Fresh and so pure, from the mountains I rise,

Melting down the glaciers, by the graces so bright.

Tracing paths of nature, the soil I carry;

Not knowing boundaries, claiming nature's glory.

What mistake was mine, for the path I made,

Is not by choice, but by travel I gain.

Giving is my nature, water so pure;

I see no name or breed, life is all I need.

Unending I flow, between mountains and seas;

Stop not my path, my fury you will see.

I nourish your soil and nurture your food,

Bring you your soul, sinking down the throat.

Let me flow my way, for its not yours to define;

I giving along my path, no matter what.

I don't charge you for my service, its my duty I've pledged;

Don't stop me from my doing, disaster will I r eturn.

When nature is so generous, why be selfish you human;

It's not yours or theirs, my path is my choice.

Feeding is my nature, flooding is too.

Don't make my eye tear, for generations you will fear.


Dany Dec 2017

Taken aback largely by
coveted fate born of star-blind wishes,
have I riveting cause for concern
when I tilt my head to skies
unheard of or ne'r seen before?
against the risen ridges of my veins,
dawn cast shadows steeper than any
mountain range.
So I cry, "Out Sun!"
for its light burns the peeks more than
I could bear, and dries up
valley springs of youth hidden there.

It is so I've come to pray,
Sweet destiny, free from celestial rule,
bake my hubris, till my needs,
water down my ambitions until
between my rushing arteries buds
grand daffodil and tempest lilies.

Question of the Day: What do you think the flowerse represent?
Laurel Leaves Nov 2017

eyes blending the murky colors
as they slowly lick the landscape
tickling with the edge of tongues
warm pastels
as if
creamsicle dripping
the edges of fingers
somehow now
lining evergreens
rushing turquoise blending with navy
denim white caps
as fresh water churns alongside
smoothing edges of rocks
I dip my spine
the hemispheric shape of my back
as it extends over the damp
dripping moss
you cradle my body
the warmth moves between
the sensations
of shudders
as we cling alongside
one another
your lips part
as the foreign color
of red
stands out to the cold,
dimly lit nature
I bite deep

Fucking in the woods.
harlon rivers Oct 2017

when you start
feeling as if
just being you
    is not enough ,..

when you see
the sunlight slipping away
sliding into the ocean
and the outbound tide
    is pulling strong ,..

   gravity pushes downward stark ―
you see it's weight
pacing in lonely eyes,

you feel it's burden
bear down on
a wayfaring stranger
   wandering away alone ,..
wondering what went wrong

stalled by a riverside
frozen in time ;
searching for peace
along the meandering shoreline,
walking on slippery rocks
and fallen stars

the waterfall surrenders
a river's silent lament ;
the storm gales' surge stirs
the urge for moving on

a heart broken knows
how fickle tides change
which way the wind blows ,..

which way the rain
     comes falling down ―

watershed moments
serpentine rivers,

unbridled terrain waters
veritably cascading  beyond
blurred latitudes,
uninhibitedly drifting
     in shapeless symmetry ―

a deep ocean rises
with the calling tide's

the shorebirds linger ;
hole up with the peace
of the unsullied sands
at the sea stained
      tide-mark ―

barnacles cling
to the pulse
of the tidal sway
where starfish hold on to
   slippery rocks ,..

being enough
to while away
just a little bit longer ―

to simply let it all be
and wholly wash out
in the water
waiting for the tide change,

to swallow whole
the rivers stagnant flow,
    the stars in silence ―

in the unrestrained
    rhythm and the sea ...

mazy rivers ...October 25, 2017
thank you for reading

just be you
no matter wherever you feel
the earth move under your feet;
no matter which way
the wind blows ―

"Slip Slidin' Away": song title by Writer(s): Paul Simon 1977
harlon rivers Oct 2017

Coyote’s mournful howl echoed
in the new moon’s enchanting sultry ether;
breathing the living harmony of the wilderness rhythm

He seemed to sense a soul reincarnation
      within a pervasive spirit light
      an oft misunderstood
      common thread shared
      this hallowed land’s night

An uncommon Zen stirring from within,
              stifling apathy ..,
. . . of rumble deep beneath
      a dormant volcano reawakening ;
      that which lies undiscovered
      just before the ruptured moment ..,
      liberation of release ―
      dust and ashes taking flight

Through open window              insomnia churns
                          fifty shades of blue ..,
      cast in shadowed hues of broken silence

Coyote stirred the stillness
      with a hauntingly familiar cry
      reading the ridge-top echoes
      like the book of my mind

" YIP YIP   A ―W O O H !!! " . . . the somber plea

For it is in these final hours chosen chore
      the recurring torn
      these chains and things

Coyote was going there ―
      to stand these watermark crossroads
      this hour of need

Accepting brother has always been lonely
      sometimes anything
      means something - -
and so it goes ..,

Coyote communes in pulse
      from ancient realms
      this sacred blood ..,
         the lost chord

      wounded healers ,
. . . one mutual spirit
      runs marrow deep
      where dogs run free

The moan of doves whisper to the impending dawn
. . . always known these days
      too soon do come and gone

What once was a life well lived ,
      s l o w l y     e v a n e s c i n g
      like the summer river’s flow

some say ..." you never miss the water
      'til the well runs dry "
. . . regrets a waste of time - -

Rumination, a loathsome silent reverie
      a taunting unsolved koan

      an unplanned oxymoron ,  
      beget of a deafening silence
. . . dust sleeps with indifference
      veiling a beautiful handmade
      unstrung guitar
      muted - - abandoned,
      tone poems, unsung

and so "re-begins" the task ...
      come what may rise up
      into the dark star's light ...

