WELCOME TO OUR MONDAY MORNING FEATURE. We hope to share with you our readers the songs of the River, that they may either start your work week off right or recharge your batteries after a long weekend with the custys… We heartily accept submissions here ENJOY!
THE RIVER OF RIVERS IN CONNECTICUT
by Wallace Stevens
There is a great river this side of Stygia
Before one comes to the first black cataracts
And trees that lack the intelligence of trees.
In that river, far this side of Stygia,
The mere flowing of the water is a gayety,
Flashing and flashing in the sun.
On its banks,
No shadow walks.
The river is fateful,
Like the last one.
But there is no ferryman.
He could not bend against its propelling force.
It is not to be seen beneath the appearances
That tell of it.
The steeple at Farmington
Stands glistening and Haddam shines and sways.
It is the third commonness with light and air,
A curriculum, a vigor, a local abstraction .
Call it, one more, a river, an unnamed flowing,
Space-filled, reflecting the seasons, the folk-lore
Of each of the senses; call it, again and again,
The river that flows nowhere, like a sea.
FRIENDS by M. Toughill
The River is a friend
We go together round the bend.
Found underneath the waves,
Are bubbles we both chase
The comforting embrace
When one of us misbehaves,
And gets Wallaced in the end
Off Class V stouts we send,
We both know our place
The River is a friend.
When I’m gone I tend
To think back on what’s round the bend.
Refresh me and revive,
Familiar sights ahead
That fill my longing head…
I see my good friend dive
Off Class V stouts she’ll send,
And get Wallaced once again.
We both will feel alive
The River is my friend.
WHITE-WATER RAFTING
by Mia Ocean
The water
is flowing
with rage,
it splashes
and bubbles,
hurtles and
troubles,
anyone
who is
near.
The water
is flowing
downstream,
pulling
pebbles,
pinecones,
and people.
It’s roaring
in the ears
of the raftors,
who are hollering
to be heard
over
the white
foaming
water.
WALLACE & WALLACE
by M. Toughill
WITH THE CURRENT WE FLOW
ALL BOAT TYPES’ KAMA SUTRA
LIKE CHILDREN OUT WE FALL
LOOPING DROPS, FLIP & ROLL
AGAIN REGROUP, AHEAD AGUA
CLASS V PLAY, LETS SNAP A PIC
EVERYONE, WE SMILE, AS ONE
CREST
by Sam A Benetto
Tiredness
A weakness combined
With a rush for danger.
Constricted to a whole movement
cresting each point,
to infinity.
Cusping on greatness,
bordering on average.
settling with a need
possibly for speed
Contending with greatness
and gravity.
DRIFT
by Sam A Benetto
If one could drift back
to the depth of their memory
where would they go;
To the places of lovely glow,
the caverns blocked by
jagged rocks, warnings to
that unlocked.
To flavors of closure
an opening anew
a window sealed up,
yet lifted in June.
The burn of the sun
the chill of the rain
are all ones heaven
and hells the same.
To drift back,
one will stumble on all the lack.