I’m afraid of the ocean when its waves rush forward,
its translucent arms wrapping around the impressions of my feet..
The ocean is a mother giving birth,
life surging forward and then receding in the swirls of salt and sun.
Its belly has captured the souls of sailors and broken ships.
Ghosts drag on the bottom floor choking on their entrails.
A 15th century wood-hulled ship is their playground,
And they gnaw on the golden coins that flutter down onto each floor
as the wood shrivels with the weight of plankton.
She is the undertow
And she is the rip current.
She surrounds us
And we will never escape her.
A gentle breeze of warmth pushes pleasant,
freakishly normal, but a smack on the water
builds waves that grow older and stronger.
You feel it all soft behind your eyes.
But there is always something missing
that on more cigarette can't fix.
There is always one bird flying
who just can't find the right sticks
to stand on, to launch from, to rise and
fight the world, so he glided circles
as Lady Hurricane approached.
He flew tired, then he flew more.
I opened the door to our house in Connecticut
in the red mist after Sandy and looked up, and
watched him ramble. "The Hawk in the Hurricane."
There he was circling, as if to prove his strength.
And when those boys and girls were murdered in Newtown,
just down the road,
I thought of him
like he was a good thing.
Brave enough stand and be a bad omen.
A crucifix with wings.
Innocent boys and girls are gone now.
Turned into a show we watch on TV.
But that is natural to life in this century,
so there's policy and argument
and my eyes turn back
to my own
with an end.
Happiness makes a subtle appearance as just a humble breath,
a deli sandwich, as sun that peaks around the old windows.
And sees me,
invites a squint,
and then comes back.
Its been coming
for a while now
Stealthily getting closer
Creeping in slowly
Choking out the light
Overtaking my life
Its here now
Ready for battle
On its stallion
in the early morning light
Im ready for a fight
I have this ache, Doctor. And so far, no amount of drugs or drink have been able to cure it. Where does it hurt, you ask? Why right here, Doctor. Right here in my chest. It started feeling odd when I saw HER for the first time. It was a Thursday; August eighteenth of two thousand eleven I believe. I remember her perfectly, for I had not, and have not, seen anybody more beautiful in my life. Her auburn hair was streaked with red and waterfalled perfectly over her delicate shoulders, that were on that day cloaked in a blue jacket. Her long graceful fingers bloomed from slender palms and were crowned with an elegant black nail polish with a cracked silver finish. To this day, I have never so much as imagined anybody more perfect than her. So what's my problem? Well Doctor, she hates me. I can see it glint in her dark eyes every time she looks at me. Why is this? Why I have not the slightest idea. All I have ever been was polite to her. All I have ever been was kind. When she shivers I give her my jacket, regardless of how cold I am at the time. When she is hungry, I use my last dime to feed her. I do everything in my power to make her happy, make her laugh when pain adds weight to her shoulders. But I guess it just wasn't enough in the end. What do you prescribe, did you say? An entire bottle of pain pills and a slash down each wrist? That sounds about right. Thank you, my dear Doctor.
Why Does My....
My Mind Deceive Me?
My Heart Betray Me?
My Soul Convict Me?
My Life Conflict Me?
listening for whispered light
hearing the wind's song
sing through the tall grass;
breathing cadence sways
moon flowers essence shines
illumined spirit beckons
across terrestrial fields
in the space between distant shorelines
the long and winding surrender,
moon-rise to sundown;
the faint reflection of the stars,
setting fire to the flames
roused spirit is drawn to life,
daylight through the night;
knowing essence of souls
enchant the spark turned into fire
harlon rivers … © 2013
Walkin through the dark woods big bear stand your ground
All the creatures offered help now no one can be found
You showed up for the maiden voyage but found the ship was run aground
Stand let out a mighty roar but no one can be found
Reaching toward the sky the snares got you tied down
When you cried you smiled try and wear it like a crown
Its a long way down in this post dramatic place
Masks act like an avalanch engulf the life and face
When the blankets of your bed try and confine you when you wake
And the dreams that you where livin come to life before your face
Not all are to straight forward, ignore the break behind the brace
Heads spinning from the questions, try contentment, contemplate
The glimmer of my M16
Reminds me of the life machine
And though the jungle holds me close
The men are what I fear the most
We are the Palestinians,
maybe you know us as the terrorists,
or as the serial killers,
but we are the generous,
we are the defenders,
we are the peace holders,
and how much the media tried,
it will never ever change the fact,
and we are the ones being attacked,
the truth will be out someday,
and Palestine will be free, you'll see,
whatever you show the world on the TV,
have you ever tasted our tea?
or ate falafel or tabula under the tree?
we teach life after they have occupied our paradise,
after they have built their settlements and walls,
but the question is,
is anyone there?
will anyone listen to that crying girl?
i wish i could just destroy these walls,
free the souls,
wake up the dead,
and make peace instead,
i hope this just a nightmare,
that we'll all wake up of someday!
- Layth Awwad
Does nothing matter?
Is matter nothing but dancing shattered galaxies pushing and shoving each other?
And on Earth, is it worth thinking?
That I'm just a piece of eternal dirt thinking that I'm just a piece of dirt thinking?
We're all just stars, tasting humanity for an instant.
In all its fallacies, we're systems of suns that love murder without resistance.
With the assistance of Christian values and armed pistols.
Harmful as ignorance is blissful, we're still missing the deal.
We're still pissing away the real position to feel. We're still wishing down the same ol' wishing wells
and hoping to Christ they're real.
Worse than guns, it's the waste of freedom -- It's unequal -- to kill the hungry from a distance is still evil.
I fly atomically and everything else is informal.
What's normal? Where's God when things get so awful?
He's epidermal - like an antigermal lotion. A magic potion to nurture the thought that we're important.
We're all just stars, answering a call to be Human.
Let the cold bars that hold the others down remain open till my life is dormant.
And our heads are still cluttered and cloth covered.
Filled with an age-old confusion straight from ol' Mohammed's cupboard.
They fool us with cooked messages from book passages that preach love.
Scare us into being apparatuses of a God above.
That's why society is shattered. It's what's wrong with the world.
The perennial infancy of thought that's forced unto our boys and girls.
Such unclarity, that's baked into our childrens' recipe. It's insanity to think that we don't just turn back into energy.
I'm not religiously inspired to forgive,
nor have the insidious desire to live to inspire religious permittance.
I prefer a future purpose undiscovered.
A death dimension still covered from religions' crazy buffer.