16h patty m
I limit my friends to a few
They really don't come quite through
They leave me in a lurch
I tell them where to perch
Because most of them are full of pooh

I really meant no offense
And now I come to my own defense
If you saw something there
That I didn't mean to share
Then it's me that's full of pretense


When you say, "Ooh, oow, or eee!"
When you just get up to pee
Do not think it's mere pain
When you get up in a strain
It's cause you're turning fifty


My thoughts may trip and stumble
My words may slip and fumble
My lips are fried
My tongue is tied
Please pardon me as I mumble


If I lack a sense of decorum
It's cause I don't wanna bore 'em
If you think I am cruel
Or just actin'-a-fool
Why don't you just join in the forum?


I have a big callous on my thumb
From 300 beer caps did it come???
Last night I got bombed
I should be embalmed
Cause now I am feeling quite numb


The mock mohel was an odd gurl
Who liked to tuck, curl, and unfurl
She thought she was so slick
When she circumcised quick
Now she can only chuck pearls


This old pooch doesn’t want to learn a new trick
It’s tough enough writing a limerick
And like ailing dogs
That eat grass like hogs
It only makes me feel quite seasick


I thought I would write a limerick
Just for the heck-of-it
It’s not quite right
It took all night
It’s not properly anapestic

Kept it clean.
  1d patty m
If only I could
cleanse you of your sadness,
clear it like the dirt
from a grave diggers fingernails
after a day spent singing
to the bones laid still.

Steal from you this sorrow,
rob it like the gold coins
rattling in the old chests;
spill it in the streets
and watch poor men rejoice.

I could be the thief of untold
heartache, and the water
needed to wash it clean.

I could be the bones that sing
back from the dirt unsettled,
the light shining from the cleansed
side of the gold buried deep
inside the heart of your earth.
I'm green with those I leave behind,
This world I have, where all seems mine.

I vacillate as their world keeps thriving,
Leaving the living live with the alive.

But I'm gone, I'm dead,
The colorful globe will spin;
The living will die;
Not now... by and by,
With O whys and O mys.
It's a curse I've bequeathed
To the loves of my life,
When they leave their loved ones behind.
Two wrens, a couple of birds with intent,
Lit on my new magnolia tree;
The blossoms are full,
There's ants on the leafs.
It's mutualistic, and parasitic;
All thrive so well.
I wish the world could bear witness
To this simple tree.
Perhaps "simple" is too easy for us.
( travelogue )

Going back
way up North
Where Denali
lurks in the majestic
wide open bush

Up where
Montana Creek road
leaves payment
in the rear-view mirror,
Talkeetna is the kind
of wilderness watermark
where a rogue
last frontier river
flows free

To walk another mile
forward in these shoes;
    back to a simpler time ―

then kick 'em off to swim
the midnight sun

harlon rivers ... 04. 04. 2018
travelogue 1 of some
“You cannot hold it, but it will cradle you.
You cannot see or touch it, but when contact comes,
You will see me, hold me, as in the days of your youth,
When you loved me best,
And I, you.”

From: Seven New Poems for Seven Days #2: Hover
... by Nat Lipstadt


in memoriam to memories:
for Miriam and Nat

reading each thought numerous ticks of days,
imbibe the silent of the silence
hanging from the rafters this wilderness roof;
grayed heartwood walls that separate
fractals of inseparable distances ― celebrations
the roads taken ― memories of those left behind
at the side of the mile untrodden

Congregated love and sorrow’s spoken words
scribed on paper bark touchstones ―
etched watermarks of perpetual tides
patina the afterglow of life's ebb and flow,
traces of everything and naught can ever fill

Experiencing intimate moments immemorial;
the whispers of living pulse still murmurs
in the gentle breeze between the gathered words of heart
breathing deeply ― a rush of systemic truth
born in the wholly sacred blood

A soul outside the lines ponders ―
the sum whole of a life well lived;
coming to understand, although
all might not see the same light:

there’s a place one day we’ll return
we found along the way
because one day will come by here …

harlon rivers ... Memorial Day weekend ... May, 2018

“Out yourself.
What will you be remembered for,
if at all?”
... Nat Lipstadt

seven poems (+ 1) for my mother (July 2013)

thank you for sharing the love friend...
Gazing through the windows
Of faulty perception
Seeing so many wasted years of earthly life
Passing through the figment called the mind
Years of infirmity, suffering, and strife...

I have forgotten how to smile
I'm trying to recall what it's like
Not to experience anguish and pain
Opening my eyes I scream aloud
God, Oh God, not another day
Why didn't I fly away in my sleep
I'm unable to face this morning
Let alone another week...

Tears fall upon my weeping quill
My feather has seen better times
She used to adorn the beautiful white swan
In her splendorous bygone days
Only one white solitary feather remains
Spilling her ink across an empty page...
Thank you to all who have sent prayers and best wishes
Thank you for your loving support and beautiful hearts
My eyes and health are not healing, so I will try and read what
I can, I miss reading your poetry so much...
Dearest Valsa George your poem  did something wonderful
Touched my heart so deeply and gave me a little fight back.. thank you,
thank you and thank you.  God Bless you all...kimx
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