“WHITE-WATER” A Writer Contemplates


White Water

The River raged before me
        Sharp in its swiftness:
                Jagged rocks, White foam.
Tentative, from shore,
        I pondered the craft I would enter:
                Feeble shelter, imperfect home.
What right had I
        To think that I could challenge
                This gauntlet, nature raw.
Others might…
        Their skill a galleon,
                Bearing up, not to fall.
So here I stand precarious
        Poised on danger:
                Wet toes, cold heart;
Afraid of
        The very vessel I had crafted:
                Do I dare? Do I start?

Words.
        Words, they are my vessel:
                Invisible, unsure.
Dare I launch them
        On the River?
                Will they float? Will they endure?

By rd wilson

[Written spontaneously as an exercise in a poetry class,
Christian writers’ conference, 10/6/97]

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About Robert Dennis Wilson

Author, Poet, Avid Reader, Scroll Saw Artist, & Singer-Songwriter. Telecommuting programmer/report writer by day.
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