DBPoetsCircle….. Presented by Dirt Bag Paddlers

WELCOME TO OUR MONDAY MORNING FEATURE. We hope to share with you our readers the songs of the River, that they may either start your work week off right or recharge your batteries after a long weekend with the custys… We heartily accept submissions submissions
 ENJOY!
EMBRACE & ADORN by Biz Allen
In a breath, we arrive
In a blink we depart.So Little do we see.
Blinded by my sight
and dragged by my heart,
but there’s so much more to me.
A white Petunia in the full moon’s glow…
A map without a compass
A captain with no maps or charts.
Adrift…and blending- a sum of many parts.
The dream still contributes
From the same star dust it stems.
My bloom it has a purpose
a means to an end.
The beautiful fabric, universal and unique, each one of us
a weaver
our light, our thread, gives texture- embellishment- so to speak.
I would like to be an Opal
Pearlescent colors emitted-
in the crown of my community, nestled comfortably & loosely knitted.
A jewel in someone else’s crown to shine in moon and sun,
For one day the end will come
yet that crown’s beauty remain- intact.
Lovingly worn atop another’s head, it can only give back.
Like this shawl I don
woven by LeNorahs’ hands and hearts
representing the sum of their parts.
Beautiful, soft, resilient, true
worn humbly and never washed.
Conscious of those luminescent threads,
respectful of their dreams.
I’ll walk whatever path presented
draped in love and light.
Take from me this cloth, dear friend
and wrap your shoulders tight.
When it’s strength has run the course remove
recycle and then share.
Add your jewel and shine your light,
It relieves the burden we all bare.

UNTITLED by m
I do not not have anyone to save me 
Just a kayak 
Money I can only have if I go to school
And a dream

IN BUZZ’S OWN WORDS by Taz Riggs
Buzz Holmstrom’s Mother was an accomplished and published poet. It’s hard to find anything that he wrote that would qualify as poetry in a classical sense. Lacking in rhyme and meter, many of his thoughts put to paper are works of art crafted from words. Poetry.
…the bad rapid-
Lava Cliff-
that I had been looking for,
nearly a thousand miles,
with dread-
I thought:
once past there
my reward will begin,
but now everything ahead
seems kind of empty
and I find I have already had my reward,
in the doing of the thing.
The stars, 
the cliffs
and canyons,
the roar of the rapids,
the moon,
the uncertainty and worry,
the relief when through each one-
the campfires at night,
the real respect of the rivermen I have met
and others
November 21, 1937

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