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In a shoe box he sits
Quietly watching the darkness
Sitting forlorned
He's a sneaker
A loafer
Tied in laces
And hidden in shine
Alone
As his eyelets sag
With hopes the light peeks in
An envelope
Finding his leather
If only he could feel a touch
A foot
Feet
Interaction
A women's toes that wiggle
On those cold and lonely nights
Where inhabitation brings comfort
If only
He
His shoes
It could be fitted and fulfilled
Tailored and shined
And not be a beaten path
With wishful thinking
Of a women's toes that wiggle
For now though
A shoe horn would be the panacea
His hope
From being shelved
Hidden
In a shoebox he sits
Looking at the darkness
At the four walls corrugated
In lost time
Oblivious
Of walking

Logan Robertson

11/24/2018
For some, life isn't roses. Red blossoms on sunny days. And others, him, sit watching the barren trees of the fall. In their obscurity they are torn.
 Dec 2018 betterdays
L B
Was I ten?
I think?
Was it December?
that I became distracted
by the snow's
falling
silence?

The ******'s hills lure me
off
the curving path
toward home--
I surely know
my way--
though
path invisible
snow beyond my knees

Now
but for the patterns of the trees
that etch the skyline
I would be lost...
My love....
...were it not for those
I would be lost

My feet lift depths
Impassible
The snow
impossible--
could it be this deep?
could take this much?
should trudge so far?
beyond
my depth
my breath
a fog-- of
all
I own?

I am wading in the white
down-warmth
Sweat
in spite--
of freezing
of parental threat...
Wind brings tears
to reddened cheeks
Toes, long since numb
...and I am late-- as always

Wipe my nose on sleeve
Pull mittens with my teeth
fumbling
tissues damp in pocket deep

I have gone so far
too far
into the ******'s windings
with my mind

and night is falling
Night is watching
from the hemlocks
now behind
my purpose--
only
in
the gray of sky
the ghostly silence
of the moon rise

I don't know where night came from
How it got here
why I came
only that I want to linger--
longer
than that twinge of fear

Listen...to
soft tick
of snow
against itself

Wind in white pines
saddest of living things
begs a loan of winter winds
I had been reading Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening" again, and I think I know just where he was.

Yup, in trouble.  Street lights definitely on.

******:  Irish, for a small narrow wooded valley with a brook, in other words--
the back woods behind my house.
 Dec 2018 betterdays
Sea's End
I can feel her slipping away.
And yet,
I'm not holding on, either.
big ol' dent on my relationship
(a travelogue cont...)

Waiting for summer
just outside the tallest
mountain’s door

Where the emerald vale
streams spring glacial-grey
river waters,
west into the setting
midnight sun

Another resplendent day’s
paling whisper set free
in an unseen blink
and an unheard sigh

In these unwonted moments  
eyes rise up to touch
the beckoning sky
like a bug drawn
to the light

Upward over
highest mountain's skies
abides everything
worth rising for

It's so rare
in this fleeting life,
when a dream
for a moment
comes true ―
 
you come to understand
how deep is silence

and ...
it doesn’t really matter
when there’re no words


harlon rivers

June 9th. 2018
11:55 pm Denali sunset ...
"don't dream it's over"
Notes: typed live on a laptop as i clumsily trip on my own fingers trying to look into the western horizon after midnight.  A big step away from a spiral and pen in hand, not to mention my abacus education and a 20,300 foot mountain peak (6200 m) ... it's got rough edges without edit but so do i...thanks for taking a look through the words
.
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 ...
 Nov 2018 betterdays
wordvango
Been
 Nov 2018 betterdays
wordvango
Been a
Small player a
Bit part actor
One of the cast
In an off Broadway play

Been a
Smart *** a
wit less loser
One of the bell
bottomed long hairs

Been a
Lover cast
Aside useless
broken a piece of
worthlessness

Been a
Powerless
Where is
my next meal
Coming from beggar

And I've
Made it here
Where I grasped
saw seen realized
it's never been
About me

So I have
Been a
lifter up a positive
Force in this seemingly
hopeless universe

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