardheadedness persists a little longer i may
become one blind old man
begging for mercy and looking for love

justly enough did you say that love is blind
that true lovers cannot see
that mercy is grace?

my heart aches and soon enough i may become
a heartless old man remembering the pieces
of broken hearts and shattered memories
scattered on the floor
of my past

mirrors gleaming with light reflecting
many faces with eyes flowing a river of tears

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River Of Tears

Its three miles to the river
That would carry me away,
And two miles to the dusty street
That I saw you on today.
Its four miles to my lonely room
Where I will hide my face,
And about half a mile to the downtown bar
That I ran from in disgrace.
Lord, how long have I got to keep on running,
Seven hours, seven days or seven years?
All I know is, since youve been gone
I feel like Im drowning in a river,
Drowning in a river of tears.
Drowning in a river.
Feel like Im drowning,
Drowning in a river.
In three more days, Ill leave this town
And disappear without a trace.
A year from now, maybe settle down
Where no one knows my face.
I wish that I could hold you
One more time to ease the pain,
But my times run out and I got to go,
Got to run away again.
Still I catch myself thinking,
One day Ill find my way back here.
Youll save me from drowning,
Drowning in a river,
Drowning in a river of tears.
Drowning in a river.
Feels like Im drowning,
Drowning in the river.
Lord, how long must this go on?
Drowning in a river,
Drowning in a river of tears.

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William Butler Yeats

The Wild Old Wicked Man

BECAUSE I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home.
Those hands to close these eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old man in the skies.
Daybreak and a candle-end.

'Kind are all your words, my dear,
Do not the rest withhold.
Who can know the year, my dear,
when an old man's blood grows cold? '
I have what no young man can have
Because he loves too much.
Words I have that can pierce the heart,
But what can he do but touch?'
Daybreak and a candle-end.

Then Said she to that wild old man,
His stout stick under his hand,
'Love to give or to withhold
Is not at my command.
I gave it all to an older man:
That old man in the skies.
Hands that are busy with His beads
Can never close those eyes.'
Daybreak and a candle-end.

'Go your ways, O go your ways,
I choose another mark,
Girls down on the seashore
Who understand the dark;
Bawdy talk for the fishermen;
A dance for the fisher-lads;
When dark hangs upon the water
They turn down their beds.
Daybreak and a candle-end.

'A young man in the dark am I,
But a wild old man in the light,
That can make a cat laugh, or
Can touch by mother wit
Things hid in their marrow-bones
From time long passed away,
Hid from all those warty lads
That by their bodies lay.
Dayhreak and a candle-end.

'All men live in suffering,
I know as few can know,
Whether they take the upper road
Or stay content on the low,
Rower bent in his row-boat
Or weaver bent at his loom,
Horseman erect upon horseback
Or child hid in the womb.
Daybreak and a candlc-cnd.

'That some stream of lightning
From the old man in the skies
Can burn out that suffering
No right-taught man denies.
But a coarse old man am I,
I choose the second-best,
I forget it all awhile
Upon a woman's breast.'
Daybreak and a candlc-end.

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Locked Inside

I have often marveled at the glory of the sun,
When it rises above the trees in full bloom in the summertime-
Innocently gazing over the magnitude of its mysteriousness-
I could capture each moment within my cupped hands-
Each moment that its rays pirouette, casting its shadows
Upon the grass that is nearly laughing as it sparkles,
While it reflects in its dew each ray at the dawning of every new day-
I am alone every morning when I awaken to welcome
The miracle of each new day-I am alone as I hope and wish that
Someday I can be a part of this gift nature has bestowed upon this world-
Being in motion with the gentle breeze that rustles
The leaves on the oak and maple trees which I can see
For miles and miles until they reach the mountains on the horizon,
Then meeting with the sky-
The sky, cobalt blue in its hue and there, not a cloud to be seen-
I see the trees, the mountains and the splendor of the sun at daybreak-
I can see the dew upon the grass capturing the sunlight, as
Each ray reaches out as would a cherub with her arms outstretched-
I can feel the gentle summertime breeze lightly touching my arms
In an almost sentimental way-
But locked inside the dwelling of my own small world and inside of the
Tenement of what could be none but delusions-
This splendor before me- I can only perceive-
And today I believe I can also see a rainbow coloring the horizon outside-
Robins, cardinals, wild geese and finches flying about as if they have not a care,
If rain were falling, my tears would not be known to any others only because,
They are so copious they would hit the ground with the rhythm of the rain as it falls.
I believe that there are two worlds that exist- one God created and that is the
Magnificence of nature, and the other, being the dark would of my dreams.
I have often surmised that there exists a lock that keeps me barred from all that is real-
While to this lock, I have yet to find a key to unlock and open-
I fantasize that one day I will break free from the inner dwelling of my madness.
I would climb a mountain and touch the sun above the horizon if I could.
I have painted a mural inside of my mind of the vastness and loveliness of this planet-
So many times I have believed I have found that special key that
Unlocks the phantasmal gate that separates me from all that is real, but
It is all within a dream and I t has been said that dreams often don’t come true,
But there are those alive who don’t even have dreams to wish upon, and therefore-
I shall be a wild bird flying above this land, beholding nature’s beauty, until
I reach the sky and even if only in my dreams-
I know I have a soul and won’t give up hope-
And we all know that souls shall never die…

