betterdays

Nov 2018

harlon rivers

The Womb of Time ... 2013 HP debut poem (repost)

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The Womb of Time
by harlon rivers

hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply

a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas

it's been said so many times before
similes,...
form clots at the tip of the quill
gathered words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment

metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
in considered words

miles of silent reverie,
spun,...
like a spider reprocessing,
carefully savoring
each fine silk thread of web,

spinning a womb of time...

The first read came the day it was published and the second 8 days later Thank you to those who have read my humble musings over these past years... and to those who have shared so much of themselves for all our reading interests.

I'll always wonder, how one day out of nowhere, I stumbled upon HP and joined. I mean "why that one moment 5 & 1/2 years ago ?"...I confess, fate is not often understood in its nebulous irony, yet everything is not meant to be understood. Live, let go and don’t worry about the uncertain crossroads as seasons change, there comes a time when we aren't looking for anything and we find a passing moment ...

© 2013, May 15th ... Harlon Rivers

one thing for certain in life is change ...

betterdays Nov 2018

anytime now

the scent of towels impregnated
with chlorine, mixes with petrichor
from the brief but violent storm

the mugginess still sits heavy in
the evening air as fruit bats
fly overhead, not one or two,
but tens and twenties, setting off
a mad barking frenzy among
the neighborhood dogs

twilight beckons to the darker night
and the smell of wet wood and sausages
cooking over takes the night
some one plays the guitar and the
notes drift unevenly on the breeze

houses become shadows, as the moon rises
the frogs begin to chorus and cats gossip
on the next door neighbor's garage
specteral shapes in silhouette
the sweet smell of jasmine
and honeysuckle wafts by

as we sit in the dark
awaiting the temperatures drop
anytime now.....anytime

betterdays Nov 2018

living large on silly st

singing songs in my head
reminding me of days
long dead, lives lived and lost
all that remains is the moss
shed from the stone rolling away
penny thoughts and diamond dreams
written on forgotten reams of parchment fine
vellum too, written when the dodo's ruled the zoo
words so divine, sieved through linen fine
stitched in dainty tapestry, told to me by a flea
given to him by a dog, barking mad, or mad barking
wisdom begining at a silly place, is still wisdom
if given from lessons learnt in strife.
life your life, in love, love your life and live

Nov 2018

Butch Decatoria

Origami

These creases of ours:
Tales of dragons and white ships...
Neatly folding sheets.

Revised

#origami

betterdays Nov 2018

yonderness

time kaliedescopes
yesterdays, nows and
tommorows jumble
in glittering jewels
hopes from earlier
become wistful dreams
hopes for later, mists
to be gathered in butterfly nets
dreams of now circle like
koi in a pond,
hypnotic in their gliding
silent world

we stand on the precipice
waiting for echoes to return
waiting for an updraught
of heady confidence
to give us impetous
to allow us spread
our gossamer wings
we wait for the sun
to warm us, to bring the rush
of blood to our heads
so that we may jump
and soar in the yonder
so that our feet may feel
the caress of impossibilty
and clouds can tickle our soles

we wait...