Capturing the world with Photography, Painting and Drawing

Posts tagged “river poems

THE TREE SINGS TO THE RIVER – By Lea Goldberg

The tree sings to the river Irish landscapes Nigel Borrington

The tree sings to the river
Irish landscapes
Nigel Borrington

He who carried my golden autumn,
Swept away my blood with the leaf fall,
He who shall see my spring when it returns
To him with the turning of the year.

My brother, the river, who is forever lost,
New each day and different and one,
My brother the stream between his two shores
Who flows as I do between spring and fall.

the-tree-sings-to-the-river-02

For I am the bud and I am the fruit,
I am my future and I am my past,
I am the solitary tree trunk,
And you — you are my time and my song.


Song of Sunset on the River by Bai Juyi, Image of the river Suir at Sunset

Sunset over the river River Suir  Tipperary

Sunset over the river
River Suir
Tipperary

Song of Sunset on the River
by Bai Juyi

A length setting sun spread water in
Half river emerald half river red
Love ninth month first three night
Dew like pearl moon like bow
A strip of water’s spread in the setting sun,
Half the river’s emerald, half is red.
I love the third night of the ninth month,
The dew is like pearl; the moon like a bow.


Spring On The River – Poem by Archibald Lampman

Springtime at the River Irish landscapes Nigel Borrington

Springtime at the River
Irish landscapes
Nigel Borrington

This weekend i am planning to do some river walks, Springtime down near the rivers here in Kilkenny is a great experience with so much new life around.

What-ever you are doing I hope you have a great time 🙂

Spring On The River

By Archibald Lampman

O sun, shine hot on the river;
For the ice is turning an ashen hue,
And the still bright water is looking through,
And the myriad streams are greeting you
With a ballad of life to the giver,
From forest and field and sunny town,
Meeting and running and tripping down,
With laughter and song to the river.

Oh! the din on the boats by the river;
The barges are ringing while day avails,
With sound of hewing and hammering nails,
Planing and painting and swinging pails,
All day in their shrill endeavor;
For the waters brim over their wintry cup,
And the grinding ice is breaking up,
And we must away down the river.

Spring on the river Nigel Borrington 01

Oh! the hum and the toil of the river;
The ridge of the rapid sprays and skips:
Loud and low by the water’s lips,
Tearing the wet pines into strips,
The saw mill is moaning ever.
The little grey sparrow skips and calls
On the rocks in the rain of the water falls,
And the logs are adrift in the river.

Oh! restlessly whirls the river;
The rivulets run and the cataract drones:
The spiders are flitting over the stones:
Summer winds float and the cedar moans;
And the eddies gleam and quiver.
O sun; shine hot, shine long and abide
In the glory and power of the summer tide
On the swift longing face of the river.

The Rivers source Nigel Borrington 02


A hut near a river – Poem by Neela Nath

Hut near the river Black water river , co. Cork

Hut near the river
Black water river , co. Cork

Where I want to live
with you my seventh heaven,
is not far from this everyday
life, but very near to it..

A hut, near a river
with crystal water,
fish playing there on
sunbathed pebbles…..

You and me with our little
daughter will live a
calm, calm life..

Over there we shall see
the forest, away from that
winding path.
You will be back
in the evening,
and I shall watch
you coming eagerly…..

None will come on our way
to happiness!
No feud will be there.
No flame,
other than ours!

Black water river co cork 1

A hut near a river,
the trees, blooming plants,
will enhance our happiness….

You, me and daughter,
three will be drinking

from the tumbler of life….

The flavor of Nature…

You, Me and…..


The Old stone bridge, a Poem by, Tony Mitton

Irish Landscapes : Nigel Borrington

Irish Landscapes : Nigel Borrington



The old stone bridge

By, Tony Mitton

The old stone bridge
is where folk stood to talk,

watching the water go under,
hearing its fluent music
gather their words

to carry notions, ruminations, gossip
away in a silver wrapping
of rippled sound.

The Old bridge 2015 2

Sometimes, too, the women would come,
down the stone steps to the brookside
to launder the linen, the clothes.

And again, all the soil,
the sweat and the swear of life,
would be washed in that water,
rolled in that bundle
of tinkling, tumbling sound,

to be carried down,
out of sight and of mind,
rinsed by the workings of water.