About Me

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Minnesota, United States
As I walk along in life, my muses dance with reflection inspiring me to release the thoughts and emotions of my pondering mind through poetry.

Prompt Poetry & Promotion page for The River

*plus the archive of my older poetry

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Writing Contest ~ on The River

The River is conducting their Fall/Spring writing challenge. Submissions are due by September 25th

For further details click

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Lost 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
her faded days of yesterday.

Friday, September 2, 2011

The River ~ ~ Issue 12

Edition 1 Issue 12  ~ September 2, 2011

featuring Poets United  

Friday, August 26, 2011

Edition 11 ~~ August 26, 2011

click to go to the River

Thursday, August 25, 2011

The River ~~~~~ Edition 10

click to go to The River

Edition 10                              August 19,2011

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Waabin Ozhibiiwin- new poetry blog

A 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. :)

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Crescent Moon

Echoes of a lone wolf’s cry
dance with silvery shadows
beneath the light of the moon.

A distant howl is carried
with the rising of the sun
answering 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 halfway
exploring with soft, gentle caresses                 
the steps of their opening door.
Two wolves begin once more.

linked with dVerse~ Poets Pub Grand Opening

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Does a Woman need a Man? updated w/ Does one Need a Man?

We were taught growing up
a woman does not need a man
to 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 age
watching our mothers and aunts
with the right tools women can do it all

they can fix the broken toilet, provide for
the family and kiss the children goodnight.

As adults, we learned from the loyalty
of Eagles and the closeness of Wolves
it is natural for us to need a companion

not someone to take care of us or fill a
fantasy but to love us and touch us…

Cinderella was not our favorite story.

I did two versions to this piece. Since, I posted the first I have come to wonder why I posted it other than letting pressure get to me. I like the second much better which I wrote first.

Does one Need a Man?          

I remember thinking it is weak to need a man.
To want one yes but need…

Oh it horrified me, numbed me with images of
housewives and brainless, obedient women
ridiculed with dependency and control.

An existence of imprisonment
a nightmare to us, the daughters
of strong independent women

we grew up being taught
a women does not need a man
with the right tools women can do it all!

they can fix the broken toilet, provide for
the family, and raise the children
there is need to settle.

Then I learned of human need
from the loyalty of Eagles
and the companionship of wolves

need was not necessarily bad
it mattered why you needed

I realized I needed a companion,
best friend, a lover. Not to take care
of me but to love me and touch me…

you can probably imagine
Cinderella was not my favorite story.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Collector

Rob Hanson

The Collector
In the neighborhood when I was a kid
there lived this strange sort of a man
he somehow lived off the grid
and he chased us with a frying pan.

He lived all alone around the bend
off Fernickle street in that house
of broken shutters with his friend,
his only friend, a house mouse.

When we saw him, we always ran
it seemed to us he’d lost his lid
to survive we had to have a plan
if our parents heard, they forbid.

Then one day we saw a blouse
curious as all we tried to blend
she carried out a plastic grouse
we learned he had come to an end.

She asked if we would help her plan
and carry what he never got rid
her dad was a collector his life span
we said yes it was time to contend.

Saturday, June 11, 2011



drawing by Annie Perconti                 


A young woman treads in circles
caught at a crossroad of decision.
Her eyes 
bleed of confusion knowing,
she lost herself in their image.

Dreary and afraid, her lotus
fades, peeling open her rawness, 
exposing a weeping child 
grown, pleading for direction.

She leans against the body of her 
grandmother, listening to her stories,
trying to find meanings behind
images sketched in her branches.

Her grandmother’s wise words 
echo the shadows of answers.
Teaching the young woman 
to dive into fresh waters and 
flow with her intended path.

                     ©River Urke 5/2011

posted for One Shoot Wednesday week 50 at One Stop Poetry

Monday, June 6, 2011

The Prize~

The Prize
Dedicated to Brandy Brenna

Three good friends canoe down the Kinni
each with their own bag of thoughts.

They navigate Clapping Waters
following a calmer course
they lean back, gliding the stillness
and hear the air between her wings
before any of them see her.

The fisherman in the rear
only noticed the fish
The artist in the front
only saw the bird
The dreamer in the center
witnessed the marvel of both.

An Eagle great in essence and size
Dove down to the surface of calm
waters, a little ahead of the trio
Grabbing a huge trout in her claws
Hovering over the water
Flapping her powerful wings
Gathering her strength
then flying away with her prize.