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To Know It Is To Feel It To See It To Believe

You've done one thing wrong.
You have pretended too long,
With a wasting of my time.
And I have found,
You no longer amuse me.

Honesty is 'in'!
Whatever that is that you do,
Is out of my life and I have found...
There is only one way to deal with truth.
To know it is to feel it to see it to believe.

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O Sky, My Blue Sky

O sky, my blue sky-
O earth my green earth!
The new light has
Filled me with mirth!

Trulalala, trulala, la, la, lala, la....

O sky, my dear sky,
O bird take me in the high.
I want to sing the song of life,
Along with the cloud wanna fly.

Trulalala, trulala, la, la, lala, la....

Clouds will be soon my horse,
I'll ride on its back, just see.
Air will dance around playing the,
music of merriment beside me!

Trulalala, trulala, la, lala, la.....

O sky, my pal sky-
Wish to throw all my pain.
Drip the ray of happiness,
In this world, shower the golden rain!

Trulalala, trulala, la, lala, la....

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Suppress

When we are young, we suppress our feelings
for they say we’re too young to know.
We let love pass us by too many times
and in later years we look back
tears forming in our eyes
for those who got away
because we were too young to try.

Each life is filled with heartaches
such as these I describe
and we’ll regret those mistakes
until the day we die.
Sometimes we meet an old love
and all those yesterdays once more
before us begin to unfold.

Can love blossom a second time
long passed the winters of discontent,
long passed the flower of our youth.
What happens when love’s feelings
again begin to awake,
do we suppress them once again
or let our feeling flow.

The answer is not ours to make,
but for time to only know.


28 July 2010

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I Wanna Know What Love Is

I gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines
Incase I need it when Im older
Ohhhh
This mountain I must climb
Feels like the world upon my shoulders
Through the clouds I see love shine
It keeps me warm as life grows colder
In my life theres been heartache and pain
I dont know if I can face it again
Cant stop now
Ive travelled so far to change this lonely life
Chorus
I wanna know what love is
I want you to show me
I wanna feel what love is
I know you can show me
Im gonna take a little time
A little time to look around me
Ive got nowhere left to hide
Looks like love has finally found me
In my life theres been heartache and pain
I dont know if I can face it again
Cant stop now
Ive travelled so far to change this lonely life
Chorus

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You Do Know That The Lights Are Out?

You are playing alone.
And in left field.

You do know that the lights are out?

Do you practice for a new game to begin?
With a planning done in my presence.
I am not going to say you are bold...
And cold.
I'd call this...
Straight up heartlessness.

With a tilted head,
And a lot of salt and pepper.

You are playing alone.
And in left field.

You do know that the lights are out?

Why are we arguing between us about faults?
And what had been accepted,
Now hated so that has you hissing.

You do know that the lights are out?
Here!
And you can,
Play the field.

Did you come here...
To hear again,
That reminder?

A pain healed, seldom repeats that process again.
When one's duty is to booty,
Loses compassion...
Don't expect a lost action,
To rekindle itself on memories.
Few...
Were the good ones.

Do you remember your entrance?
That is also your exit.
And...
Those lights that are out?
You did it.
You turned them off.

