Mirages caress the air in celebration of hope once lost
they will breathe now but wither at dusk
when the sun has lost its patience seeking a worthy companion
no one ever shines like him, he thinks
not in arrogance but longing
in an exhaustion of otherness
and he knows he has busy hands.
whorish and predictable
he will always leave eastern shores for western ones
gently touching bodies of water
or angrily scorching the audacity of land still being there without him
at times the earth trembles at his powers
breaks
protests
and the sand's shoulders go limp but rest assured
tomorrow
the sun will ****** those lands not in heat
and will still be lonely
will still not know the life he gives
or hope to barren lands and northerners
still not know that he's a part of everyone.
he IS the celebration

You left Scotland
when you were three.
Even though
it wasn't your choice,
you left behind
most of your family.

When you first husband died
you left the city
for a smaller, sleepier town.
You left his gravesite there.

When your second husband died
decades later,
you left your house in that town--
again, not by choice,
but you left your good health
in that old white house on the cul-de-sac.

And when you died
less than two years later,
you left us behind--
left a hole in our hearts--
you left us to live a life
without you.

But when you died,
you also left memories--
laughs smiles hugs love--
you left an impression on us.

I guess sometimes it's okay to leave
as long as you leave something good
behind.

The distance fed the boredom grew
Our facades, I abhored them too
I crawled upon the floor for you
Not one hand out, I bore you two

Though humble and in pain I kept
Not even but a tear you wept
Though ever since the day you left
Not sounder have I slept...

...see in that heartbreak, there is truth
A heart did break, one heart not two
I brandish mine, untouched and new
For who could love a beast like you?

Fortunately
you are not my muse

I've worn out muses
by the dozens
cast them aside
like chaff
and cherished the sorrow
that ensued

Sadness was my calling card
my tragic handshake
a testament to a life
gone wrong

Age improved me
I survived the madness
came back to life
gasping for air

And so to your door
to spin the wheel
of language
to glory in its intricacy

Two poets alive
in the same century
two restless souls
under one uneasy roof

We will survive our families yet
raise a toast
when the day comes
to the dear
and thankfully departed

We'll leave poetry
like confetti in our wake
and touch the holy stone
once or twice yet
in our lives

I pray it will be so.

Rhyming verse is a woman scorned
to whom lip service must be paid.
Set free from meter, unadorned
Her lyric fury waits, delayed
as she rambles on in a free verse swoon,
oblivious to whoever's listening,
babbling to the crescent moon
illuminated, horned and glistening,
bathing her deluded mind
in lunar metaphors of doom.
Do not provoke her—treat her kind
and let her pass to a padded room
or an attic space beneath the eves
where she can rant and find release;
until her frenzied soul believes
that words have meaning...
                              and rests in peace.

Earth Day, April 22, 2017  "give back to Earth",
as an "offering" for all the planet gives us.**
For Global Earth Day information visit:  http://www.earthday.org/


       Her ominous shadow
             shown a path
   far beyond the miles high
  a majestic mountain stood

   Silently climbing down
         million year old  
      steep canyon walls
               at dawn,
  each step chosen carefully
     coursing with purpose

    Finding a way forward
         was the only way
           to look back up
      river carved ravines
     where higher ground
              once stood

  Instincts drawn downward
       gravity feed towards
         the faint murmurs
       deep echoes tracery
   down sheer basalt cliffs

          Artesian waters'
       resounding gurgles ―
     bubble up to quench
     a lost soul’s incurably
   intrinsic parching thirst;
       to find an unfolding
       metamorphic peace
     in the trove of igneous
     fountain veins of earth

    There’s not need to wait
      on sunrise pathways lit ―
   there is no fear of gravity’s
     downward silent weight  
      nor burden to be borne

Listening beyond dark silence      .
      igneous bedrock roots
     beckon deeper expanse ;
  spirit realms of ancient souls
     whisperer like thunder
        to the soul of man ―

Awakening ruptured lifelines
    deep below earthen crust ,
    creations hidden essence
     eternally remembered
         by the light above ...



April  2017 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved

dazzling seed
of water and flesh
here are your toes!
hear your wail!

a shock in lopsided time

take your father's paltry
proud, untidy praise,
whisper it to your own reflection
off the river of the universe

yarn an incandescent voyage
beyond the gaudy shores of
humanities crooked beaches

between your ears sloshes
a makeshift promise of meaty
hope

fill your pockets with courage,
climb stupendous trees of ambition
and grin for luck

fill your mouth with laughter,
spit it on pointless hate
and pack a secret love for everyone

fill your skull with warlike wit,
pour it on the ******, the bitter
and stuff your soul with wildflowers

eat these words with
your heart

my hope,
my inspiration,
my child.