Joe would invite Sara to his apartment
To take off her clothes,
And drink Tea with him
As he composed his Poetry
Sara was used to men
Constantly desiring her,
And she wondered why Joe was content
Just to have her around as company?
"Don't you ever want to do anything with me?" she asked.
"All you ever do is ask me to take off my clothes,"
"As you pour me a Cup of Tea."
Joe's reply was curt.
"Tea is more romantic than sex."
Sara had to admit that he had a point.
A lot of her sex had been crummy.
"I think there's some truth to What your saying, Joe."
"Usually men serve me Jack Daniels before we have sex,
"And I don't enjoy Either too much."
"By the way,"
"What do call this Tea?" Sara asked.
"Oolong," Joe replied.
"Oolong," Sara liked the sound.
"We can all get Along drinking Oolong."
"I think just like  sip this wonderful Tea,"
"Instead of being your Lover,"
"Act as  your Muse."

Rhyming verse is a woman scorned
to whom lip service must be paid.
Set free from meter, unadorned
Her lyric fury waits, delayed
as she rambles on in a free verse swoon,
oblivious to whoever's listening,
babbling to the crescent moon
illuminated, horned and glistening,
bathing her deluded mind
in lunar metaphors of doom.
Do not provoke her—treat her kind
and let her pass to a padded room
or an attic space beneath the eves
where she can rant and find release;
until her frenzied soul believes
that words have meaning...
                              and rests in peace.

NaPoWriMo #21

Just want you to know:
Gender is given by God
So don't mess with it.

Spirit comes to me
I’m tempted by her casual flare
Her thoughts spill over my rainbow
And wash away my every care

The scorching sands beneath our feet
Drift slowly by the thoughts we’ve shared
The story’s not completely wrote
Each passage has its special note

We while away the passing hours
The flowers bloom then fade away
Our time was bent beyond compare
The time we spent was meant to share

There is no place I’d rather be
No other muse I want to see
Her message was so very clear
Inside her spell there was no fear

The sands of time, they blow away
The rainbow’s fleeting  glow is gone
Each treasured moment passes by
The time was right, she had to fly

Cné Apr 19

He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace

Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains

Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite

to be ...
da Vinci's "Mona Lisa"
Vermeer's "Girl with the Pearl Earring"
or "The Girl from Ipanema"
only in my dreams ...
harlon rivers Apr 19

What about a moment ―
that comes like a shooting star ?
        or love that flitters away
        though we reach out to hold
a flickering flame     ―     a candle in wisp of wind
                     all of a sudden lost
                 all at once a heart alone

…all life’s bits and pieces manifest a graspable trace,
random seconds clinched
        like giving grains of sand
        a raindrop’s passing splash
footprints in the sand  ―  whispering
       ― unsaid silent goodbyes

  Is this only a fleeting present moment ,
measureless nebulous time etched ?
        visible living snippets
        traced and shaped,
enveloping without pretense

benign mind-made silk threads
cocooning shapeless timelines
        an entwining tapestry
        of dreams dreamt ― then evanesce  :

Ripe huckleberry stained lips and blue skies kissed ―
                      a day at the beach
                      dancing with  the wind ―
                      pretending to fly lightly
                      as barefoot feathers glide ―
violets nestled in deep moss  
the fragrance after a cleansing rain

                      the only love I ever found ...  

How long is a concsious moment ?
Untenable thoughts fall short
        impalpable Days turn into Weeks
        unholdable Weeks turn into Months
        unsustainable Months into indefinable Years
intangible gathered moments                                    
anthologies of lifetime memories
chronological life in momentary pieces ;

written murmurs ― sighs too deep for words
soul jewels embraced temporarily
        life portions seized to so sweetly behold
        if only for an instant longer
knowing a moment’s touch is brief
unstoppable breathing unfoldment
unseizable transient continuum

       A moment's always passing ... 
time cleaves old rivers' bottomless course
purling river bottoms erode deeper and wider everyday,
        their rippling murmurs
        ride the wind songs evanescent echoes
earth’s specks and raindrops converging
        to drown silently unto vast oceans 
        unfathomable depths ―

A moment soon forgotten, whisperers left unspoken
gathered time ticks away ― elapsing twinkles
        taken far beyond a flicker of paradise lost              
        as if a moment never passes bye and bye
as if only ebbing tides steal away what's passed

― What about a moment ―
  how long did the moment last
        a sprouted seed
        a swaddled baby born
        a roller-coaster ride
        a blink of an eye
        breath cease to exist
        a lifetime come and gone

― a moment is the life you live ―

               harlon rivers
       was here ... April 19, 2017

                                            ― The End ―

© harlon rivers … all rights reserved

epilogue :
Sally A Bayan, my friend engagingly asks in a comment on:
March 11, 2017 ― How long is a moment? ... sorry it took so long to answer

..."Yes....after reading your thoughts, I now ask these long is a moment? how do you grasp a flitting moment? How do you grasp a flitting soul, or love?"

So.... Sally, this is for you friend... you have been an inspiration to all blessed to read your muse and feel the love you so poetically bequeath.
Touching deeply without judgment with gentle hand of most kindred of blessed souls ―

Rhetorical questions unanswerable or naught, as sure as the miracle of birth , one day we'll all come to understand how long a moment lasts...

a friend
t Apr 19

the prevalent literary subject
the inevitable centerpiece
the time worn muse
it is heartache, she sings
drenched in moonlight
resting alone, she is seen
she is sought after
her hands are delicate,
her body weak
heartache is growing older
sterile to the world
but we still search for her
she sings in us
sweet bleeding
for artists around
take pieces of her and
exhibit them in their own way
heartache has grown grey

Maria Etre Apr 12

My paper
ached to feel stories of you
on its pages

yearned to taste the adventures
you had with my heart with every
curve of a letter

and craved to vicariously
enjoy the pressures of pleasures
on it's blank slate
every time
you trace bedtimes
stories up and
down my spine

Once I set eyes on the Goddess,
I didn't need to search for nothin' no more
I was content
To see
My own Feminine Reflection.

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