"achings" poems
Gray Owl hearkens
the dappled daybreak knell
echoing through
the wildwood forest stand;
rock doves and frosty stones abide,
where a marooned heart doth dwell,
disrobed by the longest night's frigid touch
Timber stand grips tight
red clay and bedrock of ages,
postured tall and strong
as eagle's spirit throne
Pine cones hide
in the low drifting clouds,
ripe acorns tumble down alone
unto a windblown
shallow earthen grave,
hillocked beneath
the sky-high canopy
Bones of branches,
furrowed bark from burled oak,
wood-grains of pith,
natural gnarled achings
peeled by the shivering
wind's breath
Paling autumn memories
grow dim as the receding sunlight,
recollections of ebbing Jasmine's
mellowing fragrant balm
waft aloft in a favorite fading fantasy,
the edge of winter metamorphosis
bears down with a prodigious weight
of a different kind of retreating light;
brindled Queen Anne's lace
hold sway across
the tawny frostbitten meadow
imbuing the poignantly
whetting breeze
The blink of an eye winks,
to catch sight of
an intimate glimpse,
an unspoken
solitude holds forth,
the mesmerizing coo of rock doves,
reverently mirroring
the sanctity of the forest wildwood
lingering amongst the frosty
ferns and stones
The harmony of tranquil silence wanders;
only the bowing resistance of the boughs
manifest the shapeless wind’s
whispered breathe
swirling above the labyrinth threshold;
therein lies an unfractured fault line
rooted deeply beneath
the earth’s crust
like the sonorous heart
of a sanctuary hearthstone
Hence there is symmetry
felt in silence that only whispers
in the deep toned consonant
of our own harbored sighs
a holy human blood link
born of heritage wilderness heartwood
beats keenly alive
written by: harlon rivers ... December 2017
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
What if your blessings comes through tears.
What if your healing comes through fears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know you're near
Towards nirvana you wanted to feel.
What if trials of this life
are your mercies in disguise
What if greatest dissapointments or achings
is the reavealing of this greater thirst world can't satisfy
What if this trials of life,
The storms
The rains
and
The sleepless nights
Are your Mercies in Disguise
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
what poetry is:
a cacophony of tangled-up images
and slashed-to-the-bone words.
a waterfall of bitterness and
passion and
(words, just words).
a jumble of unorthodox punctuation,
and spacing,
and spelling,
a painting with verses of rainbow-colored years.
foggy-eyed venting,
bitter-mouthed shouting,
soft-hearted pleas
to the people
(hearts and love).
not-quite sentences,
half-finished ideas,
cliches and brutal originalities,
shocking in their genuine
and raw
and profoundly inspired power
(things we didn't know we were capable of).
cravings and achings and wantings and knowings and
(words, just words).
so won't you read between the lines?
it's all so much simpler
than it seems.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
She is the Queen of the coffee shop
Watching over her kingdom in triumph
Yet, behold, the empty dais
The star on her crown glimmers little
In the vacuous suffocation of silence
Clink and clang from the servant's quarters
Is the only sound besides the jesting
Of new wave hauntings and jazz renditions
A once vibrant kingdom depressed in
Melancholy achings
Yet the smile on her black lips,
Frozen from a time of prosperity
The coffee shop poet is beguiled
And joins the queen in her silent musing
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Perched high upon burl wood roost
dangling feet swing upon
mossy girthed heritage
maple tree
Her majestic gnarled scaffold
flinches not from my nebulous gravity,
nor the weight of her unraveling
golden autumn gown
Her lamentable achings
felt in the voice
of the ripening chill
within the campfire
scented breeze
For I have climbed so blindly high,
the clinging brilliant yellow leaves
metamorphosing like these fragile paper wings,
opening palms born to soar wild as the wind,
to just let go and fly free
Waiting here patiently,
wistfully as destiny,
for the final edifying moment
of fate’s unshacklement - - -;
the surrendering to,
the moment of love set free,
stolen by the wanton
gypsy breeze
wild is the wind
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
~
“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”
Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes
“White on white destined pleadings”
Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall
“Soft curves fill unframed desires”
Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines
“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”
Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances
“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”
Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams
“Their touch breaks my will”
As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece
“And we become one via art”
Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements
“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”
Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination
Embracing iridescent ending
“Lost forever in a portrait of love”
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
She sits by the banks of my slaving heart
tossing hair and teasing the breeze,
while my tender achings gather course
through her fingers, like a winding stream...
She tells, then she laughs a hearty one
yet my envy finds her company good.
Her husky voice worms into my head
like a desire awaken in unending loop...
She opens the door and in a rush,
the hinges turn loose on my guarded longings
As I piece together my dark remains,
in she walks and makes my mornings.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
And, this bit of line,
Here,
Tells me why your heart’s
Achings pour out
So thickly
In your sighs-
Why you paint on
Boisterous smiles,
To draw away from
Your telling eyes.
My fingertips feeling,
The way the bowl dips,
Deeply,
Full of somethings
Too heavy,
Find the reasons
You can’t fall prey
To those who don't say,
But reveal,
With rottenly
Itching fingers,
&
Why I can't do away with
Those maddening strokes,
That have melted into
Cracks in marble.
You've so many
Drooping wilts,
On a wiltingly drooping line,
Dripping
Downward
In their gentle slopes,
Reminding me
To be gentle
In the way that I
Love you
In ashen days.
Though,
These three little x's,
Snickering beneath your bowl,
Tell me,
You've probably been
Reading me,
In opaquely mirrored ways,
Peering from your bowl,
All along.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
A Portrait of Love
“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”
Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes
“White on white destined pleadings”
Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall
“Soft curves fill unframed desires”
Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines
“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”
Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances
“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”
Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams
“Their touch breaks my will”
As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece
“And we become one via art”
Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements
“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”
Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination
Embracing iridescent ending
“Lost forever in a portrait of love”
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC
oh yeah, like I am gonna read
six hundred and twenty nine poems
like I have all day with nothing else to do
who DOES that?
Read stranger's poems all day long?
Really?
oh yeah okay
tell me to pace myself
and be sure to give a thoughtful response
oh yeah, okay
or maybe just give them a heart
like a martyr
I'm off to a start
wasting time which I could be reading
all of your fabulous achings
read through the hearts that are breaking
and what's with the lives bent on taking
or hurting themselves, yourselves?
I suppose a call for help
or maybe just therapy or both
either way I should say something
Oh yeah, don't be doing that PLEASE!
you write all of the very best stories
be sure to be crowning the glories
the gory's
the missives
explosives
osmosis
and every Earth poem in between
don't feel bad for me I signed up for this job.
give them all a heart and tell them I'm a slob
for poetry
don't forget I promised to follow
every day but hey....
sob
Maybe just confetti for the mob
give applause and maybe some day
boo hoo
you will be reading this too.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
People see
what they want to see;
But don't see
what I want them to see.
I tried being true,
but they thought it was a joke.
They thought I was saying the truth,
but I was telling a lie.
A lie that would make them all happy.
A lie that would look like I'm happy.
A lie that I want them to see,
to let them know I'm okay.
A lie that would mask all my achings away.
I lie to keep my burdens unknown.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Am I born to hurt others
And drown their feelings
Or to break peoples hearts
And ignore their achings
Am I living to cut them into pieces
and see their suffering
Or to fire them into ashes
And see their burning
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC