Listening rain plashes
upon crystal spring waters
It hears the trailing distance
disguised in the silent gravity
chasing it down the sky;
refreshingly sprinkling
          stillness
where spotless fawns
drink from mirror pond
green and peacefulness

     A man falls from
a distance he knows by heart;
dropping like a wind broke tree ...
Breaking all the silence hidden
within the deepest places
          of his soul
Hitting the ground hard
to see if he still feels —
laying there broken
feeling the raindrops
     soothe the hurt

Certain when he’s able
     to get back up,
hearing a distant calling
to the fountains of his soul —
he may fall down again
     bearing the weight
     of broken dreams
     But he’s seen it all
for long enough to know:
he’s no candle in the wind

Awakening in an unfinished life,
coming back from the dead,
     still feeling each
     feral breath enough —
     to keep on trying
to chase down the wind ...


     harlon rivers                                                           ­                          .

You who could not be looked after
belong to the things of this earth.

Wherever you look
you find yourself peering into the flat circle.

Living flesh enters the garden,
only a man entering a garden
seeing himself in the bird bath.

You could not be carried
or given a hand,
crawling the only motion
the last vestige humanity

By loving
Face the reality...
By loving
Able to make it seen my silence...
By loving
Will stand by forever

The goddess dressed in white
carrying the moon
walks up the stairs to my bedroom window
Plants it there

The room is alive with shadows
Echoes of the past

There's a pain
Where pleasure used to be
An exquisite ache no one can see
A lonely breeze that can't be touched
An endless night that can't be unlocked
The mind plays tricks with the shadows on the walls

Anxiety it comes and goes
that we all know,
But it continues to echo and grow

There's a frigid cold
Where warmth used to be.

The moon goddess winks at me,
"Go to sleep,
Goodnight,
Be free."

words drift away unfettered
from whence they came,
passing like undreamed clouds
– pragmatic eyes to the sky
   in a searching stare –
unsought thoughts disappearing hence
a fog bow fading into sunlight

there are days when
   it comes out in my silence
there are days when
   it falls down in my tears:

muse – muted in poet's pause,
heart and soul whispers
  laid bare unwritten
  behind parsing eyes
disregarded words let loose,
        ungarnered
the way low hanging fruit
falls benign — unharvested —

   shortsighted  insight
   from a bird's eye view
silently fermenting traces
and unfiltered memories
come and go unheeded words,
discarded like the passing
   time of our lives

at times  it's  ludicrous
   to follow down
lingering footprints
left behind callous:
when the shoe won't fit;
slogging across eroding
time-worn stepping stones
scattered on this twisted line
these feet have been walking down,
trying to make a getaway
   from myself

walking away from the memories
like so many indelible footprints to escape
– while dreaming stardust into stars
   in nameless constellations –
reaching out from the inside,
   site unseen,
   trying to experience
   the empirical shape
   of  stifling  silence
   in a theatre made by chance

distilling the gifts and burdens
of trying to live a worthy life
   only I'll see...


harlon rivers ... September 27, 2018

Under the light of stars time cradles a sorrowful desire. The way of the wind through trees, the way is to be quiet. It is not that the night isn't over. It is me who forgot how to dream.

Into the arms of silence
the dusk is falling.

She wonders
how soft
may the night's skin be
where he is.

Empty corridors breathe cold blue moons.
Strangers speak in confessions unknown.
Certainty of solitude cuts through the dark.

And what color is the light?