deepundergroundpoetry.com
Moon and River
A bright and steamy afternoon
Beside the shady path, I sat to rest my weary legs
As I looked up a lonely glimmer caught my eye
And I thought it odd, mixed in the blue, the moon seemed out of place
Next to the path, the flowing river
Filled the air with the peaceful rush of quiet water
Between the ripples, the pulsating shimmer rolled
While the orb of night tumbled over waves then faded out of sight
Rising from the green of ground
Fading with the Sun, behind my steps, the splashing drowned
By cars, where horses once strode over cobble stones
Along the way are reminder signs of history and bone
These ancient streets exclaim their story
Between the walls of homes much older than old glory
Clouds fill the empty sky, daylight casts a final sliver
Walking home through the Stockade streets, I saw the Moon and River
Beside the shady path, I sat to rest my weary legs
As I looked up a lonely glimmer caught my eye
And I thought it odd, mixed in the blue, the moon seemed out of place
Next to the path, the flowing river
Filled the air with the peaceful rush of quiet water
Between the ripples, the pulsating shimmer rolled
While the orb of night tumbled over waves then faded out of sight
Rising from the green of ground
Fading with the Sun, behind my steps, the splashing drowned
By cars, where horses once strode over cobble stones
Along the way are reminder signs of history and bone
These ancient streets exclaim their story
Between the walls of homes much older than old glory
Clouds fill the empty sky, daylight casts a final sliver
Walking home through the Stockade streets, I saw the Moon and River
Published 29th Aug 2011
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I decided to post this poem today. I wrote it about the historical neighborhood I lived in for several years where I also hosted a monthly open mic poetry reading at the Moon & River Cafe in the Stockade a few blocks from my home. I wrote the first half of the poem just before the first reading there and then finished it after the open mic was over. I was watching the news today and feeling dismayed at the video of the flood there today from all the rain Hurricane Irene dumped there. I live on higher ground in Schenectady these days, which is a good thing as my former home is under water. One of my brothers still lives there just a few doors uphill from where I lived. He lives on the 3rd floor, so he is ok, but what an unreal mess. The Stockade has some of the oldest homes in America, places where George Washington and Abraham Lincoln visited. The photos on the back of my books have a replica of the Statue Of Liberty that is just feet from the waters new edge across the street from the community college I went to in the early 80's. The college is partially under water. There are two pictures in my book Seeds And Weeds that I took outside my apartment window when I lived in the Stockade. One picture shows the flood we had then, not nearly so bad, but you can see a fallen tree on the rivers edge that is standing in the earlier picture. Those pictures are on the page that has the poem Sleep (Hiding From the Touch Of Death) which I just happen to have posted here the other day. The Mohawk River floods every year, but this is the worst flood in Schenectady history.
30th Aug 2011 00:27am
nicely written, man.
orb of night kinda stopped me in my tracks for a moment, i guess it is a phrase you use.
all in i enjoyed the read and the comment helped too.
orb of night kinda stopped me in my tracks for a moment, i guess it is a phrase you use.
all in i enjoyed the read and the comment helped too.
Anonymous
1st Sep 2011 6:57am
I love the imagery in this one. Sorry to hear about the flooding in your old neighborhood. I think it is very cool that when you wrote this it was just before and after a poetry reading. A very nice read, well written with just the right atmosphere.
Anonymous
1st Sep 2011 11:11pm
i had to read it the second time because the first read i was not seeing it in all its fine glimmer a very nice piece well done enjoyed reading
8th Mar 2016 7:59am
8th Mar 2016 10:00am
