“The River Wild” 

a poem by Tom Bartmer, upon reflection of his church’s

outing to ride the raging rapids of the Peshtigo River

The river wild rushes, and beckons to say

“Gather ye paddles and wits while you may”

For now it is sweet and waters but calm

What possible peril ahead could us harm?

Besides, the river is cool and feels to us warm

Oh, joy to glide and sway and wander

From bend to bend and glade down under

But then the rock unseen below

Rears its head and stops us slow

Rips goodwill and stubs the toe

Sad to say the water is low

Halted we are with labor and row

Careening undaunted we havest no luck

We cannot believe we paid to be stuck

While spying the fish, the frog, and the duck

Relentless our efforts, we plow on unyielding

Think of the muscle and sinew we’re building

The shallows behind us, a roaring ahead

Just as the guide this morning had said

This is the part where we all end up dead

Over the falls with adrenaline pumping

Out of the boat our bodies go dumping

Into the fray and churning white-water

Praying to God and crying for mother

Fighting the current, but why even bother?

Finally ended, the finish is come

Tired and weary, battered for some

All ashore a few step with ease

Others crawling on hand and knee

Then vowing to relive this stupidity?

Only among those who plainly merit

To venture thrill, all those who dare it

Must keep to themselves some ample room

To measure caution with more than spoon

Or else be regarded adventurer and loon