This is such a powerful poem. It reads like a story, as we walk with you through your search for the trail back. I can relate to the finding of a stream in the woods and all that brings, and I have followed a few streams down when I had lost my way in the mountains.
I really enjoy and resonate with this, Claire. Your poem had me sitting right by a stream, with its sounds, sights and smells. You have created a wonderfully evocative poem!
I love this Nancy, how you used the memory and scenes as a meditation(s) to move through childbirth. What a beautiful practice, and to use whenever we are in the midst of giving birth, being reborn or through the growing pains of change. Thank you.
This is a wonderful and beautiful poem, Nancy. I have hiked and biked in the Adirondacks, and your poem brought their beauty back to me very vividly. Thank you!
I used that creek scene as a meditation when I labored for each one of my beautiful babies. I would just "put" myself there in the midst of the transition from the hot sun baking my skin, to the shock of the cold water on my feet when I stepped out of the canoe, to the cool dank darkness of the forest surrounding me. The Adirondacks are my "special place" for meditation.
This is so magical, Kate. In addition to your gifted descriptive imagery, your reminder that one person’s stream is another person’s river made me smile. What we called features of the landscape in my native Virginia differ somewhat from we name them here in New England. I always love your poems, and am grateful to be introduced to them here!
This is great work, Joe. How wonderful it is I have a special place. We were with our young grandkids recently, and our 6 year old grandson found a creek at a neighborhood park and he was convinced he discovered it and was the only one who knew about, except for his Dad, sister and me, who he showed it to. The joy and wonder in his being could fill the sky!
This is brilliant, Margaret! It reads to me like sonnet, a song to the earth, to live, to right relationship, to love. I am grateful for your splendid writing!
This is very nice Steven. Two passages from the Lectionary for this Sunday are a part of the last supper discourse in John, and the passage from Revelation about new heaven, new earth. Your poem is a wonderful companion to my walking with those passages this week.
The hike was long
A wrong turn
Turned into hours
Until we turned on each other.
Went our own directions
I followed the ragged trail
Of switchbacks around
The side of the mountain.
Then heard the sound
I first mistook for wind in the canopy
Of the adjoining forest
Until it drew closer
And around the next bend
A stream trickled down the hillside
Over pebbles and rocks
Around moss-covered boulders
And 100-year tree trunks
Undaunted by centuries of elements
It seemed, as though it was there
All along.
I stopped, knelt down,
Rested my palm
On a rock, smoothed
By the flow of water, of time
Felt the coolness wash over me
Scooped the water into my hands
Drew the water to my face
And I sat
Allowing the full weight of me
To stop, to relax
Into the soft earth
Absorb the sound of infinity,
And surrender to the divine mystery
Of the journey ahead.
This is such a powerful poem. It reads like a story, as we walk with you through your search for the trail back. I can relate to the finding of a stream in the woods and all that brings, and I have followed a few streams down when I had lost my way in the mountains.
What a beautiful journey of finding prayer! Thank you for this.
'the sound of infinity' 💜
The stream
On and on it goes
Each day
It keeps on journeying
Bubbling along
Over and around rocks and stones
It keeps flowing.
From source,
To river,
On out to sea.
It keeps going
On its journey.
Every day,
Every night,
Always moving,
Never stopping.
I wonder if it ever gets tired?
It keeps going
I wonder about the unseen force
That keeps it moving-
On its journey-
Day after day.
I really enjoy and resonate with this, Claire. Your poem had me sitting right by a stream, with its sounds, sights and smells. You have created a wonderfully evocative poem!
Yes! It rolls like the stream itself.
Deep in the high peaks of the Adirondacks,
there I drift along a stream…
Meandering between one pond and another
it brings us to a resting place.
The canopy of trees and sanctuary of deep woods
shelter us from the hot sun overhead.
One tree’s trunk has curved out
exposing part of a root.
We loop a rope,
anchoring our canoe
to this root
stepping into the cool depths of water.
Knotted muscles from paddling
across ponds stirred and frothing
from gusts of wind.
A climb up a bank,
the spread of a blanket
over a bed of moss…
Finally, a resting place
listening for bird song
and chipmuck chatter
while we repose in
deep tranquility.
I love this Nancy, how you used the memory and scenes as a meditation(s) to move through childbirth. What a beautiful practice, and to use whenever we are in the midst of giving birth, being reborn or through the growing pains of change. Thank you.
This is a wonderful and beautiful poem, Nancy. I have hiked and biked in the Adirondacks, and your poem brought their beauty back to me very vividly. Thank you!
I used that creek scene as a meditation when I labored for each one of my beautiful babies. I would just "put" myself there in the midst of the transition from the hot sun baking my skin, to the shock of the cold water on my feet when I stepped out of the canoe, to the cool dank darkness of the forest surrounding me. The Adirondacks are my "special place" for meditation.
in the high, dry desert,
our rivers are what
you call streams
where you live.
what we call streams
are nearly imperceptible
trickling sounds of snowmelt
you might hear
in hidden alpine forest, if you’re lucky,
secret life seeping
through aspen duff
over smooth, old stone.
mostly the water here lives
in the land’s memory, as an artifact,
as what we call arroyos. ghost rivers.
those sandy braided pathways I wander
along daily,
where the plants grow bravely waiting,
where monsoons once carved
this parched, longing land
with the eternal rapturous dream
of feral flowing streams.
Thank you for bringing us into your world, which is always a magical one
I guess a river is in the eye of the beholder.
This is so magical, Kate. In addition to your gifted descriptive imagery, your reminder that one person’s stream is another person’s river made me smile. What we called features of the landscape in my native Virginia differ somewhat from we name them here in New England. I always love your poems, and am grateful to be introduced to them here!
