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blackbox Apr 27
Curfew lifted,
Free as a bird she flew.
Caged in her own thoughts.
Will we ever be free? Wrote this piece with this question on my mind.
Drome Invitation

Beyond the dust and the famine there is such a place,
Where Dream once lived strong and shown on their face,
Of thoughts and ideas and hopes all abound,
But the ease of a sloth brought Dream to the ground.

Now, Dreamers and Warriors must stand hand in hand,
To save all humanity, yes, once again!

Enter Drome
harlon rivers May 2018
(a travelogue)

He stared down through
the unbroken silence
lapping the shoreline
Water skippers dart around
the rocks and windfall driftwood
settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds
and emerging broadleaf sprouts

A petrified heartwood timber
lie fallow waiting bare barked,
hushed like a pining lover’s
     timeworn love seat,
     rubbed smooth as
     the crystalline waters
     of  half-moon lake

Lingering for a while  ―  
like a hidden stalker,
a perched wildcat waiting
for the full moon’s  
swooning spell to saturate
the thickening dusk quietude;
     arousing the urgent
     call of the wild —
exhaled from the held breath
of the wilderness nocturne
    on half-moon lake

The stillness was scattered
with the soft downy hairs
of the sleeping cattails,  and
the newly shed catkins
a spring gust bestrewed
from a tall resin birch tree
nigh the Sitka willows

     He  sat  quietly ...
     time out of mind ―

tossing his eyes up into the sky;
taking the time to read the stars ―
catching  them  each  again
as they fell into his gentle hands,
to show him who he was

Seeing their sparkly tracers  
trail-out above the cattails,
     from a distance
they resembled falling stars
unable to perceive their own renaissance ―
plashing lightly upon the still-water
     on half-moon lake

A lone shadow glides stealthily
near mid-tarn,.. swimming  
enchantingly with the grace
     of a blackswan
Appearing to glance shoreward
at the glowing low stars
rise and fall, as his eyes
twinkled skyward over
     the moonlit lagoon ―
heavenward of its moonlit ballet;
the lone sleek dark shadow
     slipping through
     a faint circular ripple
stirring the smooth as glass waters ―  
disappearing like a fleeting moment
     waning deep aneath
     a subtle silent wake.

When all the clear lines blurred,
he knew it had been so long ...

     but hearken !
… an interceding
     long drawn out wail  
     echoed  a feral ache
     across the stillness,
     breaking the silence ―

as the shadow reappeared;
     his tears surrendered
to the undulating call of the wild;
he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,
     as black and white
     as the moonlit night,
stir deeply in his wanting heart ―
     lay bare the silence
in lengthy yodeled psalms
to the god of the moon

Diving down deep yet again,
keeping the light he’d been given,
vanishing into the lifespring
sanctuary of half-moon lake


harlon rivers ... May 2018
travelogue: 4 of some more
Notes: i'm certainly aware i've not been here as often and active as i once was. **** happens and so does life, and it will ... so much so, the travelogue chronicles felt worthwhile for a moment, the first 4 were from the 1st 3000 mile leg of a 6000 mile and 6 month round trip road-trip journey ―

All apologies to those that found the length of my work tedious.   When i've tried to make the ink go other than where and how long it flows naturally ― i fail and stifle, paused in my own sown silence.   Too predictable to continue to ignore ― peace
MARK RIORDAN Jan 2018
FIRE AND FURY
IT IS CRAP
TRUMP CHRONICLES
IN ITS FACE
IT WILL SLAP




TRUMP CHRONICLES
FIRE AND FURY
BUY MY BOOK
AND BE THE JURY


MY BOOK IS BETTER
MY TWEETS BETTER THAN TRUMPS
MARK RIORDAN Jan 2018
IS 2018 HOLDING A NUCLEAR WAR
TRUMP AND ROCKET MAN
WILL THEY SETTLE THE SCORE



