The season is a lullaby
of frosted clocks and prickling ire
impatience with the steadfast solemnity
of the wintertide uniform

Locked in crystal formation, the sunshine sleeps
where the mountains beckon
the very peaks
and the hours of the passing days diminish
into austere darkness,
Yet my heart thrills with each crystal shimmer
and beats a pulse that cannot be met
by any life
contained in snow

There is a whisper to my very soul
from the whitening glow
as it shatters the bones of cold

Such Redemption in the icy sound
sets my mind heaven bound

She's like deliquescent caramel,

the cool side of a pillow

        to lay your weary head,

subtleties of springtime &

          warmth in wintertide,

whispering hope upon lush  

        Zephyrus pipe dreams,  

    mellifluous nymph with wings

                 of a butterfly warrior,

softly determined,

    unfailingly true-hearted,

       whilst relentlessly ferocious

  Wise, yet sometimes struts

        blindly in the light,

       as dulcet tones of a cello's

           melodious marmalade

            in sentiment's tender fancy,

she's beauty, charm,

         knowledge, poetry,

               utter strength,

               & humane weaknesses,

she's twisted and ethereal,

           her aura sublimely captivating

     you may covet her body,

            you'll never possess her soul

The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
   And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
   And altered is the fashion of the earth.

The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
   And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
   Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.

Thaw follows frost; ******* the heel of spring
   Treads summer sure to die, for ******* hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
   Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.

But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
   Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
   And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
   The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
   The fingers of no heir will ever hold.

When thou descendest once the shades among,
   The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
   No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.

Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
   Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
   The love of comrades cannot take away.

You're cold, and so am I.

The bundles of black tree stalks tower.
Their short ice-coated limbs puff like smoke,
Such naturally produced chimney stacks.
But this wonder inspires madness.

This magical world with you and I
Can only be measured in the real.
Why cloud ourselves with synthetic doubt,
When we could cherish what we can see?

The morning sun, squandering for heat
Has yet to overcome the winter.
The right recipe would ruin sight
Of something so much greater than warmth.

Nurturing open landscapes with you,
Our esoteric dreamscapes break free.

Your smile is what warms my cold heart.

Crimson maple buds magically pucker
under brightening skies
Lenten rose reluctantly unfolds
absolving the shadowed snow,
stemming the wintertide

Spring's impending bloom
mystically stirs the delicate human heart  
soothing from outside its sheltering shell

A converging pleasantness
of a sunshine sown awakening
cleanses each morning breath drawn
to sate an urgent restrained longing

The wilderness carpet comes alive
with a burgeoning salient sweetness
drawing out a glimmer of gladness
from stale suffocating darkness’
wallowing in the winter ennui

Another kind of poignant balm sinks
from the tall mountain willow tree
touching the sprouting blue sky

Furry fragrant catkins blossom sweetly
like the remnants of a love once known
softly brushing against a fading memory
of unerasable stains begrudgingly beget

Like fawning flowers falling fallow
in a passing season’s pollination breeze
Manipulating frayed heartstrings,
unhealed as the deer peeled scars
and rubbed bark of a mountain willow,
scarred  from another season past

Some protective shell ― never grows back
when benign heartwood is brought to light


harlon rivers ... Spring 2018

He softly touched her cheek
the same way cold touched
the first few mornings
of Februaryㅡfrigid but somehow fleeting.
Full of adoration
yet full of uncertainties.
And like the whispers of warmth
on some mornings,
he's almost always anticipating to leave.
With those cold hands of his,
he softly touched her cheek
and like the fury between
the cold and warm,
he kissed her
while whispering goodbye
at the same time.

there were golden lines slicing through the blinds when we came back from it. sometimes puddles form around the window while the rain falls steadily to join the old, as grey as the diamond blanket we dream under, as cold as the a/c unit that bites my toes every morning. i wrote a few small words on the crease of your back between the valley of your shoulder blades, nothing new, words of adoration, admiration, admonition, disbelief at where we are.
sometimes at night i see outlines of trees being tossed by the wind and i welcome the metaphors that creep into my brain of how similar we are, the trees and me. you're like the winter and i'm the summertime and snowflakes tied to sun-rays have never looked more outlandish and real.
remember when the thunder fought with the sound of your heartbeat and everything faded into a realm unreachable and we discovered who we were. the grey splattered wallpaper of this bedroom starts to feel like smog when you aren't around, what else can my eyes fix themselves to. i hang on to every i can't believe it, i'm in love with you, this is crazy like each letter is oxygen and i'm running out of clean air.
sometimes at night i trace your face with my eyes and wish you would say them again. sometimes i fall into holes around the sidewalk and i forget. i've never craved the wintertime more in my life. you always find me when i'm lost in those holes, crawl inside with your snowflakes and words, stay with me until i learn to walk again.

I love to close my eyes
& find a stillness –
in the turning world.

My imagination wanders,
to you.
My memories make
Pleasure.

~ Ephemeral bliss  ~
Peaking in the swells gentle set.
Mid-solitudes of the vast Pacific.

Young honey lip lovers

Warmth in wintertide;
a wild iteration of summer.

Mio Amore
My sunshine in the shadow.

Sun sleeps in grey coat,
Cold rain tapping on window,
  .  .  .  Old winter waking.

Looking out across the many shades of dark on dark
The rolling ashen gray fog opens a window to the dawn
and I feel a loneliness,  arising like the winter sun
             … in the morning

The trees have bared their golden surrender
Breaking silence through the windswept boughs
below,  gathered dewdrops blossom on the last winter rose
             … a chilling epilogue

Beyond the waning hydrangea sundried sepia tones
Latent conflicts of the head and heart stir the hush of memories
imposing heart whispers,  arising like sunlight shadows cast
             … in the morning

There’s no one listening to the wind roar the incoming wintertide
An ascending sadness paints many hues that contrast dark and light
as the Pink Moon,  steals away over lonely mountain headed south
             … in the morning


                                         every picture tells a story ― ☾ wild is the wind ☽