(a travelogue)

He stared down through
the unbroken silence
lapping the shoreline
Water skippers dart around
the rocks and windfall driftwood
settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds
and emerging broadleaf sprouts

A petrified heartwood timber
lie fallow waiting bare barked,
hushed like a pining lover’s
     timeworn love seat,
     rubbed smooth as
     the crystalline waters
     of  half-moon lake

Lingering for a while  ―  
like a hidden stalker,
a perched wildcat waiting
for the full moon’s  
swooning spell to saturate
the thickening dusk quietude;
     arousing the urgent
     call of the wild —
exhaled from the held breath
of the wilderness nocturne
    on half-moon lake

The stillness was scattered
with the soft downy hairs
of the sleeping cattails,  and
the newly shed catkins
a spring gust bestrewed
from a tall resin birch tree
nigh the Sitka willows

     He  sat  quietly ...
     time out of mind ―

tossing his eyes up into the sky;
taking the time to read the stars ―
catching  them  each  again
as they fell into his gentle hands,
to show him who he was

Seeing their sparkly tracers  
trail-out above the cattails,
     from a distance
they resembled falling stars
unable to perceive their own renaissance ―
plashing lightly upon the still-water
     on half-moon lake

A lone shadow glides stealthily
near mid-tarn,.. swimming  
enchantingly with the grace
     of a blackswan
Appearing to glance shoreward
at the glowing low stars
rise and fall, as his eyes
twinkled skyward over
     the moonlit lagoon ―
heavenward of its moonlit ballet;
the lone sleek dark shadow
     slipping through
     a faint circular ripple
stirring the smooth as glass waters ―  
disappearing like a fleeting moment
     waning deep aneath
     a subtle silent wake.

When all the clear lines blurred,
he knew it had been so long ...

     but hearken !
… an interceding
     long drawn out wail  
     echoed  a feral ache
     across the stillness,
     breaking the silence ―

as the shadow reappeared;
     his tears surrendered
to the undulating call of the wild;
he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,
     as black and white
     as the moonlit night,
stir deeply in his wanting heart ―
     lay bare the silence
in lengthy yodeled psalms
to the god of the moon

Diving down deep yet again,
keeping the light he’d been given,
vanishing into the lifespring
sanctuary of half-moon lake


harlon rivers ... May 2018
travelogue: 4 of some more

Today autumn arrived
I watched it creep into my room
through an open window

In my bones a familiar feeling thrived
I watched the leafs fall around noon
from the trees below

Coldness came to greet me anew
a comfort of sorts
and I felt so very calm

Warmth came to meet me too
the rooms of one's own turn into charming resorts
candles, tea and a blanket become a weary soul's balm

With it came nostalgia
it slowly made its way under my skin
while colors change the outside

Do you know of this certain cardialgia
your heart is heavy but light but also filled to the brim
while memories of distant winters reach far and wide

Welcome my chilling beloved
my cold season of frozen solid dreams
I was eagerly waiting for your return

For you I ready my coat, already half gloved
I give myself to you by all means
and underneath my halcyon flesh I will quietly yearn

I am crystal:
the molten river flows
I cannot shatter
I will not bend
The gods have touched me
illuminated my countenance
with the fires of ten thousand furnaces
No waters will ever extinguish their flames

I am crystal:
at the center a translucent
nothingness
shatters the solid light
and shivers off
rainbows

The owl was looking at the man with a noose
Disturbed by the noise as he cooked his goose
But before he leapt the owl did say
Do you really want them to remember you this way?

The pain is real but will go away
The wise old owl was heard to say
The man with the noose, stopped and thought
He’s right, a lesson in patience I’ve just been taught

So he walked through the woods stood on a track to ease his pain
Then was killed by the 10.42 south bound train

The owl was watching in the branches so high
He is the only one who knew he did not want to die
So the moral of his death is like sand in a cup
When your time is up, your time is up

Reflective lining bears the passing years
of crinkles carved and worn to that of age
and from the mirrored galls a hearse appears
with thought to carry; when shall death upstage?

This day? When larks resound of warbling birds
as garden's glaze, the vernal blossom glows
amongst are playful kin of callow words
and yonder meadow green, my love in pose.  

Caressed by cherry blossoms, from a time
when youth we swayed beneath that ruby tree,
her amber curls would kiss verdure in prime
with lissom twirls that blessed my eyes to see.

When I shall drift away from worldly plush
and leave I shall, let not; in springtime lush.