Imagine the power – rapids
rushing to the edge,
foamy haze
bubbling to the surface and bursting
as they smash

on rocks before
cascading in roars through a jungle
of watery falls
and tumbling with the audacious
desire to smack

the water below
in a cacophony of damp shallows
– that befalls
the man in the barrel,
altitude depleted.

Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Posted to dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Frank asks us to write a poem that includes descriptive detail and makes the reader want to re-read … so maybe read it again.

My name is Phillip. I live in North Carolina with my wife of 11 years and 3-year-old son, and at least for the next year, I’m on the right side of 40. (Both the interstate and existence, in years). I am a Tar Heel born and bred, and watch every Yankees game I can. My goal is to visit all 30 MLB stadiums in the next 10 years. I’ve been to 5 so far! Obviously I enjoy writing, but I also enjoy watching and reading sci-fi. I’m slowly attempting to finish my first novel, a “humorous” sci-fi romp which may be finished one day. I am a Doctor Who obsessive and choose Star Trek over Star Wars.

34 thoughts on “Waterfalls

  1. We are all in the barrel, we know it, we hear it, entropy pulls us one direction, but like you ending we almost always seem surprised. This is either terrifying or comforting, one can either just enjoy the floating ride until the inevitable and not worry. Or one can worry. See you on the outspout or the undertow friend. I hope we choose to enjoy the ride.

    Liked by 1 person

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