This is a poem from my childhood, my youth really, written in the year 1971. I will revisit it here today and post it to Wattpad for the third poem of December 2012. This poem has no real structure, and just freely gave of itself when I was young and naïve. As a child views the world and finds joy there, this poem expresses that joy.
This poem will be republish once the competition is over. Thanks for all your reads and votes.
Oh come!
Look at the laughing stream.
Oh what a happy child,
Playfully polishing its stony bed.
Giggling, gurgling, singing, and chuckling
Water clear and cold.
From the mountains you spring,
your parent being rain, ice and snow.
Follow, run with this happy child,
Just be there, play with this stream.
But notice, the banks they become wider.
The child grows, changing from stream to river,
Laughter disappears, to more sombre notes.
Now a strong current of self, laps against this river's world.
Contained still within banks of rock, it runs cool and clean.
Still you can see fishes there, enveloping the child
That once these might waters where
Swimming, playing, nibbling, and feeding
Upon, the river weeds and insects of the air.
But where has the child water gone?
Oh! Look at the tree lined banks!
Water lapping as if kissing the Mother Earth.
There the child is, now just trees, drinking, growing, and shining:
Deep green upon this jewelled world.
Reflecting, whispering, sheltering and shadowing.
The river rolls on, we follow mile after mile
Travelling, far from its parents’ home all the while.
Now this river matures to adulthood, meanderings.
Curving, bending, snaking, dividing, and multiplying.
As we go, following each turn we see the waters muddied by time.
Swamps, billabongs and wetlands, greet us teeming with life.
The banks are left behind; now just floodplains greet our smiles.
Oh but see, the birds living there!
Fishing, flying, swimming and diving
Oh! What a joy to be a bird upon free wings flying?
Feathered friends feeding on the wealth there.
The life giving wet lands of this mature being.
Where have the banks gone ?
For no real banks belong,
until, they turn into shore— river into sea.
But notice, do not turn away!
See those waters have now turned into waves.
Rolling, turning, curving, and circling,
majestically so beautifully; a moving wall of sea.
Coming closer, that wall breaks into white foam,
Sending loving ripples to the sandy shore.
Giving, of its treasures of shells, seaweeds and more,
See drift wood from the forest floor, a jelly fish and little crabs
Kissing the sands so tenderly, like the child being.
But no, here is the mighty power of full maturity,
Pounding, grinding, polishing, and working,
The rocks of the shore, as an artist sculpturing,
Creating works of art for all to see.
Oh! My friends just look, at the sea, river, and stream
Laughing, polishing, kissing, playing and working
Like a happy child.
For you and I to enjoy, and take pride
that we also belong to this incredible paradise:
As children playing, running, singing and breathing
In the beauty of Earth, this planet we call HOME.
YOU ARE READING
Today I will Be.
PoetryThis is the first poem of this last month of 2012. I am challenging myself to post a poem every day for this month. They are my gift to you all for I hope that they will be all uplifting of your spirits and sing with joyful notes. From June through...