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I am magnificent

Everywhere I go, I keep fighting
Thunder is striking with speed lightning
They try to put me down
Every time I'm around
I will not let them remove my crown

For I am magnificent
Worth every dollar, worth every cent
Everything I do
I do with a hundred and one percent

I am intelligent, benevolent with talent
I am the curious luminous genius
Waiting to explode before I am old
I am the teacher in battle with students
They keep ignoring what is evident

They say I have to learn
I strongly agree
We all do, now and then

They say I speak wrongly
I disagree strongly
If only they listen hard without prejudice
They will see things from another point of view
Yes it’s true, it’s nothing new

I am magnificent
They hate it when I display it blatantly
Their grim faces display such resent in that moment
But my words are intended to have only positive intent
I am magnificent
I am magnificent
I will not compromise my strength

Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi

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Grimacing Rain

It was raining and raining for hours nonstop
nobody knows when to go back,
As if it was grimacing in silence like dark night
It may take time to talk again, for a while.

Night may break in to day, hours into minutes
but those silence may not shredded to rain of tears
And that hours of rain was the tears of silence
that rippled into voice of grimacing - protracted.

If I asked to reason out curves of silence
It may cajole to suggest inkling of love provoking-
For the tears fallen in rain, of thosa unbeaten songs
lest silence may censure grimacing.

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Don't

There was a time long ago
But it seemed like yesterday
When all I wanted was you
And now you make a segway
As you turn your face away
And I know your words aren't true
And I don't want your lies
And I don't think that I'm better than you inside
And you can take off your disguise
Cause I can see the truth that's hidden
Behind your eyes

And all those words that you don't say just mean less and less each day
You can't make me shed a tear
I think about tomorrow
Another day of sorrow
But I don't think that I'll be here
And I don't want your lies
And I don't think that I'm better than you inside
And you can take off your disguise
Cause I can see the truth that's hidden
Behind your eyes

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What Difference Does It Make?

All men have secrets and here is mine
So let it be known
We have been through hell and high tide, I can surely rely on you?
And yet you start to recoil, heavy words are so lightly thrown
But still Id leap in front of a flying bullet for you
So, what difference does it make?
So, what difference does it make?
It makes none but you have gone
And you must be looking very old tonight
The devil will find work for idle hands to do
I stole and I lied, and why? because you asked me to!
But now you make feel so ashamed because Ive only got two hands well, Im still fond of you
So, what difference does it make?
It makes none but you have gone and your prejudice wont keep you warm tonight
The devil will find work for idle hands to do
I stole and I lied, and why? just because you asked me to! but you know the truth about me you wont see me anymore, Im still fond of you
So, no more apologies no more apologies Im too tired Im too sick and tired and Im feeling very sick and ill today
But Im still fond of you

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Dear little Darling

I don't have any kids but someday when i do i would like to say this one for them on there wedding day.

Dear little darling,
My sweet little child
I woke up this morning
With a thought in my head
I love you a lot
My dear sweet child
I love you so much
I made a poem,
Just for you sweet child
I want to see you grow,
I want to see you blossom,
I want to sing you lullabies,
I want to whisper soft words,
You make me smile
You make me laugh
You also make me cry,
I cry because I am happy
Happy to see you,
Happy to see you grow
I am filled with joy to see you every day
I am glad you are my child;
I know this poem doesn’t rhyme,
It doesn’t have to
You are what the poem is about,
I watched you grow,
I watched you blossom,
I sang sweet lullabies,
I whispered soft words,
And now its time for me to say goodbye;
You are my life, my gift from heaven
Although you are grown up
And it’s your wedding day
A day of happiness
A new chapter in your life,
But just remember this
You will always, be my sweet child.

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Lies Of Serpents, A River Of Tears

Your eyes search for me for so long i've wanted to come home held back by lies of serpents and tongues of brothers turning a child into an enemy turning open arms into closed fists i could see the reflection in the tears that made their way down Your face onto the ground i kneel upon they form a river that overtakes me compassion envelops me i forgive and release forgive release forgiven released

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The River Inside

I stand here still silent amongst you all
Yet within a river I hid while I stand tall
Within a deep stormy rapid river whirls
Carrying my emotions my insides hurls
Crashing water made of my inner tears
Carrying my stresses, hurt and fears
The surrounding rocks slowly in my pain
Are carved deep ground eroded away
And when there’s a sudden influx of pain
My inner river tries to keep it hidden in vain
Then the storm grows, the river does swell
Rushing cracking into the air as inside fell
Releasing the pressure its water must drift
Slowly, it trickles tortured down a vertical cliff
Water falling as jewel petals from a magic rose
These glistening inner tears that nobody knows

