Rivers 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.
Browse more rivers and lakes poems
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Browse poetry teaching resources
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.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
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Rick Maxson says
Thanks for posting my poem.
Donna Falcone says
I really like your poem, Rick. 🙂
Rosanne Osborne says
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.
Rick Maxson says
What a combination of Mississippi inspirations, Rosanne. A beautiful homage.
Rosanne Osborne says
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.
Donna Falcone says
Great poem. It reminds me of travels with my family when I was a child.
I love that line about Mark Twain! 🙂
Heather Eure says
Like Donna, I love that Mark Twain line, too! Thanks so much for sharing, Rosanne.
Rick Maxson says
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
Donna Falcone says
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
Heather Eure says
“…it buckles the Autumn trees and grasses.” An image-rich poem, Rick. Love it.
Monica Sharman says
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.
Donna Falcone says
This is so exciting! I really like it Monica….
and then, oh, that last line! Terrific! Purely the love of the sport.
Heather Eure says
I like how your poem is an action sequence, Monica. An ideal ending, too!
Rick Maxson says
Monica, sounds like the White River here in Arkansas. I could picture every word!
Donna Falcone says
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
Donna Falcone says
http://www.donnazfalcone.com/poetry/shin-deep
Rick Maxson says
Donna, love the way this is left open for any creek for anyone to imagine or remember.