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Astral counsel hear my prayer
Transmission telepathic
Call out through the leaden vale
Your voice is but myopic

Inherent personal deity
Become my surrogate-conscience
Adopted consanguinity
To satellite responses

Discontented-sum imposed
Indirectly guides me
Though my eyes at times are closed
Congenital third eye sees

Aphantasia; memories unknown
Transfusion of remember
Respect and love, at once, bestowed
Selfish mind surrenders

Disposing character, reserve demise
Share with me my bliss
If ever sight stole from my eyes
11:11 I would miss.
they beckon me
they whisper as I sleep
touch my shoulder
with unseen fingers
sending waves of dead static through my soul
the after
the in-between
the remaining energy
reaching for some connection
to their mortal coil
they find solace in my belief
a ground for their whispering pulse
the remnants of a soul once lived
the static that refuses to leave
completely
just now upon completing this piece at 2:00 am, I heard unexplained noises in my kitchen which I have my back to. not sure if they approve or disapprove the piece...but they have certainly made their presence known to me...
Home bound after work
near 12:30 am
just a few minutes from checking my email
then retiring
as us old folks like to call it

from the North side of route 7
at a slight angle
there and gone in half a second
was the biggest meteor I've ever seen
if that's what it was
so big that I slowed and listened for a boom
but nothing came
I have no idea how far it went before touching down
but this isn't about the meteor
this is about the fact that when I got home
and thought about who I would tell...
there was no one that came to mind
I've seen so much crazy **** in my life
that the stories have grown old
even the new ones
I breathed life into a dead woman one morning
then faced the fact that I couldn't save another
hit by a truck on my way home
just after midnight

on the day before the great Russian meteor
I saw 2 objects in the sky on fire
and not moving...
in broad daylight
I've been touched and spoken to
by spirits or ghosts or phantoms
take your pick
I saw 3000 people sacrificed in the name of what?
and as a child I witnessed a president murdered by those supposed to follow him
I've grown to see the young know nothing of that last President who actually had a vision and a spine

and when I quietly leave this life
there will be little to note...
a brief glance
of my obituary
by a few sad souls

I often think of a quote I heard as a young man
by a comedian; George Gobel
who was on the 'Tonight Show'
Dean Martin and Bob Hope were also on that show
and unknown to George, Dean was flipping his cigarette ashes
in George's drink as he was telling his humorous stories
this caused the laughs to come out of sequence...and finally a confused George said; 'Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?'
Daybreak brushes pink clad
hovering skies
beyond back lit mountains of Cascadia

Sunrise peaks through
the dawning nimbus
a variegated rosy
glowing consonance

The passing marine endowed sky,
framed by pinecone adorned
old growth timber stand,
near and far

Red sky some mornings,
awakens heart on sleeve
without warning


a lone mourning dove calls out --
unanswered
drowning out the drone
a lonely heart's throb

Harbingers of seasons change
cast nebulous shadows
over mountain
greenery meadows

imminent reminders
-- ready or not --
what’s come and gone
a moment passed


Though hearts may shine brightly
carefree summer's lazy days,
prevailing currents portend
the ever-present
winds of change

Someday heaven's healing rain
is going to fall softly
on this restless solitude;

cleansing a weary soul,
renewed once again,

mostly whole


© H.  Rivers ... today
all rights reserved
...it's nature's way of telling you
listen to her ubiquitous psalms...

note: Cascadia --  the Pacific Northwest of North America
http://www.cascadianow.org
hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply

a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas

it's been said so many times before
                   similes,...
     form clots at the tip of the quill
                    words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment

metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
       sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
       in considered words

        miles of silent reverie,
                     spun,...
        like a spider reprocessing,
        carefully savoring
        each fine silk thread of web,

        spinning the womb of time...

© H.A.  Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved
... dedicated to all lonely, wayfaring word whisperers,
lost within the silent confines of a bared soul
 Aug 2016 the Sandman
Sjr1000
In heartfelt
songs sung

Coming together
or
Tearing apart

Falling in love
or
Breaking up.
 Aug 2016 the Sandman
Sjr1000
She doesn't know what to do
She can't get out of this room
She sits in her chair
watching the morning dew

No appetite

Words don't work
They won't even sway her
Her mind is somewhere else
I know maybe
she's thinking about you

There are so many clichés
one can say

All you can do is hug her
tell her
"Baby it's gonna be okay "

That's all you can do
when
baby's got the blues.
I remember when I saw you on top of the hill; hand in your heart, mouth curved into a crescent-shaped smile.
You looked surprisingly placid for a boy whose mind was like an exploding star.

You couldn't have been more than south of fourteen,
and yet you had the imagination like Verne in revolt;
laughs that akin to an uproar industrial machinery;
and nerves of steel.

And together, you and I were like loose cannons of catastrophic ideas and eclectic dream of travelling around the world in eighty days.

You were my best friend; my confidant,
you were the reason why life was like a waltz to me.

But better yet,
you were my safe haven.

You were my home.
A snuffled sigh after heavy tears.
Passion overlooked amid the slur of a drunkard's song.
Gnawing ach of a toothles dog
lapping a bone.
Stainglass windows in a dark storm.
Her scent lingering in the room
long after she is gone.
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