Still Crazy: Favorites

Oct 2017 Still Crazy

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

#autumn #desertsage #mountainsage #sweetgrass #coyote #journey #seasonschange #moonsliver

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Feather of Galileo

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Feather of Galileo

I hadn't expected someone there
already before me.

Only lonely men come here
I heard him through my heavy breath
lonely with nothing and everything.

Down there was the sea rumbling faintly
with the froths painting themselves on the shore
like a sketch in a child's drawing book.

Height does amazing tricks, the man continued,
makes you feel invincible
stimulates you to be ****** into gravity
to fall as light as the feather.

The dusk was wrapping up the light
when I remembered having promised her
not to be late to descend.

There's a man up there, I told the gateman,
Nope, he said,
you were the only guest this evening.

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

My Father's Daughter

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

L B

My Father's Daughter

I stood in the February snow
the freezing sleet
no boots
no coat
Steam wafting off my fury

My father read the lie
two hundred yards away
and walking toward me

So I owned it
told it
With a snarl
Without a flinch
Both knowing

I held my ground before him
and wore the red of his hand
on my face for a week

Thank you everyone for the views and comments.  The Daily was a nice surprise this evening.

There were five of us kids.  I was the only one who ever did anything like this.  It was like my father needed someone to stop him sometimes.

My father asked, "What are you doing out here?"
I lied,  "Getting some air."

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1801472/the-mayor-of-wesson-street/

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Who Reads Poetry

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Francie Lynch

Who Reads Poetry

When I'm seeking shade from a relentless sun,
And brush a rejected leaf off my shoulder,
I feel poetry.

When I brought my girls home,
From hospital, school, a bad night out,
I've experienced poetry.

Walking Front St., or Centennial Park,
While the buskers are busy,
The children are laughing,
The dogs are barking,
I've heard poetry.

If fortunate to espy a shooting star,
Enjoy the fullness of an autumn moon,
Witness the dawn light up my lawn,
Like a diamond mine,
I've seen poetry.

I've tasted poetry on my lips
With kisses and endearing words,
And lingering tastes from what you serve.
Yes, I've savored poetry's flavors.

Who reads poetry.

Caught you reading poetry.

#poetry #writing

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

After Rush Hour

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

L B

After Rush Hour

On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy the enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying

Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour

*Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
     two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
     in careless conversation
to wonder over
     missed whispers....

But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
     your eyes again
     solvent for my presence of mind
     dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
     To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
     For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
     To deny ...To deny

To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know!  Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...

I melt... I'm gone....

I think this feels like a song. Wish I knew what to do with the music inside. Written out behind the projects where i lived with my girls while finishing college. 1988

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Bubbles of Rainbow

Sep 2017 Still Crazy

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Bubbles of Rainbow

She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.