Foaming water, hard to see,
raft rocketing rapidly,
constant roaring on the air,
everything soaked, toe to hair,
paddles plunge and the bow shifts
slowly through the angry mists,
shoots past rocks, and eddies white,
the river drops out of sight,
stomach lurches, I feel tall,
plunge down a small waterfall,
splash hard in a swirling pool,
spun ’round as if on a spool,
hard strokes bring a quick escape,
into safer waters break,
boys are cheering, there is that,
it was their idea to raft.
Life is like a whitewater rafting ride
With turbulence and crashing waves
Fear not of what lies ahead
'Cause God will guide your way
Don't be afraid to make mistakes
And swiftly move with currents strong
Life's chaos can be daunting
But, with Him, you'll get along
Rest in His calm, soothing peace
And thank Him for the ride
Trust Him to guide you through
As you go along for the ride!
We shelter secrets, holding them close
and encrypted. Hidden truths,
like submerged rocks that create
snapping undercurrents and choppy,
white-capped rapids for navigating affinities.
New River waters skimming jagged rocks
Drenched rafters paddle madly
Are we having fun yet?
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written July 12, 2021
for "Bite Size No. 12" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gauthier
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Poetry Contest
July 17, 2021
Purple shadows drift beneath the gray sky forge
Mists dipping into verdant valleys like quicksilver
Skimming the rapids where we hurtle downriver
Through seething whitewater of New River gorge
Hurtling toward narrow waters of the Gauley
'Neath the bridge to form the Kanawha mighty.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written May 22, 2021; reworked May 23, 2021
entered "Bite Size 2" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gautier
I’m in a dream of lightning beams.
I am all scattered by many things.
Then, whitewater awakes me,
Into a wearying worry.
Where did my rudder go?
My pail has fallen overboard.
Fifty holes are swallowing in the water.
The boiling sun is getting hotter.
I have no sails to use the wind.
My back is scarred from leaning in.
I have only one partial oar,
And only one hope of being restored.
But what’s this I feel and see ahead?
A breeze blowing me floating
Baskets of fish, and loaves of bread.
Now an eclipse to shelter from burning sweat.
What else can I do but row and go?
If not, I’ll sink down again.
But I hear my Captain calling me in.
I cannot see Him, but He is near.
He is helping me eliminate my fear.
“Hold on!” He says to me,
“I’m fixing you up with a motor.
Now don’t look back, or over your shoulder.
“Straight ahead is where we must go.
I will guide you safely, as you stay afloat.
Just give Me your all, I’m devoted to you,
And I promise, we will make it through.”
He truly was with me to the end,
And has become my closest friend.
Now I’m dreaming of us in heaven,
With everyone there, to share every care.
The beauty stands still climbing cascading white fangs seeing aqua blue
The August sun does not reach
the shadows of the old mesquite
as it grows in the river bed.
The soft dry sand, the sultry heat
invites the visitor to sleep.
Thunder in the mountains
rumbling through the hills
white water washes the boulders down
The mesquite is gone, scattered.
A seed pod rests in damp sand.
Mountain springs forth life
Cascading, white, powerful
A natural flow