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 Jan 2018 Rigmarole
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
 Oct 2016 Rigmarole
AMcQ
-Alive-
 Oct 2016 Rigmarole
AMcQ
Stand me still in swaying grass
on the crest of a smooth esker.
Numb my ears to synthetic noise
so I can embrace the earthly chorus;
Green blades clashing swordlike.
The creak of trees, rooted in the battle.
The flip and twist of a passing bluebottle;
Awkward and disorientated.
Let me breathe deep the same wind
that lends herself to these instruments.
Let me hear the crackle of sun on skin;
The sound of hair electrified,
The thud of chemicals leaping across synapses.

Let me feel truly alive.
 Oct 2016 Rigmarole
Misty Meadows
Let me be the angel
That guides you into joy.
Let the pulsing of my heart
Be your only noise.

Let me be the harpist
That strums away your pain.
Let me be the poet
That bleeds stanzas in your name.

Let my hands be your only
Escape into release.
Let this love of mine
Bring you inner peace.

And if you are to weep,
Let me wipe away your tears.
And if you ever cower,
Let me eliminate your fears.
 Oct 2016 Rigmarole
Akira Chinen
The whisper of a kiss
The promise of the rain
The language of the leaves
The secret of Saturns moons
Who are we now...
The dreamer or the dream
The lips or the sting
The flood or the drought
What are we now...
The hammer or the nail or the air inbetween or the moment
before the fall
That penetrates us all
Where do we go...
After the sky betrays our prayers
No heaven to save us or
no hell for us to tread
Nothing but a meaningless death
After a life of pretending to live
How do we repent for the things
we don't regret
For the lives that we enjoyed
For the pleasures that we shared
For the lust and sin we've
sewn into our souls
Why...
Listen for the whisper of a kiss
or wait for the promise of the rain
Translate the language of the leaves
or walk the moons of Saturn
Be the dreamer of a dream
dreaming of lips that leave a sting
That becomes a hammer
turning into a nail
That binds us to
the moment
of the
fall
As
we find
ourselves in
The endless oceans of love
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