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

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"

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