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Our Magical River

At the break of dawn we took a stroll
along the river of tears
It was a wild river, with a glittering current
To take away your fears

The river seems such a magical thing
With the forest set in it's front
Silver streams painted with variable flowers
It was like finding the treasure in a treasure hunt

As we walked beside the flowing river
It's ripples beckoned to us
Sparkling and shining, calling our names
With the sound of lust

Every river has it's beginning
But this one had no end
Merging together like long lost loves
as you come around the rivers bend

We stopped and stood
and stared in awe
At the beauty of the merging rivers
And the love for which we saw

Dianna Nally
and Debbie Wagoner
7/14/09

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Feeling The River Flowing Inside Me

I didn't think about whether I was writing poems.
I was thinking.
And the more I was thinking,
the more there was I didn't understand

— David Anti

did i have as my goal to understand?
no it isn't, it is merely to feel how i feel,
and keep a record about it,
i write like a river, actually
i do not know where i am going,
i just go with the flow, i close my eyes
and feel the
flow, and not ask where am i going?
for that is not the question
and there will be no answers, nothing specific
it is only the flow, and the sound, and the color and
the scent,

i am told, all rivers go to the sea
it is the truth, and i do not question it.
i do not ask any understanding about the sea when i arrive there.

again it is just a feeling.
perhaps, you may change the term

it is possibly faith
understated.

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Patrick White

Down By The River Again

Down by the river again
listening for stars to interrupt my solitude
like the first little nicks of rain to strike a windowpane,
I realize how much I prefer a magnanimous liar
to the tale of a man with a stingy truth
so much so I'm generous in my sorrow
with all things that suffer as I do
however dangerous and estranged
tomorrow might causally seem.

The latest casualty of a dream I had,
I sit down on a prophetic skull of an Olmec rock
surrounded by broken beer bottles,
that remind me of withered waterlilies in the fall
and the cracked shells of cosmic eggs
that took the plunge into the abyss
to test fly the flightfeathers of a new universe
like a baby sparrow on the edge of a nest in the abyss.

My mindstream mingles with the night creek
and we both flow by like avatars of time
wondering what oceanic theme
we might be the tributaries of
as we watch the willows wash their roots
with their hair, and the stars
dip their lures in the water
to catch the silver fish that school on the moon
like a poet and a modest river
that can't find any room for their emotions
stranded on the earth like wingless waterbirds.

Down by the river again, it's easier
to share my pain with a restless companion
in constant change like the moodring of the moon
than it is the meteoritic flash and bling
of the ceremonious cornerstones of life
who might give good advice to a building
like the Kaaba or the black Taj Mahal,
but know nothing about walking
on quicksand and water or stars
without sinking like most of the living
through the fathomless depths of their seeing.

Or the aboriculture of the orchards of rootless trees
tasting the fruits of their wanderlust
like the sad sweetness of farewell on their tongues
as they pass through the gates of becoming
the same way they came yesterday
like sad poems falling from the wings of waterbirds.
Sacred syllables pearling off their feathers
like a windfall of pear-shaped tears in the moonlight.

Down by the river again I can dazzle my sorrow
with the beauty of a fleeting insight
into the nature of enlightened fireflies
that can light up the whole universe
in a single flash of compassion
for everything in passage that can't last
if it doesn't fall out of formation with the past
like Canada geese on a return journey
to the lakes and rivers that don't hang on
to their reflections in the well-thumbed holy books
of family albums any longer than it takes
for them to be on their way again
and gone, gone, gone, altogether gone beyond
the dark hills that keep their secrets to themselves.

Down by the river again, I can commune
with all the burnt bridges of my long firewalks
through my nebulous heart trying to break into stars
so I can find my way home again
without consulting a starchart of fireflies
where X marks the spot of my biggest mistakes
when I knocked on a plague door from the inside
and the angel of death answered like a distant memory:
Get out. No one lives here anymore.
And the pain was almost more than I could bear.

Down by the river again, I can let my dreams
and my nightmares alike flow downstream
like the blossoms of the moon or the feathers
of a my imaginative flight path into an oceanic awareness
there are no trees, there are no branches
there are no seas on the moon or in the abyss
and the waterbirds have nowhere to land,
nowhere to nest, not even the sprigs of peace
they carry in their beaks like divining rods
to anywhere within their starless wingspan.

