tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20009283753126071492025-09-09T13:45:08.288-05:00PtL poetry ~ The River Linklink to The River Past Poetry by River UrkeRiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-72967247005183242312011-10-15T13:40:00.000-05:002011-10-15T13:40:52.525-05:00Issue 18 of The River is out!The RiverRiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-83721803339317774922011-10-08T11:05:00.000-05:002011-10-08T11:05:38.752-05:00Come Celebrate 10,000 views on The RiverThe Social Zone for The River 12pm CST till 2pm CSTRiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-57840254137871678752011-10-07T05:10:00.000-05:002011-10-07T05:10:23.771-05:00The River is out! Issue 17The River Edition 1 Issue 17Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-78744257054143583432011-09-21T09:58:00.000-05:002011-09-21T09:58:17.711-05:00Writing Contest ~ on The RiverThe River is conducting their Fall/Spring writing challenge. Submissions are due by September 25th For further details clickRiverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-56067891362430506252011-09-07T07:11:00.001-05:002011-09-07T07:12:02.720-05:00Lost in Meth Shreds of string hold the shell of a woman collapsed, trapped in the hollows of self,a pitted face and fallen teeth,lie empty with a box of remnants of a life lost in trickery, the deceptions of addiction that ate on her soul destroying her faded days of yesterday.Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-27638094778422103702011-09-02T05:30:00.001-05:002011-09-02T05:31:25.581-05:00The River ~ ~ Issue 12The RiverEdition 1 Issue 12  ~ September 2, 2011 featuring Poets United  Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-32715483368854887672011-08-26T06:01:00.001-05:002011-08-26T06:02:34.380-05:00Edition 11 ~~ August 26, 2011click to go to the River Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-40867176151960780302011-08-25T07:05:00.000-05:002011-08-25T07:05:24.608-05:00The River ~~~~~ Edition 10 click to go to The River Edition 10                              August 19,2011 Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-42338105337046920582011-07-26T10:11:00.002-05:002011-07-29T20:58:10.301-05:00Waabin Ozhibiiwin- new poetry blogA new chapter of poetry begins as an old takes a step back with it's trunk of words left unlocked. A new look, a new place, with extra additions.  Waabin Ozhibiiwin ~ a Dawn Writer is born. :) Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-80489019811528466062011-07-19T10:35:00.001-05:002011-07-19T22:21:37.828-05:00Crescent MoonEchoes of a lone wolf’s crydance with silvery shadows beneath the light of the moon. A distant howl is carriedwith the rising of the sunanswering his lonesome calls. Along the changing horizon with the eastern winds he runs, to the dawn of a new day.Eyes lock as lips meet halfwayexploring with soft, gentle caresses                 the steps of their Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-55472254781666682522011-06-28T01:49:00.004-05:002011-07-19T10:43:22.999-05:00Does a Woman need a Man? updated w/ Does one Need a Man? We were taught growing upa woman does not need a manto want one maybe but need…. needing a man was a sign of weakness a life riddled of dependency and control. We were taught from a young agewatching our mothers and auntswith the right tools women can do it all they can fix the broken toilet, provide forthe family and kiss the children goodnight. As adults, we learned from the loyaltyof Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-47748440969494411042011-06-12T15:09:00.003-05:002011-06-12T19:20:52.774-05:00The CollectorRob Hanson The CollectorIn the neighborhood when I was a kidthere lived this strange sort of a manhe somehow lived off the gridand he chased us with a frying pan. He lived all alone around the bendoff Fernickle street in that house of broken shutters with his friend,his only friend, a house mouse. When we saw him, we always ranit seemed to us he’d lost his lidto survive we had to have a Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-46510041238901302862011-06-11T06:58:00.007-05:002011-06-14T19:41:39.219-05:00Crossroad    drawing by Annie Perconti                                                               Crossroad A young woman treads in circlescaught at a crossroad of decision. Her eyes bleed of Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-87679113056397880792011-06-06T04:38:00.000-05:002011-06-06T15:19:07.372-05:00The Prize~ The PrizeDedicated to Brandy Brenna Three good friends canoe down the Kinnieach with their own bag of thoughts. They navigate Clapping Watersfollowing a calmer course they lean back, gliding the stillnessand hear the air between her wingsbefore any of them see her. The fisherman in the rear only noticed the fishThe artist in the frontonly saw the birdThe dreamer in the center witnessed the Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-54997441059755809402011-06-02T20:34:00.003-05:002011-06-05T00:32:06.683-05:00gabriel ~ duel poetrygabriel... beads tumbledown the crestof the rising hornskirts twirlfingers tap ancient rhythmson