Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
harlon rivers May 2018
(a travelogue)

He stared down through
the unbroken silence
lapping the shoreline
Water skippers dart around
the rocks and windfall driftwood
settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds
and emerging broadleaf sprouts

A petrified heartwood timber
lie fallow waiting bare barked,
hushed like a pining lover’s
     timeworn love seat,
     rubbed smooth as
     the crystalline waters
     of  half-moon lake

Lingering for a while  ―  
like a hidden stalker,
a perched wildcat waiting
for the full moon’s  
swooning spell to saturate
the thickening dusk quietude;
     arousing the urgent
     call of the wild —
exhaled from the held breath
of the wilderness nocturne
    on half-moon lake

The stillness was scattered
with the soft downy hairs
of the sleeping cattails,  and
the newly shed catkins
a spring gust bestrewed
from a tall resin birch tree
nigh the Sitka willows

     He  sat  quietly ...
     time out of mind ―

tossing his eyes up into the sky;
taking the time to read the stars ―
catching  them  each  again
as they fell into his gentle hands,
to show him who he was

Seeing their sparkly tracers  
trail-out above the cattails,
     from a distance
they resembled falling stars
unable to perceive their own renaissance ―
plashing lightly upon the still-water
     on half-moon lake

A lone shadow glides stealthily
near mid-tarn,.. swimming  
enchantingly with the grace
     of a blackswan
Appearing to glance shoreward
at the glowing low stars
rise and fall, as his eyes
twinkled skyward over
     the moonlit lagoon ―
heavenward of its moonlit ballet;
the lone sleek dark shadow
     slipping through
     a faint circular ripple
stirring the smooth as glass waters ―  
disappearing like a fleeting moment
     waning deep aneath
     a subtle silent wake.

When all the clear lines blurred,
he knew it had been so long ...

     but hearken !
… an interceding
     long drawn out wail  
     echoed  a feral ache
     across the stillness,
     breaking the silence ―

as the shadow reappeared;
     his tears surrendered
to the undulating call of the wild;
he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,
     as black and white
     as the moonlit night,
stir deeply in his wanting heart ―
     lay bare the silence
in lengthy yodeled psalms
to the god of the moon

Diving down deep yet again,
keeping the light he’d been given,
vanishing into the lifespring
sanctuary of half-moon lake


harlon rivers ... May 2018
travelogue: 4 of some more
Notes: i'm certainly aware i've not been here as often and active as i once was. **** happens and so does life, and it will ... so much so, the travelogue chronicles felt worthwhile for a moment, the first 4 were from the 1st 3000 mile leg of a 6000 mile and 6 month round trip road-trip journey ―

All apologies to those that found the length of my work tedious.   When i've tried to make the ink go other than where and how long it flows naturally ― i fail and stifle, paused in my own sown silence.   Too predictable to continue to ignore ― peace
i) i write about 'love', 'romance' and 'intimacy'
like the bounce of pebbles on a train track
so perennially, so frivolously, so rashly
yet the only sentiment i am truly riveted by
is the hollow static of 'desire' -- one that
washes off with the grime from your body
at the end of a high

ii) everything is transient

iii) and so i think i am
Lox Albi Aug 2016
I could pen you aesthetic poems, my moon, that may sound out of tune in your ears,
But I will etched it intricately to unveil the runes with the magic of my heart.
I will write painless words in verses about you with my angst about how I feel.
A crude balderdash I will bleed to evince the unspoken message of my love;
‘Cause I love you like my pen I use to cast love dusts to ghoulish mess,
And I love you like how the unlovely chaos turned into divine.
Like masterpieces I have read from famous poets in the land,
That is as beautiful as the way your soul shone upon.
Like the love of a frustrated damsel for her pen and paper,
I long for my name to be immortalized in your memory.
My love, I love you like poems bestrewed with elixir, never-ending,
For as long as I have life, I will inscribe my love for you deep in my soul,
In my mind and my heart, that even death cannot nullify.
Hear the silent intertwining piece of a loving poetess.

~lox albi
Kel Oct 2018
A thousand letters for you

To tell how I feel

To tell what I've been hiding

To finally be real



Its time I adopt confidence

For this is plumbless

And comes from the heart

That's been under that hut,



I would have said this a long time ago

But I couldn't

Afraid I'd be befriended

Or worse, rejected



It would hurt true

Dreams bestrewed

Hopes shuttered

Ego humbled



But am ready,

Ready for anything

Ready to take it in

Ready to tell what I feel

to finally be real



Its not by sheer luck

I got to know you

It was meant to happen I choose to believe


For that reason I took a pen

And wrote this

Only for you

For it comes not from being poesy

But something I have always wanted to say

There's a difference between loving and being in love

Same as the raven being different from the dove

Let me call you my love

Let me here you call me My love



Love me more not just as a friend

Let's do this for days on end

Take it to another level





See my hands

That's your image I suppose

A thousand letters

Meant to propose



Will you be my girl?
Tashes Sep 2018
She let the remnants of her heart fall

And embrace the ground like the bestrewed leaves.

Little did everyone know

Autumn was more than her name for her.
Adnan shafi May 2019
In a vicious country, and a distant age

A girl was born of biddable and

penniless parentage,

The moon that glittered upon her

blessed birth,

The sky that vouched for her blessed

birth,

On the planet Earth when she was

born,

The flourishing birth of love

bestrewed

nonchalantly all over the room,

Her dazzling and delicate eyes ceased

the days of grudge,

Her arms like the flabby branches of a

tree, softly

Kissing the earth,

Her lips like the petals of a flower,

And her cheeks burnished like

sunflowers in bloom,

But as time passed away there

followed after

The blues of opprobrium,

The sound of a sour high-pitched

shout,

A moment of decrepitude;

of solitude and sadness,

A sigh of pain,

Beyond a lot of pain, her parents were

poor,

Yet they brooked to tender her,

Years passed by, she grew lovelier still;

On her face, the exuberance of

devotedness and harmony was

inveterated,

Her world, the amorousness of her

parents

Father’s adoration and mother’s kiss.

She never believed herself alone,

Her talking in low tones,

Like the birds luscious warbling in the

treetops.

Breezily and promptly sped the quiet

days;

The beautiful girl has flowered into

juvenility,

And still, her glamor was not faded

away,

And still, her notions were the truths

of probity.

Then, like a voice of floods,

An untamed wind washed everything

away,

The pacification, enchantment,

contentment ;

of her parents

As she was *****, spoiled and harmed

by sharp knives

Then a body, crippled, dead, lacerated

and imbrued

Her face vague

Yet over her soul,

Mortals blubbered with fears and

hopes

Much yet remains unsaid –

The coffin was laid,

Her body shouldered and finally

consigned to one of the graves of the

graveyard in Kashmir,

And is still unjustified.

— The End —