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Em Mar 2019
I was home alone
Sitting in my room
When ringing invited itself into my home
A package has been delivered

I jumped  up
My feet barely touching the ground
And made my way to the door
It was another summer day
Soft wind blowing
Trees rustling in the distance
Birds singing joyful songs of freedom

As I open the door
The smell of summer morning slaps me in the face
Telling me it’s time to wake up

I grab the package
My fingers swiftly graze the tape
My eyes wonder
And fear holds me tight
An invader
I realize I’m in grave danger

A scream leaves my lips
Dropping the package
I run inside
I close the door and look through the sparkling glass window
There he sits
On the side of my fence
Chirping knowing that he’s in power

Behind me walks my knight in shining armor
Calmly making her way towards me
Minding her own business
Fear takes the lead
And I reach for help

Quickly opening the door
I swing her short furry legs
And on the third time
Target is down

Tears find themselves in my eyes
And camp in for a while
I thank my cat
For saving my life
And we go back home to eat
Never to speak of what happened again
a silly poem i quickly wrote
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
We Are Stories Jan 2016
I reach my hands to touch you
in the worst parts
that you want
but i dont
but you do
but we dont
but we do-
the silence creeping in
just enough to rip my hands
onto you
and onto where you want them to,
heavy hands
heavy breaths
in and out,
tongue twisted between lips
and bad lies,
heart brokenness underneath blankets
and blankets of desire
piled on top of hormonic lusts-

I say that i'm sorry

i'm sorry that i don't love you enough to mean
i'm sorry
and to take away the heaviness
weighing down upon my lips
as they quiver and shake
because i regret getting in the car in the first place.
The blade swings and cuts, it falters not,
For when the blade is swung, a soul is cut.
It is handled firm and questions not,
The hand in which its edge will rot.

The master is still and with gentle care,
He strips the mind and leaves body bare.
Of want and suffering, hope and loss,
Even those who believe in the anguish of the cross.

Footsteps he leaves to forever mark his way,
Pooled with the tears of those filled with dismay.
Look there, he's been here, this is his doing,
Another weary soul he is pursuing.

For master and blade they are one and the same.
In each soul they mark a blood-etched name.
Reaper, the ****** fear his coming and flee.
Lock your doors and abandon the key...
People are fascinated by the dark stuff.
In the case of my writing, that can mislead, because my light-natured writings are more potent.
Why leave a piece of writing (or anything for that matter) shivering as if a demon just licked your soul?
I suppose the aftereffects (relaxation effect) is nice, but people use drugs for the same reason.
Both will erode your innocence and chip away at your sanity.
Is the cost worth the high?
... The reaper likes such reckless vanity,
Giving you time enough to say goodbye...

— The End —