sides of glassesemotions liquidbeats flowingamong a purity of tonea range of octaves match the rising horn then descending tonespassionate growlsbring wide-eyed smilesand a chorus of sensual amensa moment of silencefills the room untilthe ring of cymbals strikeas the music of soul&Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-21843290686082390562011-05-28T21:32:00.002-05:002011-05-28T21:48:01.021-05:00Lessons of SelfIs there a point one reaches being alone, night after night where isolation eats at itselflocking the door behindthe weeping sounds of lonely? Is there a purpose to loneliness?lessons hidden in the shadowsamongst a forlornness of self lost arms reaching for light. Is there a point one reaches where turning back is not an option and moving forward is not possible, when all that is left is to be Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-60157141868948228882011-05-15T21:35:00.003-05:002011-06-02T02:32:58.688-05:00Distant Lovers Whichever way you read it at whatever given time pick your ending for this poem its your choice with this rhyme. Distant Lovers Across the vast deep waters on an Island in the sea, her distant lover dwells in the land of Banshee. A love of mind and soul as if tied with timeless thread. An invisible connection held with everlasting breath spread. A high wind blows his Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-50509810258375186022011-05-08T05:00:00.001-05:002011-05-08T05:02:43.128-05:00Ancient Voices A scratchy whisper tinglesbrushimg the lobe of her earechoing words of tomorrowonly meant for her to hear fearing the voice, she yellsbegging it to leaveentirely missing the messageshe was to receive never was she taughtmeaning behind the voicenever told she was luckyor that she had a choice she walked an ancient pathalone, yet, well protectedlearning in years to comemeanings of the unexpected. Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-16329070545159550872011-05-06T12:23:00.000-05:002011-05-06T12:23:42.124-05:00There’s always a Point… Sinking deeper into the center of a swirling ball of warmth  rising hotter with every word expanding and growing  burning with long tentacles  spreading through crevices  cracked by past storms fueling the building energy striking the point of boiling the ball explodes at you. Sinking deeper into the center of a swirling ball of warmth  rising hotter with every Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-83114011076821090982011-05-01T06:23:00.005-05:002011-05-04T13:57:27.829-05:00A Tale of TimeA Tale of Time is a story told in the form of a poem.                               ~ ~ .......  Daydreaming on a Sunday afternoon               ~ an abstract moment in time ~            ~ The Keeper and the Well ~  Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-8896868347595355042011-04-30T06:00:00.091-05:002011-04-30T06:00:04.047-05:00Z ~ Zeroed Out & Zone Zeroed Out her head whips around to the ring of the phonefreezing stillshe knows it’s him calling againto say he will be latenever to actually show this timeshe doesn’t answer.  ©River 4/11 Zone waiting for the zonesmack dab sitting in the midof a challenge digging for ideaseach day a poem A to Z the pressures on  stuck at letter Gemptyalthough here comes H gliding Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-88942210889547050992011-04-29T06:00:00.028-05:002011-04-29T06:00:11.894-05:00Y ~ Your Eyes.... Your Eyes  Have you looked in the mirror recently? really, really lookedat the person reflected back?beyond your laugh lines and crows feetdigging deeper than your thoughtslying buried in your soulis a beautiful youwaiting to be foundamong layers of self doubtshinning in your moments of silence .Do you see it?I see your beauty.It is reflected in your eyes.        &Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-35222177262227160932011-04-28T04:09:00.000-05:002011-04-28T04:09:16.510-05:00X ~ X-rated Can you imagine lifewhere nothing is rated X in a time, a placewhere men don’t gawk at a breastand a woman doesn’t shrivel backat the site of a penis in a time, a placewhere the body is not a shameful vessel of sin in a time of no exploitationin a place just like here where nothing X-rated exists.             ©River 4/11Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-86201015611548817822011-04-27T06:00:00.076-05:002011-04-27T06:00:20.800-05:00W ~ Wails Rise                                                                Wails Rise wails riseas tears floodand dreams crashof a deep lovedestroyedbefore the chance to bewithout tangled websof weak threads no time to grow the strengthto sail Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2000928375312607149.post-41388471882405007442011-04-26T06:00:00.024-05:002011-04-26T09:58:12.800-05:00V ~ VoicesVoices A scratchy whispertingles behind echoing wordsonly meant for her. To young to knowthe meaningnot culturedfor understanding. She fears the voiceyellingbegging it to leave her alone. An ancient path of protectionshe’ll learnin years to come.             ©River 4/11 Riverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438967617636244335noreply@blogger.com3