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Rivers and Lakes Poetry Prompt: Celebrate a River

By Heather Eure 17 Comments

rivers bend poetry promptRivers have served as boundaries, avenues of transportation and commerce, and sources of sustenance. Since the course of a river is also a symbol of time, there are many rivers which have been celebrated in poetry, prose, and song.

To the River Charles

River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness,
I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.

More than this;–thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried;
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.

Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart!

‘T is for this, thou Silent River!
That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver,
Take this idle song from me.

—by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The river’s ribbons of motion cut through and intersect life, and keep us drawn close to her. Rivers define and enhance our landscape, ever-flowing towards an ocean, lake, or even another river. Some rivers actually dive into the earth and end their course without reaching another body of water.

Try It

Rivers connect us. To our history, our communities, and each other. Rivers are full of stories and poetry. Write a poem about a river close to your heart.

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Featured Poem

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Rick we enjoyed:

Vanishing Point

Met you at Sandusky,
near the wooden coaster

I used to ride—you safe
along the ground, and I
round the tracks above you.

I knew you from school,
but there you seemed smaller,
much older than my eleven years,

and I loved your name.

One morning, in the minutes
before the sun would see us,

I moved across your body,
quietly, and drifted with you,
felt you lifting me as the light
spread over us and I saw
the ribbons you made from it,
until my sight vanished in your blue.

Erie, my first sea, my shores
are now many, my home
a faded memory.

Only you will remain,

boundless and bright,
with your courses of light.

—by Rick Maxson

Photo by Nico Kaiser. Creative Commons via Flickr.


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How to Write a Poem 283 high How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.

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  • Author
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Heather Eure
Heather Eure
Heather Eure has served as the Poetry Editor for the late Burnside Collective and Special Projects Editor for us at Tweetspeak Poetry. Her poems have appeared at Every Day Poems. Her wit has appeared just about everywhere she's ever showed up, and if you're lucky you were there to hear it.
Heather Eure
Latest posts by Heather Eure (see all)
  • Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
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  • Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018

Filed Under: Blog, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, Rivers and Lakes, writer's group resources, writing prompt

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Comments

  1. Rick Maxson says

    July 12, 2016 at 9:12 am

    Thanks for posting my poem.

    Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      July 13, 2016 at 6:42 am

      I really like your poem, Rick. 🙂

      Reply
  2. Rosanne Osborne says

    July 12, 2016 at 9:25 am

    The River Sets Its Course

    From stone to stone my sneakers couldn’t know
    the steps they were taking, the direction

    that was set by their leap into a bookish life
    following this river on its course

    to the gulf that separates child from parent,
    colleague from colleague, friend from friend.

    Our stop-over at Itasca State Park seemed
    unimportant as we motored to Bemidji–

    a week of fishing for my parents, reading
    for me. The Mississippi, hardly more than

    the small creek that ran through our back
    pasture, emerged from that Minnesota lake

    and trembled in anticipation as though it knew
    what Mark Twain had known of its crooks

    and turns, its 2500 miles southward. Poised
    above those stones, I looked into its clear

    water and saw my childhood fade
    into the suitcase of Faulkner novels

    I had hastily packed, southern hieroglyphics
    that would take a lifetime to decipher.

    Reply
    • Rick Maxson says

      July 12, 2016 at 9:42 am

      What a combination of Mississippi inspirations, Rosanne. A beautiful homage.

      Reply
      • Rosanne Osborne says

        July 12, 2016 at 11:25 am

        The trick is to tighten this material into a poem that makes the most of the interplay of the elements. I think it has possibilities, but it isn’t there yet.

        Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      July 13, 2016 at 6:43 am

      Great poem. It reminds me of travels with my family when I was a child.
      I love that line about Mark Twain! 🙂

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      July 13, 2016 at 9:03 pm

      Like Donna, I love that Mark Twain line, too! Thanks so much for sharing, Rosanne.

      Reply
  3. Rick Maxson says

    July 12, 2016 at 9:45 am

    Eno

    Let it be the river Eno,
    and as if the map of where is wind,
    it buckles in the autumn trees and grasses.

    Back bent on a lift of limb,
    I twist, as sap drops like alluviums scattered
    on steep slopes, where water weakened in its course.

    I would so quietly live
    among the particles of light and air, a hue
    ubiquitously hiding along guiding banks of green:

    garden, rake, and handle,
    yellow aging tear-shape falling,
    wet and taken, leaf and ribbon

    Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      July 13, 2016 at 6:55 am

      This is beautiful, Rick. I love this line and image – it caught me by surprise:

      I would so quietly live
      among the particles of light and air

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      July 13, 2016 at 9:59 pm

      “…it buckles the Autumn trees and grasses.” An image-rich poem, Rick. Love it.

      Reply
  4. Monica Sharman says

    July 12, 2016 at 2:48 pm

    The Gunnison

    My first hike, and it had to be a canyon
    where the sun scorches through thin air
    and the way home seven hours later
    is uphill. At least we didn’t descend the Devil’s
    Backbone. Still, going down Tomichi Trail we had to take
    hold of chains the rangers staked into the wall
    of the canyon with the greatest ratio of depth
    to width. The whole point

    was the river that cut the canyon two thousand
    feet below, the Gold Metal Waters of the Gunnison—
    collapsible rod in hand,
    fishing license and lures in pockets.

    Don’t swim the Gunnison in summer high-water,
    though the way across seems an easy few strokes
    and a perfect hole for brown trout draws you to the other
    side. But you brave it anyway—water temps
    in the fifties but really it’s much colder—because you spotted
    a fish behind that rock you can’t cast to
    from here. Wrist flicks, silver Blue Fox lure plops

    just beyond the calm
    behind the rock. Got one.
    You reel it in for a catch
    and release.

    Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      July 13, 2016 at 6:57 am

      This is so exciting! I really like it Monica….
      and then, oh, that last line! Terrific! Purely the love of the sport.

      Reply
    • Heather Eure says

      July 13, 2016 at 10:02 pm

      I like how your poem is an action sequence, Monica. An ideal ending, too!

      Reply
    • Rick Maxson says

      July 14, 2016 at 5:57 pm

      Monica, sounds like the White River here in Arkansas. I could picture every word!

      Reply
  5. Donna Falcone says

    July 14, 2016 at 11:46 am

    shin deep
    in freedom
    in some valley
    on some road trip
    long ago

    shin deep
    in my song
    moving water
    slapping rhythm
    rushing ‘round my tree trunk legs
    maybe nine or ten rings wide
    in some lifetime
    on some private
    escapade

    shin deep
    in power
    mountain stream scene
    song rising
    loud and free
    just me

    shin deep
    in some creek
    somewhere

    Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      July 14, 2016 at 12:22 pm

      http://www.donnazfalcone.com/poetry/shin-deep

      Reply
  6. Rick Maxson says

    July 14, 2016 at 5:59 pm

    Donna, love the way this is left open for any creek for anyone to imagine or remember.

    Reply

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