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  Oct 2017 Joel M Frye
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
Joel M Frye Oct 2017
My eyes aching with
dryness; crawling soul seeks an
oasis of tears.
  Oct 2017 Joel M Frye
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 Joel M Frye
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.
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