WE NEED AN UMPIRE
TO BRING IN THE PEACE
OR WILL ALL THE WORLD
JUST STOP AND CEASE



THESE ARE TWO MEN WITH
MASSIVE EGOS TOO MATCH
THEY NEED TO RESOLVE THEIR DIFFERENCES
AND LET PEACE BE DISPATCHED

FIRE AND FURY CRAP
TRUMP CHRONICLES IS THE BETTER BOOK
FIRE AND FURY **** TRUMP CHRONICLES IS THE BEST BOOK BUY IT AND FIND OUT WHY MAKE IT A BEST SELLER
Maple Mathers Feb 2016
You offered this "life"
     A "gift" - you ensured...
Then, whipped out that knife
     Your mousetrap: secured.

Lonely, and empty
     Existence: so grim
My world, in a casket
     That fits all but him.
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
Amitav Radiance Mar 2015
When an illusion becomes a reality
The whole idea of existence is shrouded
In the mysterious clues we are given
Unearthed from the remains ancient
Many hypotheses which float around
Mystic lands which once existed
So many exposed to the light of day
Many more still cradled within the layers
Many interpretations, ancient chronicles
Dates back to time immemorial
Many sources and many more tales
The soul of the scripts lost long ago
None will come to know the real sentiments
Mired in the deepest secrets of yesteryear
Historians’ favorite child, philosophers guide
We can only come up with our understanding
Spend a lifetime deciphering between the lines
Many centuries of hidden anecdotes
We can only reconstruct what we decipher
We may not be close to the real meaning
The custodians have whisked away the heart
And soul of the entire episodes
Leaving us between the vagueness
Papyrus holds the words, without the meanings
Not sure of the real feelings and emotions
Maybe a rendezvous with the chroniclers
If we can travel back in time
And enter the ethereal world of these histories
Can reveal the truth and exact sentiments
Till that time, we have to live with our inferences
Maybe we are way off the mark
In a different trajectory, away from the core
An illusion we may have created form our cognizance
Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
The cryptic missive
Written in ink ancient
Eloquent quill scribbles
Old English vocabulary
Unfamiliar etymology
Unknown writer
Chronicled messages unclear
For whom, none known
Yet to be deciphered
Papyrus survived
And words of yesteryear
On a time travel to future
Wonder, if anyone had read
Back in olden times
Or, was it a prophecy
For the future to unravel
A seer with vision
To foresee the future
Should we be forewarned?
Lest the truth was known
And we are living a lie
Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
The humble diary
Holds the words
Usually not revealed
To the world
Lines, filled with
Deepest desires
Inexplicably, not uttered
But freely flows
Without inhibitions
Every drop of ink
Is the messenger
Carrying the messages
Encrypted for secrecy
A part of your world
Comes alive
Between the pages
Each day
Offered a blank page
New anecdote
Chronicled eagerly
Before the words
Fade away from memory
Jogging along the lines
Of the diary
The pen gives you a lease
To express
Some feelings and desires
Not audible to anyone
But finds safe haven
Between the pages
Of the humble diary
Amitav Radiance Jul 2014
The blank paper stared at me for long
Wishing, I wield the pen to paint with ink
As my mind is heavy with thoughts
Blank paper offers me the space to share
Myriads of thoughts and deepest emotions
How effortlessly the blank paper draws me
Out of my slumber, to pen down the words
When the pen touches the paper
It connects my soul and heart to the blank space
Waiting for me to fill the white space with emotions
Offering me an easy access to let go
And express with eloquence, over pristine canvas
Painting the most intricate designs with words
Times when spoken words become few
And the only path for me is to compose
It does not complain if the composition goes awry
Being a true companion without being judgmental
Not weary of my erratic thoughts and going wayward
After all, everyday it brings me to the table
That’s the path which I am drawn towards
Without being wary of the world, I pen down my thoughts
The blank paper always waits for me to wield the pen
And the ink flows again to chronicle my thoughts

— The End —