Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
And somewhere in there
you give a fuck about the moon
and somewhere in there
you give a flying fuck
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already addicted to the dark.
So lock the door
draw the curtains
The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
force fed the sun
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.
for the civilians and thier children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
for the people
you because when parents fucking in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the murder business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence
The dead mothers would find safe shelter in the sewer
but it stinks of shit and dead bodies
like our prepackaged liberty
Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to cripple a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner
Through a garden bedecked in the finest façade
In a natural beauty of eons compiled
An assault to the senses which quickens the pulse
Yet soothing the detail, organically styled
Its borders haphazard yet clearly defined
By a frenzied assortment of pollen clad blooms
Enhancing creation with lust and a craving
With nectar, ambrosia scented perfume
The thickets and bushes, with industry cloaked
A sprawling utopia thriving therein
With bees and with butterflies drinking their fill
And drizzled in webs which the spiderfolk spin
A meandering trail through flourishing life
An encouraging push from the sun to my rear
Entrancing, the chill of the dew underfoot
Yet thrusting itself like an ice laden spear
My sight is attracted by hidden desire
To a door at the crest of a flurry of stairs
And the stone of the flight is as fire to my soles
After languishing still as the midsummer glares
The door is ajar and within comes the sound
Of a single piano, adeptly caressed
Each note sends a shiver rebounding around me
In purity soaked and perfection possessed
I make my way forward and darkness inside
Removes me of sight as my pupils adjust
And the air is intense as a northerly breeze
And shimmers in motes cut of sunlight and dust
My eyes become clear and before me they see
Cascading and dancing a musical frieze
A picture in motion, a fairytale path
In a spectrum of tones and a myriad keys
Inspiration her name and the course she describes
Is a poem in light to beguile the mind
She speaks with her body, a wordless refrain
Of a mystery poets have clamoured to find
A pipe cuts a harmony no one could play
Distilling forever the passage of time
And though such a symphony draws at the tongue
Causality never once utters a rhyme
A pattern of shimmering images form
Behind inspiration and quickening pace
To fade with the music and ever be lost
Lest the pen of a poet can hold them in place
Most fickle of muses and teaser of tongues
To flirt with despair and to promise elation
We chase but remaining just out of out reach
Is the ghost of a girl which we call ‘Inspiration’
Atomistic projections birthe free out of a thick and porous shell, candid with light and bleached from the inside. And it fractals out into zero, infinitely. But how we collapse is imprecision. What function spits your mortar out? Or are you unawares of the gaps left in your voice? This is the decision to systematically disassemble yourself. No one else. And it won't be where you look, or even when, but it shadows every thought, and lives off feeble grasps in its direction. How can you know a river when the river is yourself? If a door is always closed could it be called a wall? A man cannot step into himself more than once.
Fireflies in the park late at night
She whispers something in my ear
(abstract gluing tiles on random surfaces)
Jagged edges sticking out everywhere
Weird and for the most part bad haircuts
Punk rock shows and punk rock moshing and punk rock girls
Actually pretty good at playing guitar when I'm in the right mindset
Not easily proud
Classic rock blasting in the car, too loud for most of them
In the screeching highs of Plant and Rose
And in the deep low cuts of Slash and my heroes
All the birds in the world, all the time
Not over-dramatic, just dramatic enough, as he winks
Both impossibly ignorant and secretly wise (graced infrequently)
Words, words, words
Babble, ramble, gabbing, loquacious
Wordless, hungry, quite voracious
for any definition at all.
I'm the reaching summit and falling the who
ole way down, mister Sisyphus to you
I'm random dancing home alone
Singing my favorite songs in the shower and I can't help
Mouthing the words as I ride my bike
The burning desire to suddenly burst into song as in a musical!