                                         ©River Maria Urke 6/10

6/11 rewrite

thanks to google images

Thursday, June 2, 2011

gabriel ~ duel poetry

beads tumble
down the crest
of the rising horn
skirts twirl
fingers tap 
ancient rhythms
on sides of glasses
emotions liquid
beats flowing
among a purity of tone
a range of octaves 
match the rising horn 
then descending tones
passionate growls
bring wide-eyed smiles
and a chorus of sensual amens
a moment of silence
fills the room until
the ring of cymbals strike
as the music of soul 
begins again 

by Charlie Martin & River Urke

This is the eighth poem Charlie/slpmartin and I have wrote together with Duel Poetry.  :) 

Duel Poetry a prearranged poetry writing challenge  between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines  (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.

photo by Charlie Martin- "horn"

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Lessons of Self

Is there a point one reaches
being alone, night after night

where isolation eats at itself
locking the door behind
the weeping sounds of lonely?

Is there a purpose to loneliness?
lessons hidden in the shadows
amongst 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 right now?

There is a point and purpose
if one strives to learn and
know oneself, explains Pema
in her voice of wisdom.

©River Urke 5/2011

*Pema Chodron is a Tibetan Buddhist Nun that has taught me many things through my life.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Distant 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 sails westward to her shore.
Their eyes for the first time will touch and explore.

Hours trail the day she waits for the dawn of a sailor’s lore.
She knows his ship is near; soon he shall land upon her shore.

Rising waves and birds galore tell him land is nearly found.
He panics with fear and guilt turning his sails back around.  

He passes no word of change leaving her hanging and unsure.
Death runs through her mind. She decides their love obscure.

Believing her love died that day, forever lost to her at sea.
She cuts her long hair releasing them both to be free.

He sails home, wails of his passion echo the beats of his life
overcome by thoughts of her, he has to leave his wife.

One night, he endured no more with mists of eve & ancient rites 
he yells her name into the wind, asking in prayer if time will 
change his flight.

Time answers his lonesome call,
Go to her, go to her now the gate of fate will open
 four dews of a morning and one night remain unbroken!”

At once, he set sail for her shore not thinking to send her word. 
He was lost in the world of Time, trapped inside his own absurd.

The third night he lands ashore asking for the house Mansur.
He finds his way to her door expecting her to answer.
She opens the door and there he stands. Confusion breaks out on 
her face. She goes to speak but he stops her, 
wraps his arms around and embraces her with dawn.
No one answers the door or looks out the window, no life
is visible at all. He slumps down on the porch to think
feeling beaten down by his own ambitious self.
She opens the door with a disturbing look of anger on
her face. The man she believed dead stood there smiling.
Taking a step back she tells him no! with the rising of dawn. 

© River 5/11

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 46 at One Stop Poetry

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Ancient Voices

A scratchy whisper tingles
brushimg the lobe of her ear
echoing words of tomorrow
only meant for her to hear

fearing the voice, she yells
begging it to leave
entirely missing the message
she was to receive

never was she taught
meaning behind the voice
never told she was lucky
or that she had a choice

she walked an ancient path
alone, yet, well protected
learning in years to come
meanings of the unexpected.

            ©River 4/11

Friday, May 6, 2011

There’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 pulse
expanding and growing 
burning with long tentacles 

spreading through veins
a warmth of tingles 
fueling the building energy

striking the point of love
the ball wraps around you.

©  5/11

Sunday, May 1, 2011

A Tale of Time

A 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 ~
                                   with a Drop of Time!

Time is untouchable
invisible to the naked eye
many have tried to own it
in its own right, it is…

Some believe it is man made
revolving around people
captured by hours upon seconds
tightly within a box.

Others watch Earth’s cycles  
and count the age of old rocks
measuring of mere moments
encompassing all life.

One knows the truth
about time and all its secrets
the chosen one that watches
the true Keeper of Time.

 Decades upon decades
he neither ages nor dies
bestowed a legacy of honor
a destiny of solitude and time.

Crossing through realms
the Keeper wears two faces
one tells of his legacy
the other sees him as a tale.

As a new century nears
the wind sings him reminders
the time is here to begin
his travels to the Well.

The Keeper of Time kneels
amidst the sands of the Sahara
waiting and praying
 on the eve of a decade
a new dawn in time.

One Drop of Time releases per century
the size of a grand mountains tear
falling towards the Sahara
in rings of sand it lands
instantly absorbed

flowing down
the Well of

Crystal clear
drops of time
lucid in collection.

Awaiting in a well of stone
tended by the Keeper
for all of life
realm to realm
the Keeper travels
 bestowing them their tempo.

Rhythms of difference
beats of fast and slow
realms of opposite flow

carved out riverbeds
on a course of their own accord
running at their own rate
two flows

down the road on
an abstract moment in time.

   © River 2/11

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 44 at One Stop Poetry~ writers and readers wanted!!!!

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Z ~ Zeroed Out & Zone

Zeroed Out

her head whips around
to the ring of the phone
freezing still
she knows it’s him

calling again
to say he will be late
never to actually show

this time
she doesn’t answer.

 ©River 4/11


waiting for the zone
smack dab
sitting in the mid
of a challenge

digging for ideas
each day
a poem A to Z
the pressures on 

stuck at letter G
although here comes 
H gliding along

puzzled I notice
both are carried
by my writing Zone.

