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 Jul 2018
harlon rivers
I saw the sun steep
into the seascape ―
lonely as a drowning
    wave
         on still-waters

the dimming of the day
rescinding evanescent daylight                                                         ­         .
fading with the slack tide
         lost at sea ―
a gloaming moment
         let fall from
the remains of the day,
like some other passing
sea bird's molted feather
drifts away untamed

I sit silent as the driftwood
lingering at the watermark,
watching a random gust
    erase the footprints
of another recurring day, 
bearing abandoned memories
    and vacant heartbeats,
atrophied in the drifting sands

    and I see you walking
    towards the abating  
    midnight sunset ―
         but I know
    you're just a mirage;    
like the dimming afterglow
of so many waning moons
            elapsed
         
ever-changing tides grow low  
and promises made lightly  
         do ebb away
          
Scanning the distant horizon ―    
    a blindfold heart    
    mooning all at sea;
parsing a deserted shoreline,
    wondering if love
          is too late ,..
    to stem the tide ―


        harlon rivers

      30   May   2018
Note:   apologies for the inconsistent reading, posts and replies.  Internet access comes and goes out here off the grid.   Thank you for taking a look through the words― h.a. rivers

Chronological TRAVELOGUE collection:
9 of some more here; published & unlisted

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/27104/travelogue/
                                                                                                                     .
 Jul 2018
Micrography-Mike D

Must have a goal
Go get that thing
What if I want
To stop and sing

Retreat inside
Wait out the storm

Else feel the wrath
Of nature scorned

Instead a kid
I wish to be
To feel alive
And so carefree


Each drip, each drop
Upon my head
Wish I could splash
In rain instead


I'd watch the sky
Explode with light
A warming joy
Not filled with fright

When did I lose
Sight of it all
Predictable
Pattern I fall


Start living in
Every moment
Past and future
Wasted and spent

Granted a new
Chance I'm given
Can not redo
But start living

Each day awake
Fresh start; Can be

World's my oyster
Alive and free
Written: July 14, 2018

All rights reserved.
 Jul 2018
Willoughby
One night at a bar:


I asked her what her name was.  She said she had no name.  Her

parents never got around to giving her one. This was very

curious and I found myself suddenly interested.

So I asked her if I could call her some time. She said she never

got around to getting a phone either. Didn't feel the need.

She kept saying sorry, she had to go. So I told her I'd give her a

ride to anywhere.  She said she didn't believe in cars, religiously.

Wait now.  She had no name, she had no phone and didn't use

cars?    I said where do you come from, Mars?  She said she had

no history either, and then she was gone!

For some reason I get the strange feeling she was trying to avoid

me.
 Jul 2018
Dawn Bunker
All of the squirrels had big bushy tails,
and legs that could practically fly!
They would swing from the trees,
doing just as they pleased
always laughing when Sammy crawled by.

Squirrels have short legs, that is certainly true,
but Sammy's were smaller then small.
They sure slowed him down,
and his face wore a frown,
how he longed to be bushy and tall!

Sam's tiny tail stayed tucked all the time,
he would hide it right under his tummy.
He had trouble running,
and though he was cunning,
his slowness sure made him feel crummy.

One hot summers day Sammy sat all alone,
as the other squirrels played in a tree.
And when daylight grew dim,
one squirrel fell from a limb,
so Sammy crawled over to see.

His scrawny brown tail was tucked under his belly,
his short stubby legs led the way.
In a hurry he went,
feeling tired and spent,
but he knew that he must save the day.

Sammy had taken a great many falls,
he knew how it felt to be hurt.
So without hesitation,
he forgot his frustration,
and he picked the squirrel up from the dirt.

As the other squirrels watched he did his good deed,
and you can imagine their shame!
For not one of them moved,
while Sammy had prooved
he had courage and strength, but no blame.

So remember, young friends, do not judge anyone.
Do not snicker or laugh at another.
Remember young Sam
and I am who I am,
and treat everyone like your brother.
A try at children's poetry
 Jul 2018
Cné
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
 Jul 2018
Patty P
a snippet of a memory
still tries to pick lock my thoughts.
leaving me with a jealous sea of unwanted, played emotions.
it's all a paradox.
a senseless act.
its like a bipolar mechanism that my mind plays and sets to record.
there's nothing more than what I extremely hate on those memories, or what i like to call them. "the hurtful files".
why does my brain punish me this way, no matter what i do, they always find ways to come back, like magnets.
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