Down by the river again, it's enough
that what I am answers to itself even
when the nightbird of my longing
comes looking for me like a rootless tree
it used to roost in like a voice from the past
that keeps mistaking me for someone
it's the foolishness of a sacred clown to still hope I am.
And what can I know about what I'm becoming
except it's the sum of all I've forgot
to keep pace with the flowing
where the shapeshifters wait at the river's turning
for a thought to tilt its wings up
in a good-bye remember me if you can
sloppy kind of salute or awkward bow
from all of us whose names
have been written on the wind and water in blood
to all those lightwaves and flash floods of the heart
standing at attention like a parade square
where war's never been declared
and head toward home like an arrow
that's lost its sense of direction
and falls like an illegal immigrant toward earth.

Down by the river again, where change
comes as effortlessly as the fallen leaf
of an apostate hymnal of protest songs, caught up in
the currents, the undertow, the vertigo, the delirium,
the rapids and vapid swamplands of time,
no one claims me, and nothing is mine
and there's a silence that screams
the birthright of my freedom at the stars
and holds up my severed umbilical cord
as proof I've escaped my immortal chains
and chosen this transient path, brief as it is,
of light and wind, root and rain,
the circuitous blossoming of the wild grapevines
wandering like dancing drunks all over the place
underneath the fruits by which we shall know them
like chandeliers of global streetlamps
shining like clusters of pearls in the Pleiades.

Down by the river again, contemplating the world
like an earthbound frog sitting on a cosmic lily pad,
feeling the ghost pains of old wounds
summoned to a seance of scars
like a retrograde excorcism of all life on Mars,
wondering if the surest proof
that life on earth first came here
from that angry libidinous planet
like a seed in the fist of a meteor,
is that life on earth has been at war ever since.

Or if it's too much bliss, or a surfeit of sorrows
that keeps the bubbles of the multiverse
in the rivers I've followed into hyperspace like
the inconceivable tomorrows
of the lonely predecessor of my own dragon line
that's an affable familar with the same starmap on
the palm of my hand, as it holds
like the triune stigmata of serpent fire and snake-eyes
of two black pearls of wisdom and one mystic eclipse
of a new moonrise in the crescents of its triadic claws.

Down by the river again, where my wounds
attend night school in the lecture halls of my heart
and vast significance is explained away
with the whisper of a cool breeze, a gust of stars,
the flaring of a matchbook of daylilies,
goose-bumps on the bare arms of the river,
and the wild white iris doesn't disguise itself as a truce
when it's really a surrender, the sacred silence of the dusk
is animated by a cloud of unknowing gnats
that makes me wonder what they're the aura of
if not the rapture of love that surrounds
the same galaxy of cosmic insights and earthly emotions
my heart has been haunting for lightyears
like the distant lustre of Venus shining like nacreous dawn
under the heavy eyelids of the dusty sunset
nodding off like a spectrograph under the weight
of the longer wavelengths of the red poppies
it's been consulting all day like the green skulls
of gypsy fortune-tellers prophesying the death of stars
that go supernova like nocturnal nightlilies
along the riverways and dirt backroads of the Milky Way
like sleepwalkers in a dream lingering
over the darkening hills of the Lanark Highlands
like an extended metaphor for life, love, and death
that's been trying to keep pace with a sunflower
that blooms at midnight, without running out of breath.

Down by the river again, where I can drown
in the endless baptismal fount of my own myth of origin,
without entering a womb like an unclean thing
asked to wash off the starmud of my afterbirth
like something dirty on the threshold of a shrine of life
I'm asked to leave outside and turn my back
on all the roads and dead end pilgrimages it took to get here,
I refuse to start any new incarnation with an act of betrayal,
and I won't sanctify a saint without lifting the curse
off an heretical dragon's back at the same time,
knowing that for every angel that falls from heaven
like rain to put this hell on earth out,
a demon rises from pandemonium up the burning ladders
of their skeletal remains like watersnakes
on the fire-escapes of emergency moonlight,
to get a rise out of heaven, and warm things up a bit
just to show it that wildflowers can bloom in fire as well
and it doesn't hold a monopoly on bells
that have been beaten out of the afterlives
of experienced swords that have been through the forge
like hot blood through the heart of a warrior poet
who's gone absent without permission
like the rogue star of a conscientious objector for good
from nightwatch in the guardhouse at the gates of Eden.

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