A dream and a dreamer
A wizard in many ways
A jack of many trades
And a deuce of even more
I'm scratch-scratch-scratching at the door
...knob? oh, there it is
Red blood painted on my hands, I kiss my father on the cheek. I mosey out the old front door, I’m eighteen and invincible. I rub the water on my face and on my eyes and on my soul, it’s all thawing but still ice cold beneath this makeup mask. I pretend to love, when really I don’t care. It’s just responsibility to treat these bastards with respect. The ice and snow of the world’s heart spread frostbite to my own. I’m guilty of not giving a fuck, and I don’t even give a fuck. Nothing is a shade of gray; it’s all purple to me. And I sink my teeth into the earth, biting down in crimson blue.
Smiles are for sinners and being fucked over is for saints. How do you think they all ended up martyrs? I’ve been bruised blue by this world, but it all secrets with this sapphire suit. I have no choice but to stay frozen, fearful to admit my wounds. I’m hurt, I’ve been hurt, I’ve been hurting for a while, but I’m scared to say it all and have to say that I need help. Writing makes it real and it ravages my mind. All I wish for is a fire to warm me up from inside out and reignite this empty furnace, strangled until it turns blue. Maybe the world doesn’t have to be rose or indigo or purple at all, at all. Someday I’ll smile with every color, the hottest flames inside my soul burning bright and blue.
Standing at the threshold in the silent space
between thunder and lightening
Straddling the door sill of uncertainty,
stranded in a continuum of discontent
One foot in…One foot out
It's just a step away…One foot forward
while the other follows the wanderlust
of an evolving enigma
The first step begins
a journey of a thousand miles
Walk to the end of this long and winding road
Carry the weight of an unfinished life in this soul
Breathe in the stillness
of the tempest calm
The ethereal instant within
the eerie pause of natural hesitation
The exhilarating silent fusion linking the anticipation
between the bolt of lightning and the thunderclap ;
nature’s well performed sleight of hand
Two souls touch igniting carnal synthesis
Reaching upward to the heavens they draw strength
from the spirit of the lightening and the hail
The ominous sky’s anger … the storm’s fury fuel's the essence of verve
Vibrant celestial elements manifests a drenching downpour
Heightened senses are enhanced by an electric aura
squeezing out every last drop
from the enchanting moment of stunned silence
Spirits transcend a cleansing rain ... invigorating heart of soul ~
©Harlon Rivers 2013 ...February 28th, 2013
Have you ever thought about the space between? Recently I sat writing a list of such things...
This is a poem about what can go on during the waning moments between thunder and lightning
Creative writing is a type of subjective practical magic for the times when imagination
knows no boundaries limiting access to dreams of other realms
It may surprising to know how many you can come up with, if you made your list.
So as the list grew, so did emotive thoughts expanding upon
what the distance is or what it can mean to us....
Okay so things like the space between a rose bud and a blooming rose...
planting a seed and then waiting for the harvest, the first step in a journey
and then arriving at a destination, the space between love & hate,
birth & the passing of life, black & white, The silk cocoon & the Butterfly,
the moon & the earth etc...
The space is as infinite as the list of possibilities.
In this case I was thinking about the silent void of anticipation between a visual bolt of Lightning
and the raucous thunderclap breaking that silence...
how many times I have waited in that "space", that "limbo"
counting the distance between ...
So...I asked this girl out on a date
No money had I made of late
With no job prospects for quite a while
Had her drop me off at the grocery
Proceeded to stuff sardines down my jeans
We were going to picnic it up in style
The whole time I had security
Keeping a watchful eye on me
Nabbed me as I stepped out of the door
Even grabbed the girl who was my date
She might have made a grave mistake
They say she was driving the get away car
We went before the hanging judge
Who wasn't much into showing love
Gave us each thirty days in county
I convinced them she was the master mind
I was a fool in love, didn't deserve the time
So they locked her up and set me free
Though it was our first date
And didn't seem to go the way
That it was I had it planed
I think that when she gets out of jail
And if she doesn't look like hell
I just might ask her out again...
When I was young
My mother hung
A dying man above my door
Upon a nail
Upon a nail
And I don't know what he was for
how he loved his sweetheart queen
she always wore the silver bracelet
he gave when she turned sixteen
now their kids are growing; how time has flit
Eyes opening, sun comes streaming through the windows. It's so late!