Coyote was going there - -
      a dawning metamorphosis
      under another nebulous sky

. . . refreshed by Luna's potent alchemy bestrewn
      in her spellbinding lambent moonlight elixir of life ...

harlon rivers  ... 5. 21. 2015

Notes: This poem is republished from my original
harlon rivers account for the friend that commented on October 5th:"I hope the maestro Coyote’s howls yet again"  
BTW my sage ol'  great grandpa, that passed at 99, always reminded me I was born under a Coyote Moon ― some things never change


all roads lead to all roads..,
poetic pathways do cross
seeds of heart and soul sown ... nurtured
birth tendrils of a thousand flowers
nascent buds to blossoming fruition
do come to wilt like the last winter rose,
full circle in seasons ever changing light…

just because the blossom dgoes not last forever
does not pale the impassioned light of its poetry

be remembered by your life's poetry ..,
believe a poem can make a difference - - -

Thank you for reading of many rivers ―
peace on the shoreline ...

Written by:  h.a. rivers
harlon rivers Oct 2017

Maybe it's been written
somewhere in the constitution
     of the waning moon

                                         ― When somebody loves you,
                                               you can never be lonely ―

But, appearances
  to the contrary,
the moon is sometimes blue;

counting stars alone
in a sky full of stars

is just about as lonely
as 'once in a blue moon'
                              can be ―

Like when the night is yours alone
                  or feeling alone
               in a crowded room

hearing Hank Williams moan within your silence
       "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"

                                         ― When it's hard to say
                                               you love someone,..
                                               but it's harder to say
                                               when you don't ―

                • • •

A coyote's pleading howl
breaks the silent twilight engulfing trance
cast by the dappled moonlight;
like there's some kind of lonely madness
    swallowing him whole,..

    these two hollow eyes
                 gaze out through
                                     the chilly,
                                                   Autumn air
                                                             ­    spilling
                                                                ­  in through
                                                            the open window,

                                                        ­           counting stars ― alone
                                                           ­             in a sky full of stars

                                                       ­             the crackle of the fireplace
                                                       ­            echoes, startling the silence
                                                         ­                of a feigned warmth
                                                                ­          from the other side
                                                                ­ of an otherwise hollow room

and i feel frayed as a hole in an empty pocket with nothing left to lose

the impending dark winter nights are lonesome
            and  linger longer than before ...
seeing the empty space beside me
   I remember how it really really aches to just be ...

                                                            ­lonesome as a blue moon ― 

                   ✩                        ✩                                       ­ 
                ✩                                       ✩                           
✩          ­                                                      ✩
         ­                                                                 ­                                

moonless ― rivers ... 2017

Lonesome as a Blue Moon
Written by:  h.a. rivers
Celeste Briefs Oct 2017

The mountain is my protector
The wind is my guide
The trees are my family
The rivers are my eyes

The path through the forest is my gospel
The birdsong is my choir
Every step I take is inspiration
That sets my heart on fire

The Mother is my protector
She is my truest guide
I feel her breath in every breeze
That coasts across the sky

The Mother is my family
And I see through Her eyes
For She sees deep within me
To the soul that lives inside

Here is a prayer to the Great Mother that I made. Please use as you like, but remember that I wrote it. I'm not trying to preach a new religion, just a fresh spirituality. Enjoy lovely children!

Drifting back to the ocean
like it never even happened
unraveled dreams washed clean
crystalline renaissance bestowed    
by wind mountain spring waters
rising from the heart
of mother earth

A remnant light glows deeply
of one love's untamed wonders
an unfastened feather glides abandoned
rushing waters floating
alighting pilgrim blissfully sails on
stranded without wings
a fallen wild feather free as bird
wanting a place to be let free

Sun in the summer air
wind in buoyant feathered hair
softly dancing upon
wild river restless ripples
to feel the love of holding on
adrift asunder whence it touched on
destiny's far-reaching
journey yonder
holding onto flowing rivers
rolling towards the sea

The incoming tidal waters blossom
surge to greet wind river's gentle saunter
converging slackening passage
salt on feral feathered fragments
arousing currents babbling swirl
imbibed by the impassioned sea

Wild rivers' born intentions
a different kind of drifting passage
to kiss the distant horizon
where the sown sunlight settles
submerged in shoreless ocean waters
    to be free all at sea at last

someone you used to know  2017

title mused from song lyric in the notes of another poem i read here and it seemed to fit

So many things shape water into human thoughts: the sea, oceans, rivers, streams, ponds, springs, fountains, raindrops, dew, mist, teardrops, lakes, clouds, a cup,  ect...just to name a few containers---much poetic muse.

About 71 percent of the Earth's surface is water-covered, and the oceans hold about 96.5 percent of all Earth's water. Water also exists in the air as water vapor, in rivers and lakes, in icecaps and glaciers, in the ground as soil moisture and in aquifers, and even in you and your dog.
Katelyn Billat Sep 2017

For when he appears,
My lungs fill with flowers 
And for a moment I 
Forget to breathe.

The sleeping caterpillar 
In my stomach
Performs metamorphosis
And flutters around
Trying to break free.

The rivers named veins
Fill and rush to my chest,
To my head and
I forget how to think.

For when he smiles,
His eyes come alive,
And I wonder
 Does he thinks of me this way.

Sally A Bayan Aug 2017 long...
... seeming to end at one point,
........yet, in truth, they just go on
.............for, currents are ceaseless
.................they find their own paths
......................they symbolize continuity.
...........................r i v e r s .....r u n...l o n g....

(Harlon are your name)


Copyright August 30, 2017

...a humble poem for you, Harlon Rivers...
...peace to you always , dear friend...
...your return is most awaited......
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