River of my Youth

6 Apr

Sitting on the damp grass

by the river of my youth,

more a stream

to tell the truth, though as a child

it seemed bigger.

 

I’ve shrunk it in growing,

but still the gleam

carries magic from afar to far

away. I like how

it’ll never stop flowing

will always be here

when I’m gone; home, city-bound,

or dead, it’ll still be going,

always cool, wet, fish-full

and refreshing.

 

rolling small and obscure

under mature willows

through unremarkable fields.

Appreciated by dog walkers

and their wet dogs,

cider-quaffing pot-smoking

village idiots will lounge and litter its banks.

 

Small Huckleberry boys

will always scamper across

its plank bridges – fishing net in hand,

sunhat on head,

hunting the clawed monster crayfish

of the muddy bed.

 

And the occasional dreamer

quiet and aloof,

will sit, and take peace

from its ceaseless, winding,

sea-searching movement through the fields.

 

 

 

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2 Responses to “River of my Youth”

  1. eddychambers April 11, 2012 at 7:31 pm #

    I really liked this, and for some reason it reminded me of a quote I read by van Gogh:
    “Our earlier life might be compared to sailing on a river, but very soon the waves become higher, the wind more violent, we are at sea almost before we are aware of it… The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too”

    • ocksblog April 11, 2012 at 7:48 pm #

      great, thanks for the quote. Actually I looked at your blog last night and read a bit where you said you had read Van Gogh’s Letters, and I decided that I need to get hold of this book ASAP! I love Van Gogh, he’s the archetypal artistic genius, unstable and burning with emotion

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