River Poetry     Nanook's River Poetry
I touched a rock for you today

I touched a rock for you today
on the gently flowing Tay.
The smooth and round conglomerate
will always have your name on it.

piskrock1 (15K)
Piskahegan Stream, one day
piskrock2 (17K)
Piskahegan Stream, another day

I touched a rock in a ragged pitch
of the Northwest Upsalquitch,
a stone to bear a witness true
of all the trips I took with you.

Another rock was touched by me
for you this spring on the Miramichi,
a granite boulder seated firm
to part the waves till we return.

I reached out and deftly hit
a rock on the Nepisiguit,
a sentinel to stand until
our paddles once more ply this rill.

The Piskehegan's granite glade
felt the light touch of my blade.
The mark will never disappear,
my sign to show Nanook was here.

The Cains did not impress me much.
It seemed there were no rocks to touch
until I went back-channel way.
I see that stone this very day.

Back Creek wound slow through pastures green
with alder meadows in between,
rounded stones betwixt the banks
sweetly placed for paddle spanks.

I rode the rocky drops of Eel.
Imagine how it was to feel
my paddle flexing in the flow,
glancing off the stones below.

I touched a rock with a fancy flourish
as I floated the gentle Gornish.
I settled in behind him steady
and rested in his peaceful eddy.

Oromocto's moody meanders
were just innocent bystanders
as I showed the rocks no pardon,
sifting through the thick rock garden.

Way up north on the Allagash
I gave a rock a wicked bash.
It echoed in the rocky canyon
loud enough to wake Paul Bunyan.

I've reached out and touched a rock
in all the rivers I've paddled on,
but never a rock as big as the block
on the mighty river Saint John.

Penobscot now flows fast and free
down rapids where dams used to be.
River-Addict and Paddlin' Hal
and I touched rocks in the Bangor swell.

I reached out high up on Keswick
to touch a rock with my best stick.
I deked round the evil sweeper,
licked the lip of the swirling keeper.

Restigouche's forested flanks
resounded with my heartfelt thanks,
as I grazed the granite boulders
taller than my seated shoulders.

I touched a stone in a mountain alley
down Kedgwick's rock-strewn river valley,
ever watchful for the passes
between the boulders' merciless masses.

I touched a rock for you last fall
down Bartibogue's long alder hall.
I timed my green boat's graceful glide
to skirt the stone on the shoreward side.

I took my paddle and I ran it
on a gray Dungarvon granite.
It would have been quite super-duper
to see the famed Dungarvon Whooper.

I impacted quite a few
rocks on the Bartholomew.
I reached out at crazy angles
for stones deep in alder tangles.

Machias' rocky trench was shallow
and the rocks weren't soft marshmallow.
Its granite gripped and grabbed our canoes
but we sure gave them the news.

Mackadavy's boulder track
enjoyed the tender-sweet contact
of my paddle's glancing blow
as I bobbed on his broad flow.

I juked past the jagged rock
on the wicked-wild Nashwaak.
I reached out beside my boat.
Lovingly the stone I smote.

I touched a rock in the frothy sluice
of the rippling North Renous.
My touch will last till end of time
as long as poems and poets rhyme.

Though waters flow beneath the bridge
and seasons follow on the ridge,
I'll wait for you down by the shore
and we'll run the stream once more.

 siggy (13K)
 Reach out and touch a rock

bhken (118K)
Miramichi River

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