In the poem "Please Take Me Back" I wrote the shores of a river. It is the Cuyahoga River that runs from Akron Ohio to Cleveland. In the southern sections it is historic and beautiful. A friend of mine on here dared me to write a poem about it...here it
Slow moving tepid pools
Fish leap to catch their meals
Birds dive to catch the fish
Rapids filled with children flow down river
White water where people play
Rocks the size of small buildings line your shore
Caves and caverns echo your heartbeat
They look down into a valley millions of years old
The floor of an ocean that covered the world
Ancient natives worshipped your power
Praying to you for what you could provide
Their homes can still be seen in the cliffs
Below homes made of wood, brick and glass
Drawings of the deer who drank on your shore
Char of fires that cooked the food you provided still marks the ceilings
Those ancient peoples are long gone
People still ply your water
Some for relaxation
Some for sport
Others, pairs of people float your currents to find love
It is not your beauty
It is not your history that you will be known by
You will be eternally known by what man has done to you
His poisons gave you your name
You will be known only as the river whose waters caught fire
Until someone, anyone remembers what you have to offer
Poetry by Rob Taylor
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Written on 2006-11-28 at 23:57
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Cuyahoga
CuyahogaSlow moving tepid pools
Fish leap to catch their meals
Birds dive to catch the fish
Rapids filled with children flow down river
White water where people play
Rocks the size of small buildings line your shore
Caves and caverns echo your heartbeat
They look down into a valley millions of years old
The floor of an ocean that covered the world
Ancient natives worshipped your power
Praying to you for what you could provide
Their homes can still be seen in the cliffs
Below homes made of wood, brick and glass
Drawings of the deer who drank on your shore
Char of fires that cooked the food you provided still marks the ceilings
Those ancient peoples are long gone
People still ply your water
Some for relaxation
Some for sport
Others, pairs of people float your currents to find love
It is not your beauty
It is not your history that you will be known by
You will be eternally known by what man has done to you
His poisons gave you your name
You will be known only as the river whose waters caught fire
Until someone, anyone remembers what you have to offer
Poetry by Rob Taylor
Read 769 times
Written on 2006-11-28 at 23:57
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
