I miss you, Kora.

I miss you, Kora.

But no pressure…

After percolating up

Through stone and earth

Gravity pulls it ever down.

Bubbling, foaming

Gaining interest

As it tumbles

Flatulent Salmon

Jump it

Struggling to find a mate

Before they find a deathbed.

The moon hung as a background

More beautiful from a distance,

Casting its glow

Over broken dreams

And ill-gotten gains.

Who would want to jump it

Without a yardstick

As a guide.

Old ladies are not witches

Nor young ones strumpets

Young men bear a passing resemblance

To coyotes

When they hunt in packs.

Winding through the forest

Fresh water flows on,

Reflecting on the nature of progress.

Innocent children play

Downstream,

Away from the dark country.

The lights of cities

Become brighter as the river

Breaks into its stride

Smiling wider than a mile

The life and soul of the people

Lining its banks

Paying a toll

To remain complicit in its plunder.

The ice-cold water thickened

By waste

The factory fallout

Dunken brawls

Bloated floaters

Clogging up the flow

The evil of ignorance

Spreading its fingers wide

As mudflats fester.

At low tide, Waders dip for provender

The cutpurse picks pockets

And mudlarks sing snatches

Of the old songs

With little understanding

Of their worth.