I rise, feel so groggy....what's this weighty load on me...?
I've been sleeping, yet feel profoundly weary.
Where is everyone?
I get to the bathroom to wash and shave.
My wife appears at the door, "Honey, where have you been? Oh, we haven't seen you in so long... Welcome back! Come down for tea, dahling."
She pours a glittering smile and reaches up to touch my cheek with the back of her left hand, fingernails painted deep red...her nuptial rings still a dazzle after so many years...but she....
She had never called me darling...or even dahling....before...!
And off she goes, to the kitchen.
Welcome back?? did she say?? And her eyes were shining so bright...
Wait a minute....just hold on ....what....??
I shake my head, unable to shake some heavy feeling....a dense cloud in my head.
Now I'm dressed and freshened up, I head down.
Feeling better, I see my warmhearted and humorous son at the pine dinette table.
I smile warmly as he turns to look up...I remember the promise that we'd go fishing this weekend.
I reach over to touch his hair, but he flinches away..!
"Who's this, Mom?" Kyle demands hotly.
My wife gives a bright smile which doesn't quite reach her eyes and says: "Now, Kyle....behave. It's Daddy.."
"Oh, he's just .....tired, ok."
She waltzes over and politely hands me a steaming mug.
What in the name of....???
Over the cloud of coffee, I watch them all.
Little Jenny, but my jolly toddler...now on her mother's hip...watches with wary eyes and reaches out to scratch me, her pacifier hanging from a blue ribbon, like a noose from her 'happy-smiles' bib.
"But Mom, he's been away so long...for years and..."
I hear him whispering sullen and lizard-like, to his mother....but he's hissed into silence.
What in the heck....?
"Now, children," Muriel says patiently, "go play out in the yard..."
Oh, I'm feeling so frazzled!
I decide I've had enough.
My wife is at the sink, thickly busy rinsing cups and plates; she smiles sweetly, humming.
She never did like doing dishes....
Now there she stands, looking all coiffed and made-up, hopelessly incongruous...
I shake my head and thoughts roll and collide, like mysterious marbles across my mind-floor...
Kyle watches me hostile, from the garden...arms folded defiantly across his chest.
Jenny's on her tricycle, red as a fire-engine.....eyes blankly staring, bent on crisscrossing her scalene triangle trip.
I turn to ask: "Muriel, where's your bracelet, dear? You always have it on."
"Oh, dahling...don't you worry. It's upstairs on the dresser."
And yet.....I was there earlier whilst dressing, and I didn't see it!
Baffled, I step out to the kids.
I prune the bougainvillea and then rake some leaves. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck....
It feels as if I'm being watched...when I look up to see, they are all quickly resume their activities.
Muriel just keeps on that shiny smile for me.
This is it.
As I rake, some leaves make way for a clearing in the yard.
Bending down to scoop some up, a shiny reflection catches my eye...there's the silver bracelet with that beautiful twist of blue as gemstones.
What was it doing here...?
Still pondering, I see my wife's head jerk up from the kitchen window...lips curling back...oh, no smile this time...body looking too erect...eyes like saucers, way, way too interested.....
I look down again...move some more leaves.....a curled hand....But it looks like ......
I recognise my Muriel's hand, her clear and pushed-backed-cuticle fingernails....her arm..her face....but.....
I turn round slowly to look.....only..... too slowly.....
how I loved my sweetheart Muriel
who always wore her silver bracelet
with that beautiful
twist of blue
S T, 11 June 2013
Dozed off and wrote this thing, instead :)
I was left alone, in shades of grey
White was cold and black was noisy
I could not hear the silence
And I could not see my sun
Wandering through the labyrinth
Surrounded by blank empty walls
Searching for new colors
I didn't know
Spend all my days dreaming
I imagined a story and then painted it on the walls
All shades of colors, patterns and swirls
Mesmerized by my creation
Caught up in a delusion
I had no clue
And I was still wandering through
At last one day
I found the door
I comprehend the attitudes now...