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The invisible energy from the sun and moon
Allows you to recharge within yourself
Manifesting your aspirations, hopes and dreams
Shedding the negative weight off of me
Center yourself
Relax your soul
Good things await
For then, Your heart will be full
It wont always be like this. It wont. And it will be all over your hands and it wont be like this.
 Apr 2018 Max Southwood
PM
I always felt that I belonged in the motherly embrace of words,
twisting and toying with them, until a poem forms - of sorts.

But today. Today I felt a certain sense of fear.
If I'm no longer recognised for my skill with words - my identity which I worked so hard to build,
it will be more than I can bear.
Because it's the only thing keeping me from vanishing into thin air....
I know this is ridiculous after one minor setback - but the fear was certainly there....
 Apr 2018 Max Southwood
PM
I can spend my days laughing and living - distracted by life's demands.

I can spend my evenings gazing into the flickering candles, letting pen touch paper and transporting myself to far away lands.

But night. Night comes uninvited, an intruder which forces me to think and drapes me with a blanket of loneliness and sadness.

Maybe I can spend my nights, but only when I'm holding your hands.
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
All the leaves are leaving,
they fall when in fall,
seasoning our season
before the winter's call.

Grounds littered with orange,
ready for the red
mellowed with yellow,
before a white winter is fed.
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