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 Oct 2017
harlon rivers
The blustery east wind
gathers the fragrant  
Warm Springs
high desert
mountain sage,
cascading
downhill
through
Dry Creek pass
surging downward
from above
the Hood River valley,
with breath of sky's bouquet
of billowing
aromatic avalanche,
gushing
of heaven's zephyr

The poignant
sudden starkness
of fiery autumn leaves
letting go
whirling ― falling
helter skelter,
pushed urgently
flying westbound,
beckoned franticly
by
distant whispered
ocean bellows
blowin' in the winds
    of change ―

Adrift across
Parkdale
mountain meadows,
Coyote  bent,
paw trodden
ripe sweet grasses,
pungent  with
waft of mountain sage
and fermenting apples fallen ―
the waxing silence
of the marvelous moon
echoes  just beyond
the Lost Lake of the Woods,
its golden orange crescent
dances on clear lake ripples,
high perched
sky reflection lapping
the moon kissed shoreline

 ― alone ―  

The Sliver of the Moon,
skinny lithe
unripened youth
arching
as unsated
       summer love  ―  
sage memories
waxing and waning,
whiffs of honeyed Jasmine
writhing witherings,
coalescent

    time drifts onward ―   

unstoppable changes
never turning around
looking back
to see
their fading reflection
    recurring ―

  

august rivers 2017

note to self:
September 15, 16 east wind
Breathing Waft of lingering Mountain Sage
another Autumn soon comes

... and I'm getting older too
When our senses are heightened, do you ever think about the journey of the stimulus(?)!  like the path of scent or even smoke...or a distant sound.
How far is the distant horizon you see...even how far away can we be touched (?)! in its many realms...

Just stuff in drafts...
all these are real places
on the long road home

All habitat at Mt. Hood's fingertip reach
in Oregon, North America
Home of the devastating Eagle Creek wild fire of 2017
In the treasured western scenic Columbia River gorge

Waft of Mountain Sage
Written by:  h.a. rivers
 Oct 2017
wordvango
Charged headlong off-white
red gilled hard as any man can
rammed into the fortress
forehead first saw stars
and  stuttered
puked
then got my strength back
charged again
a bull in a straitjacket
wild I went off
all the sweat and pheromones
mutating my body into steel
and iron
so I charged again
unafraid
stupidly drunk
predisposed to rescuing
my snow white
from the evils of corporate
America and the rich guys
and she looked up saw my swollen eyes
came down from her tower
and took me to
her apt on Park Avenue
(how hell she pay for that)
but I was drunken by
thudding my head against
windmills
and took her to bed
thundered
like a lion on steroids took my lady hard
and lovingly
woke up
The next day to a note
left on the pillow
and banged my head on the
wall
 Oct 2017
PK Wakefield
slee  ep.  .   .

              
                though

             you
                   are

                           awake


i am alive in you;


      (in thy body–

          and amongst thy leaves

            i am naked and fragrant )



i am touching the cool spine
and the cambered wrist;
lightly mute, **** and bruised
with dark veins.

your cheeks are pale;
your eyes are soft–
hugely brimming
with neat darkness.

you come over the mouth.
you hold the breath
between delicate fingers.

you are nearly kissing,
each nearly moment of body.

you move with quick slowness:
never rushing,
never uncarefully treading.


((s l ee p..   .

though

         you are alive;


i am awake in you.

                                       )

                                       )
She got her God at last.

Bathed and in white saree
she offers him his choicest food
burns his favorite incense
sits with him to converse
about the day and events
argues to make her point
smiles at his complaint
of less salt or more sugar
cries at his question
if she misses him
as much as he misses her
and the two reach out to each other
more than all the years
of seeking the fulcrum
to balance the bond.
 Sep 2017
bex
A moment cuffs you in the face
like Newton's overstated apple,
and the evening dissolves
into sharp, steady resolve...
You think about the extra drink you should have drunk,
the song you should have sung
and the man whose touch y so missed...

The Muse had disappeared.
**** Muse.

Every time you try to find news you want to *****,
not just a little, but expel the very core of emptiness out of you,
and you picked a fine time to stop swearing
because there is a man whose feel you have so **** missed...

The stars continue to twinkle across the Northern Sky,  
oblivious to the bouncing of our big Blue Ball,
un-answering dreamful wishes;
though, there are other stars lying closer to your heart,
a fresh start and the barbells below...  
And you realize
life is found in the letting go...

And the Muse reappears, smiles an aching, wondrous, Hello.
We gave the night a fling and spoke without words letting only are emotions and passions do as they pleased .

I don't care to know you beyond this night she said and that suited me just fine.

We spared no secret and loved a moment for what it was .
Inside we find solace in warm bodies and cold souls.

Only the night breathes passion and the ocean creeps across the sound.
Salt we taste of spent passions does the moment breathe as heavy as I ?

You are far better than the page .
And far less than anything that soothes a bitter heart and nothing more .

She was that which could consume most but could never truly grasp a devilish truth of a wicked reprise that was me.

No closed eyes for some things need to be seen.
Was it something more .

Tell yourself so if it feeds your ego.

But it was something .
Enough said.

Farewell sweetheart.

I may never be good.
But I'm always a good time.

Cheers .
 Sep 2017
Quinn
mother, mother, mother,
you give and you give
and still there is not enough,
never enough for the fools who walk
in eternal damnation with only
fire extinguishing the desire
that drips, long and thick from their lips

your pulse it slows, and still you
feed us and hold us and lift us up
to safety while the wolves steal
your ribs one at a time, your lungs
collapsing in on themselves as
your last gasping breath provides
the push we needed to escape

oh mother, you're trembling now,
but your warmth matters not to
the vultures who peel your skin
off slowly to make coats from
the softness that surrounds you -
what do they need coats for?
they know not the difference
between desire and need, and
their beaks are sharp, so, why not?

strand by strand they steal your
beautiful hair and weave crowns
for the men who wish they knew
for a moment how to create, but
alas, they'll never know the beauty
of birthing something like you do,
the way it feels to grow life
day by day deep within your womb

mother, i can see it now, in your
hollowed cheeks and raspy voice,
the way your bones are barely
bound in flesh, your movements
are shaky and your eyesight it fades,
and the one who once loved you
no longer cares to show you the way

with each night that passes his light
shifts to shine upon the sharks that
have come because of the blood,
your blood -  he thinks that the fish
that follow will feed him too, but
they are only symbiotic pieces of the
same murderous school that will
tear him limb from limb when
they are finished with you

mother, he'll never understand,
the hunger that he feels is not
to be fed, for the minute it tastes
the flesh it will hunger until it
eats him too and there is no relief,
no reprieve, no release, no,
there is only certain loss and death

but you, mother, you will return
and wrap your arms around your
fallen children and weep until the
ground is saturated with your love,
until the shuddering of breath begins,
until your heart beat stirs us back
into living, only to ****** again
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