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Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”

nuts, crazy peeps

whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:

“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”

now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped

me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included

the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)

they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline

though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs

so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!

so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning

“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”

guessing must be something in the water and the wine
 Jun 2018 harlon rivers
Polar
In the stillness of the dark
I sit,
And outside my window
The night holds many possibilities.
People move within the shadows
Barely visible to the naked eye
Living shadow lives alongside my own.

Do we dream together?
And will love survive death?

I see you
In different times
Living different lives
And myself as a shadow
Living my own shadow life.
.

Moonlight
     creates shadows,
          places of magick
               and realms of mystery.
Niches beyond the wildest dreams
     playing with images in colour dimensions,
          pouring their scorn on the childish imagination,
               a weakling substitute for what cannot be known.



© Pagan Paul (04/06/18)
.
1st line 1 word, 2nd line 2 words etc etc.
.
The beautiful things are
always written in black
The swan may she overwhelm
you with her delicate charm
is brought to you in obsidian grace
Or how about the crow
brings us the message of tomorrow
soothsayer with black wings
Black is tenderness
and camouflage
our protection
fiercely rejected by some
While others surrender to
its potency
Wherever it is you stand
with or with out it
know that black stands on its own
thru out the Universe
pulling us like gravity
commanding a deep reverence
for it
rearranging our skies
Black is good.
 Jun 2018 harlon rivers
Born
Touch
 Jun 2018 harlon rivers
Born
Where do we belong
Tell me what you've seen
a kindred spirit lingers in my mind
at a sound of a touch

How do you do this
Behave like  a hell forgotten song
while trying to concur the sky
a virtual reality horror show
that started
at the sound of a touch

Start
Packing and running for safety
that's what happens
if you trade
strength for weakness
at the sound of a touch

touch
Pictures came with a touch
but we were never attached
you were just a voyeger in my dream
who left footsteps  it seems
at the sound of a touch
 Jun 2018 harlon rivers
Isabelle
i touched your soul
and scribbled my name on it
love, you’ll never get lost again
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