Poem -
The river rides
the river rides
Itself in swirly foam
Rushing rapid trying trying
Trying to get home
Does not pause
for deer or man or sun which
Tries to climb its banks
Does not pause
for heaven blue to hitch a ride
Upon its flanks
it is indeed a thing possessed
jubilant and
All its own
It aks of no god to assist
its own force all
It's ever known.
M
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Comments
To my ear, the rhythm of Blake here, I hear
Well of course I'm going to read some Blake now R having shamefully neglected to ever do so lol. Thanks R x
Maybe it's the mood I'm in at the moment although it isn't much different from the mood I'm in most of the time, but I want to see the river as a metaphor and I want to see it as a metaphor for fate, for what is written, for what will happen over which we have no control. A thing possessed indeed. x
Thankyou Bernie... poetry can mean whatever we want it to mean and I'm pleased that it meant something so lovely to you... hugs x
You are welcome Marion. Yes poetry is in the eye of the reader. Hugs. x
I absolutely love this, Marion.
A metaphor, a dream, imagination, or a walk along the river,
this is beautifully written.
Warm wishes, B
Thankyou B... always a pleasure my friend x