Let’s say the sounds before all words
to acknowledge the bones and lost homelands
always beneath our feet, under carpets
and ironworks, cement and pine needles.
Let’s use the words we know to shape the love
blooming here in forsythia and dogwood,
rooting here in green and brown shades of trees,
grass and bushes, holding shores of rivers.
Let’s note riverbeds overflowing with
ice melt and rain, with danger and hope,
with poisons and tears and fish and blessings.
Let’s wade in. Let’s restore spirit and soul.
(My soul returns to the Hudson River
where snow dots spongy ground in early spring,
where Dutch met with Mohican and Pequot
peoples before wars and land grabs began.)
Down by riversides at sunrise, let words
honor Mother and Father and sisters
and brothers. Let’s stay to practice giving,
healing and shouting the sounds before words.
Let’s watch branches glow and grass green while
music flows down by the riverside, let’s
renew right here and now, this side and that,
while sun rises, crosses above, and sets.
For my prompt
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
Cut Down Version of "April Riverside":
and lost homelands
under carpets and ironworks
cement and pine needles
how words shape
forsythia and dogwood
rooting green and brown
shades of trees, grass and bushes
lining river banks
ice melt and rain
poisons and tears
fish and blessings
spirit and soul.
My river is the Hudson in early spring;
snow dots and spongy ground
residue of 17th century Dutch
and Pequot peoples
Riverside sunrise rites
honor Mother and Father
sisters and brothers
honor giving and healing
sing original words