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 Feb 2018
betterdays
little trout upon my plate
bet your wishing that fly you ate
was not attached to fishing line

little trout in my mouth
like a bird you should've flown south
but now you are destined for my mouth

little trout in my tummy
you are so incredibly yummy


little trout I thank you
for feeding me and my crew
1. First catch of trout by the goldenboy
2. First meal of trout eaten by the goldenboy
3.First "published" poem by the golden boy
Please, please be kind the golden boy, my son, is nine....and very proud of all this...
 Feb 2018
B O N E L E S S
Who is the nut-brown Hunter? Her eyes narrowed and sharp like knives cutting through the tree line. Her fluffy fur boots with the pencil marking up their cuffs, pushed through the heavy lair of snow. Her breath like smoke as she puffed out in anticipation for what? Me. I stood there low to the ground, everything I could depend on, my pack long gone or never there at all. My uniform colored paws, two white, two black; my snout with a dark brown mark on it’s side stuck out in front of my intense eyes, locked on the Hazel hunter and her curly dark hair ******* in a messy bun caked in sweat. Her breath went sharp as my tail swished in anticipation, she raised the barrel of her gun full of all my dreams and wonders about what happens when the lights go off. I felt a rush as I came to my feet rushing at her but she stood unmoved and un-phased by me, a feared predator something she knew could easily **** her and rip her throat out forever silencing her. And with a quick movement and a loud bang, I lay still. A warm sensation coating my fur, but my insides went cold as I drift off into nothingness. My Nut brown hunter paced over with a heavy breath pulling her knife which she held close to her chest before, something she’d never give to anyone before me and inserting it between my ribs. She was relentless, covered her puffy, delicious lips in dark red from my body willingly. She reached into my cooling body, ripping out my only keepsake holding it close as my life was drained with finality. My beating heart still in her hand as she smiled, the goddess of the woods, My nut brown hunter.
Hush...
Be still...
Try to remain silent.

Listen very closely...
Her pleading may be heard
As it is carried through the wind.
Her emotional appeal
Sounds desperate -
It is unbearable to an epath.
Her pleads are ever so faint
And gentle, they are far from violent.

Hush...
Be still...
It is her soul's agony
Which is vibrating
A disturbing frequency,
At such a rate that it constitutes
A wave.

Cries, which nature, alone,
Can hear and feel...
Cries, which shake the leaves free
From the branches of all the
Majestic trees; neither her soul
Nor the trees, can you save.

Hush...
Be still...
Can you feel the faint tremble  
Under your barefeet?

Hush...
Be still...
Rest your cheek upon the earth,
Feel her spirit, which is trapped
Deep down inside.
Inhale her essence- it is buried below,
In the fragrant moist soil...
Taste the droplets, she is in the dew;
Even in pain she is a soul
So gently sweet...
~ She is tinged with sadness--
Bittersweet.

By Lady R.F (C)2017* ⚘
 Dec 2017
harlon rivers
Gray Owl hearkens
the dappled daybreak knell
echoing through
the wildwood forest stand;
rock doves and frosty stones abide,
where a marooned heart doth dwell,
disrobed by the longest night's frigid touch

Timber stand grips tight
red clay and bedrock of ages,
postured tall and strong
as eagle's spirit throne

Pine cones hide
in the low drifting clouds,
ripe acorns tumble down alone
unto  a  windblown
shallow earthen grave,
hillocked  beneath
the sky-high canopy

Bones of branches,
furrowed bark from burled oak,
wood-grains of pith,
natural gnarled achings
peeled by the shivering
wind's breath

Paling autumn memories
grow dim as the receding sunlight,
recollections of ebbing Jasmine's
mellowing fragrant balm
waft aloft in a favorite fading fantasy,
the edge of winter metamorphosis
bears down with a prodigious weight
of a different kind of retreating light;

brindled Queen Anne's lace
hold sway across
the tawny frostbitten meadow
imbuing the poignantly
whetting breeze

The blink of an eye winks,
to catch sight of
an intimate glimpse,
an unspoken
solitude holds forth,
the mesmerizing coo of rock doves,
reverently mirroring
the sanctity of the forest wildwood
lingering amongst the frosty
ferns and stones

The harmony of tranquil silence wanders;
only the bowing resistance of the boughs
manifest the shapeless wind’s
whispered  breathe
swirling above the labyrinth threshold;

therein lies an unfractured fault line
rooted deeply beneath
the earth’s crust
like the sonorous heart
of a sanctuary hearthstone

Hence there is symmetry
felt in silence that only whispers
in the deep toned consonant
of our own harbored sighs

a holy human blood link
born of  heritage wilderness heartwood
beats keenly alive


written by:   harlon rivers ... December 2017
Notes: Midwinter orifice into the North-woods

Thank you for looking through a soul's portal at winter solstice
 Dec 2017
Sebastian Gray
There's a dark winter Forrest I bide my time in
I haven't left this Forest in years
Wolves trace the outskirts,
Whispering their lies through their teeth
"We care about you"
                "We want what's best for you"

Amidst the sharpening of their fangs

The leaves have fallen
Leaving a cacoon for my retreat
The new found silence is comforting
But you can only hide for so long

        Soon comes the numbness
                     Then the pins and needles
The needles become blades
And the silence becomes deafening

Haha, I guess there's no winning after all

The only relief to the torment is sleep
               But the thought of sleep has become a dream

Ironic

Increasingly frantic thoughts are hidden from the wolves
They'll use your weakness as a weapon
You can't let them win

With the choice being between wolves and the silence
The last great comfort radiates from the noose

At last, rest
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