Word Hobo: Favorites

Dec 2018 Word Hobo

Gillian

Dec 2018 Word Hobo

harlon rivers

Gillian

White violets in the window
Scarlett leaves tumble across
the mossy hidden stones
mound beneath a chilly winter's dawn

A cold wind bares the dogwood tree
where puffed out plumaged woodpecker
gleans on creations' plump red bounties,
beheld subsistence beget for feral wings

Bright crimson fattened rose hips season,
lingering in the frigid morning dew;
stirring warm memories of fruitlet tea's
steeped from gathered garden magic spells
A spoonful of love and raw honey mellowed
a life once so lovingly endeared

Hot Blueberry dutch-oven scratch biscuits
imbue the wafting fragrant air —
life's cherished moments tarry
in the head and heart;
sipped by ruby lips still tasting
the untamable passion
of a breathless goodnight kiss

White violets blossom in the window
the morning fire's crackle echoes
a pining memories' gentle whisper
awakened by the incoming wintertide

A dulcet breeze not soon forgotten
— melancholy traces linger
like a passing season's swan song

as your memory — leads me on...

harlon rivers ... December 5th, 2018

#lamenting #gillian #travelogue #rivers

Dec 2018 Word Hobo

etomb'd in raindrops

Dec 2018 Word Hobo

harlon rivers

etomb'd in raindrops

Remains of the summer
sunlight drip out,
entomb'd in raindrops
from the prevailing
gray beclouded skies
Memories of joy
bathed in sunlight
unravel like a wind
frayed kite dancing
above a day at the beach

Soaring seagulls ponder
all thousand feet of kite string
tied to a hidden bliss below —
hurtling through
the shapeless heavens
tethered to refreshed
dreams still lingering
within an untamed
child of the wind

Morning falls
from  the  trees
in whispers
of golden sorrow
The damp chilled air
smells fresh as the traces
of heaven's cleansing rain —
befallen drop  by  drop,
each plash counted
from an angel weeping,
splattering the broken silence
all  through the night.

An inflamed montage
of leaves surrender
all this unholdable lifeline
we  ever  know;
blanketing the fields
of  autumn's tawny  grass —
Sowing a mosaic colored
reclamation  reposed
atop a nascent green,
soon enrobed by impending
winter’s pallid slumbering hues

The darkening hush
imbues a shadowing
fugitive peacefulness
bathed in wind river eddies
of autumn’s blessing rains

harlon rivers

November 3, 2018

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not;
and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

#thoughts #life #light #darkness

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Legs on trains

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Columbusphere

Legs on trains

Train rides and trains fare
Hurling over hills and through fields
And we sit together, collectively
Calmly, reading, typing, talking
A train community

The train jumps with apology
When your legs twitch or meet
Muttering sorry, barely lifting a head
To mark a general unease
At the close space we all paid to use

Seeming so personal to share a seat
With another who finds a song to choose
Over conversation with a stranger
Shared time
We share daydreaming

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Nature's Silent Cry

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Anna Marie Ciacciarella

Nature's Silent Cry

She reaches out Her severed, bleeding hand –
so vulnerable, She’s down to skin and bones;
Her lungs collapse – a castle in the sand,
consumed in pain and so utterly alone.
since Her early days, She’s remained quiet;
Her pain towers over Her dying oaks.
these heavy clouds seem like cause for riot,
and yet, we are convinced they are a hoax.
through years of change, we’ve used Her to no end –
a crime that sees no sight of sane justice.
the grave keeps growing, now a proven trend,
the shovel is ruined by the rust, it’s
frightening. to think we might be too late.
i only wish i could prevent Her fate.

#nature #silent #cry #environment #pain #earth #fate

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Eastern White Pine

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Anna Marie Ciacciarella

Eastern White Pine

i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you

i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)

you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice

you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach

you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is
quiet. peaceful.

will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?

i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes

First Draft

#eastern #white #pine #draft #nature #environment #poetry #love

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Ye Men So Coward Of Poor Uganda (Sonnet 16)

Nov 2018 Word Hobo

Kikodinho Edward Alexandros

Ye Men So Coward Of Poor Uganda (Sonnet 16)

Ye men so coward of poor Uganda,
Why dost thou comfortably rest in bed
As though crimes extant all propaganda,
And overlook the rising toll of dead?
Ah, night is nigh, rise now or nevermore,
For deep in dungeons lies thy dear child
Who should have lifted thy hope from the floor
That bliss as merry birds spark in the wild,
As such would bloom again upon thy land
That now lies in a sepulchre of sorrow,
As of a pirate prostrate by the strand
With faded hope to sight a new rainbow.
O rise up now and fight for thy freedom,
Before the land sinketh in lasting doom.

©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Kampala, Uganda, 20th.August.2018.

#Shakespearean sonnet

This sonnet hath been written in defiance of atrocious acts by the current president of Uganda, he who hath been in power for more than 32years. This time round when he detained Bobi Wine, a musician yet politician who is now on the verge of death in dungeons unknown after being subjected to atrocious acts that deserve not even an animal because he stood up against his malicious acts, I had to pen this poem to cowards of my country (Uganda) who have failed to rise up for freedom. God bless our dear land.