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(For Jeannie)
Margaret Ann Waddicor 16th January 2011.

Along the light brown flood
the boat sailed on the tides of muddy current,
its flow so wide it was almost like the sea,
on either side the houses tucked in under hills,
rocky hanging gardens, nature's spills,
small painted doorways framing smiling faces,
doing chores.

The skies were grey, but in our minds,
our hearts fast beating at the sights to see,
we felt elated interest and good company,
the happy throng of people gathered there,
their cameras eyes and ears alert and ready,
we viewed this great wide Yangze river.

As we approached the area so lauded, grand,
the hills became the mountains,
humped and craggy, shaggy bushes visible
on nearby shores gave drama to the bland
of space above, where clouds floated about in grey.

What paintings these, the mountain summits
pierced the skies, the tumbling waters fell,
and with the stream, its swell lifted our thoughts
to dream of travelling through painted silks and scrolls
of old, their wondrous shapes and visions,
the tiny priests, philosophers and friends.

And seeing this we understood
their creed of man and nature,
being of such proportion small,
that we need to be aware of her.

The force that guides this universe of ours,
through miles and miles of stars,
and yet 'tis ours to find the joy while here,
and with this sight so beautiful, so rare,
we are but tiny objects in the whole,
can only stare.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Last few words: 
My sister Jeannie, wished some Chinese poems from this river, we found none, so I wrote one for her for fun.
Editing stage: 


Oh how lovely to be able to take you round the world Shirley,
I have never been to China myself, but I know a lot of the art
that is produced and that includes the art of painting and poetry,
and I admire much of it, especially some of the ancient texts and creations
that are awe inspiring. As are the arts of other parts too, what things
man can create, and it is much due to nature's beauty, and drama.

Thank you dear Shirl and love from Ann

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

I love the descriptors of your handywork
your poems of travel
I love rivers and miss them feirce
camped by them swam in them canoed
but now cityfied

your poem was able to take me from
my day to day what a pleasant suprise

You love the toss and fury of the rivers, as they charge through narrow places, churning the sand and stones up to chatter and resound with great bangs making even the tame organ sound simple compared with their resonance's, that is if one listens to the grand orchestrated music from down under the torrents, attentive to every nuance, and then allows one's spirit to dash and fall among them in total abandoned that what you mean my Steven of the wild places?

Descriptors sounds like some kind of dinosaur, and the water ways of the world are as huge and formidable as they were aren't they?

Avignon where the Rhone glided past so fast and full that it seemed as though its surface was above one from its beaches.
Le Gorge de Verdon in S. France where it has carved deep and makes rapids that even an American expert preferred to the Grand Canyon rapids.

The unbelievable water falls of Norway, some that appear way up in the sky where the rocky crag towers above one and this body of water floods out to charge down through great shining black boulders and spray the flowers and ever green green mosses on the floor of the awestruck trees.

Or where it flows over the brim of the heavens and dissipates as it descends, becoming a fairy-like lace curling a dance before becoming 'air'?

Or where my mother and I stood in a low treed twisted mountain birch wood, the charging white horses of the melting snow waters roaring through the undergrowth and diving under the bridge where we stood, awesome feeling.

In Italy near the Riva del Garda, where the river enters a 'Devil's cauldron' and falls mysteriously through the tunnels it has made in the stone, hidden from view.

Magical powerful water that at the same time can be delicate and even fly. We would do the same! N'est pas? Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment
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