 ©River 4/11

Friday, April 29, 2011

Y ~ Your Eyes....

Your Eyes 

Have you looked in the mirror recently?
really, really looked
at the person reflected back?
beyond your laugh lines and crows feet
digging deeper than your thoughts
lying buried in your soul
is a beautiful you
waiting to be found
among layers of self doubt
shinning in your moments of silence .
Do you see it?
I see your beauty.
It is reflected in your eyes.

                                    ©River 4/11

Thursday, April 28, 2011

X ~ X-rated

Can you imagine life
where nothing is rated X

in a time, a place
where men don’t gawk at a breast
and a woman doesn’t shrivel back
at the site of a penis

in a time, a place
where the body is not
a shameful vessel of sin

in a time of no exploitation
in a place just like here
where nothing X-rated exists.

            ©River 4/11

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

W ~ Wails Rise

                                                                Wails Rise

wails rise
as tears flood
and dreams crash
of a deep love

the chance to be
without tangled webs
of weak threads

no time to
grow the strength
to sail through the hard
and open to the sun

wails rise
as tears flood
and dreams crash

 of a lost love

                                                            ©River 4/11

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

V ~ Voices


A scratchy whisper
tingles behind
echoing words
only meant for her.

To young to know
the meaning
not cultured
for understanding.

She fears the voice
begging it
to leave her alone.

An ancient path of
she’ll learn
in years to come.

            ©River 4/11

Monday, April 25, 2011

U ~ Unable to Stand

As it is today
some sixteen years back
on a Sunday morning in early spring,
I remember waking up
tingly and numb
with a pain the same
as when your foot falls asleep
from my rib cage down.

I was 21
Unable to stand
Scared out of my mind.

 ©River 4/11

Saturday, April 23, 2011

T ~ truths hidden behind the mask

you caught my eye
intriguing me
with your poetic words
and warm smile

I opened my closed door
hesitant to trust

we shared morning moments
reading poetry until
we landed on the bed
locking in passion beyond words

you captured my heart
swept me off my feet
with your gracious hands
and warm heart

kissing me tenderly
caressing me with artist hands
you whispered beautiful words
full of promises

I opened my locked heart

feeling something was not right
I listening to you instead of me
only to learn some months in

you were a lie.

                  ©River 4/11

Thursday, April 21, 2011

R ~ Ring around the Rosy

Ring around the Rosy

A nursery rhyme
passed down to us
we teach our children
young to sing and play

not really ever knowing
what it truly means
not really ever caring
it’s a nursery rhyme

How bad could it be?

Ring around the rosy
with a pocket full of poesy
ashes, ashes
we all fall down

the children go
around and  around
till ashes and ashes
they all fall down
giggling with joy
wanting to go again
and again.

A nursery rhyme
telling a story of a plague
full of puss and death
infected sores
burning the sick
high above ground
while ashes fall.

Ring around the rosy
with a pocket full of posy
ashes, ashes
we all fall down

  River 4/11

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Q - Quantum Riders

riders sail the
seas of matter with all
energy needed to travel
between realm to quantum realm
an electromagnetic leap
of faith in abstract math
forces and gravity
turn theory in

Rictameter - the meter pattern (syllables per line) is 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2.. First and last lines are identical.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

P - Portraits of an Unsure Mind

moments for reflection
slowly pass
through snapshots of dawn
the shade of closed times opens

exposing you chained to a reality
of my invented fantasy
how much of you is a dream

that stands before me wrapped
in your images of self
you are a stranger
a dream I fell in love with

reflection of choice
slowly forms
through decision of desire
the door closes before you

hiding your faults from reason
fooling the mirage
you are more than a dream

that stands before me painted
to my liking
you are a creation
a man I can love

choice in moments
slowly transpire
through ugly patterns of yours
my bundle of self-love shrinks

it’s time to see reality
accept the fact
you are not my dream man

that stands before me naked
in faults
you are real
a man I love, yes, but

are you the man for me?

   *** *** ** *** ***
moments of reflection in choice

Monday, April 18, 2011

O - Oracle of the Feminine

Our time has come to stand tall
united in a revolution of change
a collective of feminine voices
saying, No More!

It is time we take back our bodies
create a resolution to change
the expected and learn to accept
everyone is born their own way
beautiful in their own skin.

It is time to stop participating
in the games of a perfect image
starving for anothers body
an average that does not exist.

It is time to love and cherish
yourself, believe you were born 
beautiful in your own way  
for your daughter is watching.

It is time for you to remember 
where you came from 
to say thank you to your mother,
your grandmothers and aunts,
all the women that wore
the body you were born to wear.
                                    © River 4/11

care for a reading by video

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 42 by One Stop Poetry~ clck and come join the fun    

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