Near the place I work
There’s a sacred stream
That leads directly
To the ocean
So there’s no wondering
If my tears make it to the sea
I know for certain
That this sacred stream
Ferries my sacred tears
Back to their place of origin
jimmy, this is absolutely beautiful. "there is no wondering if my tears make it to the sea."
I love that line!
This is very nice, Jimmy! I like the notion of the “sacred stream.”
Dare we trust goodness,
like a stream long blocked and dammed,
will again rush forth?
Beautiful poem and question!
Stream
Its where I go when I need to reflect
A little place not far from my home
Few people know its there
Or if it is, how to get to it
It take me 30 minutes of walking
At first down the bustling main road
Which leads to a quiet side street
That ends in a park.
On the paved park path
I'm passed by bikers and joggers as I pass the elderly couples walking hand in hand
Here to hear the tree frogs and water birds
I turn off at an unmarked deer trail
Climb at first, then down
Where the woods get thicker
and I leave the sounds of tires and soft conversations
Thicker still and down I go
The forest gets darker and still
Until I'm greeted by crickets and the occasional crack of a twig
I heard it gurgling and babbling
Before any bit of thinning hints at its presence
Through a break in the trees I see my first glint or glare
A flickering reflection of the westward sun
I've arrived at my quiet place
Prepared by the trek to leave distractions behind
Leave thoughts for another time
My stream of consciousness
This is great work, Joe. How wonderful it is I have a special place. We were with our young grandkids recently, and our 6 year old grandson found a creek at a neighborhood park and he was convinced he discovered it and was the only one who knew about, except for his Dad, sister and me, who he showed it to. The joy and wonder in his being could fill the sky!
Sounds like the journey is just as kool as the destination.
love the stream of consciousness!
Is it true
That streams are made
From melted snow?
For if so, streams
Come from clouds!
Those quiet, billowy
Transformative shapes,
So peaceful to watch
And guess at in fun,
Become these magical,
Musical wonders
That we can enjoy -
All because of precipitation!
This is wonderful Korie! I like that you trace the streams to their origins and to the clouds, which still remain a great mystery to me!
Everything flows
I learned in Greek
Panta rei
They say
I will not step into you twice
Our love lasts for a moment
Yet off you flow to feed the land
The sun-parched banks of thirst
The veins of Mother Earth
Her life force
Source
Rushing forth
To birth
A fertile land
Where seeds of justice sprout
To feed the people starved for hope.
Teach me, stream
To be so free
To leave my needs behind
And flow
To help my siblings grow and thrive
To know they will survive.
This is brilliant, Margaret! It reads to me like sonnet, a song to the earth, to live, to right relationship, to love. I am grateful for your splendid writing!
Thank you, Larry. I so deeply appreciate your comments every day. Thank you for taking this time.
It’s a joyful blessing!
"peace
I leave you with
my peace
I give to you"
words given
in times or chaos
as authorities
political and religious
sought
ultimate authority
yet words
that brought
quiet, serene
as the chaos
takes hold
again
seemingly overwhelming
searching for
ultimate authority
and as there are
wars and
rumors of war
earthquakes
and floods
surrounding us
that still small voice
whispers
"peace
I leave you with
my peace
I give to you"
This is very nice Steven. Two passages from the Lectionary for this Sunday are a part of the last supper discourse in John, and the passage from Revelation about new heaven, new earth. Your poem is a wonderful companion to my walking with those passages this week.
I focused on the "quiet in the chaos" and completely missed stream as the focus. There is so much chaos these days. As there were back then
I hear you Steven. I wonder about the streams Jesus crossed. Bruce Cockburn has a powerful song called “Dweller by a Dark Stream.” https://youtu.be/Uflar-NTqRY?si=d8V0EJ_X4LhjYOMx
Thank you for sharing that. I hadn't heard it before. It has an easy listening feel from 80s.
Over that rusted section of fence,
Entwined with the hawthorn hedge -
A sweet little field
Full of rushes and sheep -
And a stream runs along its back edge.
High bank and bushes above
Made it a fairy glade!
Primrose in Spring -
Sloe in Autumn -
In Summer cool, leafy shade.
And I would sit there for hours -
Meditating on movement and flow.
That stream in that field
Was a dear friend of mine;
And one I was honoured to know.
these precious friends - such an important part of our lives
It's so true Margaret 💜
Never a mystery what you were thinking.
A stream of consciousness,
Bubbled out of you,
Illuminating your thoughts,
Observations,
Connections you were making.
The background music
To our day to day.
You have intimacy with words
Knowing where to place each one
At just the right moment
Like rocks in a river you’re trying to cross.
Fear that age would damn up the flow
Was unwarranted.
The stream has been well tended.
Relationship welcomed.
Consent respected.
We found our way.
Stream of conciousness?
Just let what flows in flow out.
Open wide, say ahhhhh.
Chuck, a friend sent us a card that says “Where are we going and why are we all in this hand basket?” Stuck indeed!
You are a philosopher for our times, Chuck!
I feel stuck
"Streams of consciousness"
and "babbling brooks"; someone
must have understood
.
the way the water
echoes from inside, how it
can quiet a mind
I am nodding my head "yes" as I read this several times over. It quiets my chatterbox mind.
I stand mesmerised by the stream
by the gentle persistence
of the water, weaving its way
between, around, over, and under the stones
It does not stop,
nor wait,
nor fear,
but quietly keeps moving
onward
feeling the flow
the forward motion
I linger
captivated
for a few moments more
by the wonder of this reminder
life goes on
Water runs clear, bright
sparkling with reflected light
seeping through the pines.
What a wonderful image. Thank you Kate.