Siberian Memories

13 Comments

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  • Nature

    Siberian Memories

    Again in front of me
    Water without an edge
    Again in front of me
    Just rows of flooded willows
    Again another year
    I have been taken back
    By destiny who gives
    Her lucky hand to me

    And under darkest firs
    With lichens like gray beards
    Listening to the cranes
    From the swamps of cranberry crisp
    I am able to drink again
    Water that crystal clear
    From icy and speedy streams
    Hiding in heavy mist

    Somebody wrote the book
    And my life predefined there
    But whatever happens to me
    I will remember forever
    That somewhere exists the land
    Of silence, water, and trees
    The land of my endless love
    The land of my sleepless travel

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    knight4696 commented on Siberian Memories

    08-12-2010

    FB - It's as if you take the reader by the hand and escort them along the journey with you. Great job friend! :) Ken

    stellar commented on Siberian Memories

    02-17-2010

    Ohhhh...gosh....My interest was captured so much by this wonderful poem of yours..yah know I'm also a poet of the river..haha..But really this poem is an addicting piece...refreshing to the mind like the river you speak of...thanks for sharing me this,,,,^_^ v

    Forestbird

    02/18/2010

    Thank you for your comment. The name of the river is Yenisei. It is located in the centr of Siberia and takes its waters to Arctic Ocean

    ginga commented on Siberian Memories

    02-16-2010

    Forestbird, This poem is written with such serenity and it hugs the reader as they walk along this journey with the poet. Wonderful wooded photo that is painted here. ginga

    Forestbird

    02/17/2010

    Thank you very much

    SavVySam commented on Siberian Memories

    02-16-2010

    Absolutely beautiful in it's very peaceful and reflective images of that vast expanse holding a special place for you! Nice work!

    WordSlinger commented on Siberian Memories

    02-16-2010

    This is beautiful, and precious I love this Forestbird, Favs for me, ty WS

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Forestbird’s Poems (26)

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    History and biography 2
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    Siberian Memories 13