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, 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!!!!

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