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AprilDawn Nov 2017
light green
empty branch arms  
turned away
  from the brown brick house
held in line
by the  gray
  edge stones
sinking  deeper into
Winter's drab slumber
biding time
until the dream of Spring's
budding promise
becomes a  solid future  
with a  stunningly
luscious wave
of hot pink
Hibiscus  flowers  
as a backdrop
to  the brown brick house
kept in check
by  gray edge stones
until  the petals drop
into the sneaky
Autumn sun  
and  desolation
sets up shop
in lonely green arms
The hibiscus  in   my Eddie's Mom's   front garden  looks so dramatic at times  during the year...I felt it needed it's own poem.
harlon rivers Oct 2017
The blustery east wind
gathers the fragrant  
Warm Springs
high desert
mountain sage,
Dry Creek pass
surging downward
from above
the Hood River valley,
with breath of sky's bouquet
of billowing
aromatic avalanche,
of heaven's zephyr

The poignant
sudden starkness
of fiery autumn leaves
letting go
whirling ― falling
helter skelter,
pushed urgently
flying westbound,
beckoned franticly
distant whispered
ocean bellows
blowin' in the winds
    of change ―

Adrift across
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
as unsated
       summer love  ―  
sage memories
waxing and waning,
whiffs of honeyed Jasmine
writhing witherings,

    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
harlon rivers Sep 2017
The fleeing clouds have cleansed the tawny earthen meadows
Migrating sun doth steal away waning light of summer’s glee
High atop fir boughs bow in wind whispered homage
To the sapience the coloured leaves hath gleaned

The sweet scent of auburn brindled pinecone clusters
Ooze of  glistening pitchy resinous fruit
Sticky figured squirrels chatter while they gather,
Stashing a survival cache of acorns and spinner seeds,
For another moment in sleepy winter tide dreams

A swirling eddy of spiraling leaves whirl beneath the tall timber
Fluttering gracefully with a gravity only falling leaves embolden
Enchanting like the evanescent timbre poignant piano notes decay
Writhing silent as summer Jasmine’s fragrant final bloom

Dandelion wishes soaring higher to kiss the fleeting winged skies
Lazily adrift up and over Cascade Mountain Crest
Fuzzy treetop flyers ascending far beyond darting dragonflies below

The sliver of golden harvest moon’s blossom aglow ,…
While wishing upon a shooting star's paling gleams
Serendipity sown about whimsically in the blustery wind
For to sow the will of untamed heart’s desires                                    

A festive troop of Chickadees clinging like tiny acrobats
Foraging on ripened ginger hued fir-cone seeds
Wings to the sky wave goodbye to the deciduous cadence
Softly wafting with a pungent Lavender potion scented breeze

There is a secret place where memories go to hide deeply alive
Amongst the wild wood and impending leafless trees,
The only place on earth I've ever understood a sense of belonging

Where Autumn coloured leaves whisper in the gentle breeze ,…
                  “I would do it all over again”

Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down

                      © ... September 15th, 2016
if … we will be remembered by our poetry;
It would be my hope to be recollected
for an intimately personal love and respect of all creation
Although there has not always been an emboldened sense of belonging with others, I have come to understand I've always belonged to the untamed wilderness of myself, still understanding that love is the eternal purpose I'll strive ―

Sometimes we sense that we feel too much
Being highly sensitive is not an imperfection but a gift - -
not a misunderstood, stigmatized, dark &  broken star
befallen a Sky  full of  Stars

always believe a poem can make a difference -- even if it is only a difference within you-- rivers

Come September ,..when the leaves come falling down
Written by:  h.a. rivers
The key does not fit
And the lock does not open
For this place I called home
Is no longer my own

Will they know the feeling
As they gaze from
The second floor window
"This draft gives me goosebumps
As the rain dribbles down the glass
And the dog is howling
As it thunders over the veranda
But it can't touch me
I am safe
I am home"

The season has changed
And you've moved away
Now the rain's pouring
And I don't feel safe
Dina Zivkovic Sep 2015
I need to say that sleeping is...
hard to achieve when your goals are set high, and yet something prevents me
to convey just how difficult rest is to apply to your day to day life
trying to get by
Every year around this time I get weird without knowing why...
Leaves start to fall and my body starts shutting down in depression that won't let me live my life happily without dodging the darts, here's my vain confession, I'm scrolling through a lie, reading stupid people's denials... just an advice:
don't let them tell you that you don't suffice... you **** well know what you have to do, just shut them up with a smile that says "I hate you too" ;)

— The End —