You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves Comments

In Slept Middle Of Night In Chaos Dark we have all read stories of rivers we who took to risk wilderness mountains we who crossed creeks rivers not with bridges not even swing bridges still dry but in rivers where would we camp near a nice calm creek near the creek with plenty of dry wood about no in heavy rain flash floor creek will sudden night rise in sleep middle of night in chaos dark Inspired by the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves'

Safe Camp Above Flash Flood Levels this dry wood in line bands is flash flood levels we shall safe camp above this dry wood walk down to get fresh water to boil billy to brew we shall cross creeks by stepping in current flow no silly slow hopping rock to rock to keep dry boots socks risking twisted risking broken ankles Inspired by the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

I wrote the poem 'Putting On Wet Socks Wet Boots Is Winter Luck' inspired by the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

Death Flood Waters Pushes Pack Up Over Doomed Head should feet be washed out in current beneath in crossing immediately fall back full body length on top of pack pushing down hard on straps attached to bottom of pack because if not done immediately water pushes up pack pushes pack up over head forcing head down to drown so as pack starts to float push down hard on straps to live Inspired by the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves'

Panic Not In Flood Waters Muddy Death Raging so quick hard down then ride float on pack kicking with feet kick hard kick hard back to bank as water force you are swift washed down stream a few hundred yards half a mile more matters not once safe back at bank pull yourself out where can panic not in flood waters muddy boiling death raging flood waters keep your head keep fighting rising keep head above flood waters

I wrote the poem 'Swimming Flood Raging River Ford Attempt' 'nspired by the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

Swimming Surviving Failed Flood River Ford Attempt Technique pulling hard relentless on swimmer rope means swimmer relentless continuous pulled cannot lift head to breath breathe not able to breathe lift head to breathe means death death drowned hiking party stands on a point spot on bank rope swimmer fed out as soon as rope is stretched slack taken river force current forces swimmer back to party bank downstream at exact rope feed out length

Impassable Called Impassable For A Reason a word for the wise a word for life wise you poor green stupid fools wise hikers wise experienced hardened hikers do not cross flood raging boiling rage angry mountain creeks rivers in full storm flood wise hikers wise experienced hikers will wait days for flood waters to recede to recede to slow slow slow days slow go down wait wait wise hikers carry days extra food a book cards play out slow wait

Not acquainted with the deeps of Oceans You desired to know the mysteries of the sunset, Of the yellowing of leaves.)) Searching after mysteries and loving to decipher mysteries. mystery was always an attraction for me. a very fine poem. to ny

Great poems by great poets need to be revisited and reread from time to time. Simply to enjoy and inspire others. For they rest and lie so few and far between. This is one of those few. The chosen few. A worthy poem. I thank you again Soran and simply take care my friend.

Night Crossing Rivers we can still cross by moonlight seeing with hours in dark night sight or foot feel watersplash crossing edged bush craft bush skills guides feet sight is visual sound hear rivers speak when we listen from a soft meander to threat angry flood Inspired by the first two lines in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

Losing Footing Swift Swept Away there is skill need to read rivers well when crossing with rapids floods, tanning in the water, to feel out a step, to avoid twisting an ankle on a moving rock or losing footing swept away immersed Inspired by my comment on the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

Rivers Read In Path Palm Of Hand Time nature weather erosion hand of time etched into landscape the stories of rivers is water cut path defining least resistance river meander twist turns rapids waterfalls echoes river lives Inspired by my comment on the river stanza in the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to the poet Soran M. H.

I write the poem 'You Were A Minute Late Waiting Dilemma' inspired by the poem 'You Were A Minute Late.......Until Of Leaves' by the poet Soran M. H and dedicated to Soran M. H.

'Nothing new in the garden The days have grown old without carving Even two words on the trees For remembrance … Oh, the silver river! It burst from the mountains of the mind Taking me to the far shore of beginnings – Things will be different there.' the nothing new and not carving even two words for remembrance reminds, nothing endures lasts forever contrasted with 'Oh, the silver river! ' the vast source of creativity which transcends time in eternal imagination.

'Your reading of the stories of rivers Was interrupted. Night fell.' I wrote a succinct comment with the comments on the first two stanzas contrasted but the comment setting allows no meaningful comparison. I will message it to you later. I absolutely loved the entire poem, this is a deep metaphorical poem on life, you were buzzing when you wrote it, it echoes in the lines.

'((You were a minute late. The train left you behind, Your poem unfinished. You woke.' This brilliant first stanza intrigues and resonates with me especially because there was a time when I dreamed poems often nights in a row for a short period of time years ago, most I could only remember the first few lines, some most lines, others quite brilliant nothing.

The days have grown old without carving Even two words on the trees For remembrance …

Lonely butterflies huddle over flowers – they kiss a bloom and it dies. A wind rises, Scatters the butterflies, Breaks your umbrella.

In their shiverings of death They enter into the earth.