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Jesse stillwater Nov 2018
Flaming bridges up in smoke—
ashes scattered in the wind
Requiem to passing yesterdays;
vestige of all that’s lost —
bestrewn in prevailing currents
amongst the drifting autumn leaves

No smoke on rising waters
— lingers between
growing distant shores
Untamed rivers rising
rinse away
the taste of sparks
spake from silent tongues

Portaging all that once was
with all that could never remain, 
back to the briny deep 
An uncontainable
rivers pilgrimage —
entombing reverently
ancient fractals of being

Sowing feral rivers' ashes —
sacrificial scatterings of destiny
washed afar unto the flotsam
on shoreless stormy  seas


Jesse Stillwater
November 2018

Mused by a poem by melissa rose

"Spreading my ashes"
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2808566/spreading-my-ashes/
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 ..,
                Om
         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

sub-entry:

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
Paula Swanson Jun 2011
Beyond yon roof, of sod and thatch
Beyond yon door, of wood and latch
Beyond the reach of man's morals
Beyond yon hedge of thicket Laurels

Dwells a creature in forest veil
Dwells one, that lives, beyond the pale
Dwells, who takes victims with care
Dwells, who with, blank eye does stare

Watch, it does, from beneath the moon
Watch, it does, from shadows bestrewn
Watch, it has intent to bespell
Watch and feel its brace impel

Whilst, I hold, dreams sempiternal
Whilst, I invite, days be final
Whilst, I take last, sweet breath
Whilst, I embrace my lover....Death
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Beseech thee !
I feel your deepest awakening secrets stir
Whispers uttered in immortal Winds
Calling to the Fountains of my soul
Standing the hairs of comfortably numb
Spilled breath bestrewn upon frayed Mortality

Oh wilderness' soul ― I Bequeath thee !
The ashes the deepest Oceans my heart
As circadian Tides have ebb and flowed
Forsaken feigned love’s misbegotten guise
Now chastened sightless before an unseen labyrinth
Beset by a human blindness that decays all light

Oh wilderness' soul ― I Entreat thee !
Cleanse this molted flesh ― time shed ―
Artifacts of perfectly imperfect traces
Reminders of things we strive to forget
For in the self-loathed aching Silence
I feel the urgent pull of Wilderness' Soul

          Reaching out ― Benignly
       to Entomb my Heart and Soul


     Someone you used to know   April 1st, 2017
another try as spring renews
... thank you for reading ―
traces of being Nov 2016
A sallowest silence drips,
drop  by  drop,
into open muddy palms

The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just  below  where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find

A hidden pathway
lies  untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise

Where wild mushrooms
rise  blindly  from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes

The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the  only  shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging

Fallen Lichen scattered
like  wild  feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of  the  heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing    beyond
emerald dank bejewel

Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled  void  of  affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos

The stone cold silent languor
rises  up  through
thickly grasping moss

Wind  stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise

A twisted pathway
leading  somewhere  
I  yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning  from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling

Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes   me   feel
a  little  less  removed

Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...



                                                          ­*wild is the wind
November 23rd, 2016

It is a time and season I often embrace the roots
my ancient native north American continent  heritage ...
I'm joined at the hip with earth mother
and pay homage through my humble writ offerings
acknowledging the divinity and her infinite amazing grace ―
traces of being Feb 2016
.
Musical brush strokes paint
               the pink honey moon
               full and bright ;

the melody wafts lightly
               with a sensual scent
               of Jasmine fleur

Lonely hearts sip the sky’s
               lambent elixir’s gentle persuasion
from separately dispersed novas

the perennial blossom of the perpetual tide ..,                                       .
               merely pined moonlight

Immersing wholly in wistful reflection
               alight on wellspring emerald pond

Verily unspoken words cavort
               like musical rivulets spiraling flow
into the crystalline echo

Luna’s haloed heavenly sighs ,
               emanation bestrewn
               shimmering through dark nebula

like shooting stars shattered
               by the weight
               of their darkest radiance,
echoes upon the tide-less mirror pond

               the nimbus of moonlight
               imbuing all the ways I want you
. . .


wild is the wind ...© 6.17.2015
from a year ago, still longing for the touch of solacing song in the breeze as the waning last winter moon stirs the ache of loneliness
The black night’s ebbing tide
erased the only remaining hints,  
the cresting long ocean swells
did not cleanse without a trace.

Adrift and lethargically bobbing
seaweed entangled teakwood box
of water-logged photographs, drowning,
surrendered from the heart of the sea

Like molted wild feathers cast ashore with the tide
to the coarse specks of rasping  sands,
Darwin's dream in an emptied  sea-bubble popped,
dissipated into its own haplessness,
bestrewn about an untrodden seashore  

Washed out snapshots of life’s disregarded minutia  
enchained to an ordinary forgotten Kodachrome moment
left out to the consequences of the ever fickle tides,
abandoned happenstance spilled by chance
upon another undiscovered world

The warped and bloated wooden box encasement,
hoary with swollen furrowed woodgrain s,  
wearied by an enduring measureless moment adrift;

as if an ill-fated message in a misbegotten leaky bottle,
corked with marooned good intentions,
and images of disappearing dreams
flung out shipwrecked in barnacled azure glass
beneath a sky so far away


*someone you used to know
harlon rivers Oct 2017
The warm autumn breeze
         scatters the leaves
     like spring  snowflakes
      I carefully hand stack
        them each by color,
              one by one,
           as if they were
          befallen dreams
                     or
      similarly unholdable
               gathered
      garnered memories
                      •
        each leaf touched
             reminds me
       of how many times
          I've had to let go ―
         how many times  
                I've fallen
     without a place to land
   until the winds of change
         drew me back up
               as if I were
   evanescent autumn leaves,
      to be swept away again,
         touched by the spirit
             the true nature
                  of  love
                      • •        
        sown seeds of one love
           bestrewn hopefully,
             thusly cast about
              just as intended,  
   the grain and chaff together,
     sifted by the velvet breath
        of the samsara wind's
              sanguine touch

                     •  •  •
            

  autumn waters ... October 29, 2017
Post script:

Samsara: The eternal cycle of birth, suffering, death, and rebirth

1. ( in Buddhism) the process of coming into existence as a differentiated, mortal creature.
2. (in Hinduism) the endless series of births, deaths, and rebirths to which all beings are subject.
Citations:  Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged, 12th Edition 2014. S.v. "samsara."

Hand Stacked Leaves
Written by:  h.a. rivers
traces of being Dec 2016
.
I cradle my head
in my palms

There's an inerasable vision
of hearts and bones
inwoven in a spider web

Untied forget-me-nots
writhing disentanglement

A collage of all the dead roses ,
tawny petals bestrewn across
a fallow frozen mind-scape ;

hidden behind eye-lid's
hesitantly arising curtain

just like a noir movie screen

I saw love disfigure me



                                                       *wild is the wind ... December 4th, 2016
written in a spilled pensive moment
I may need a title that helps flush out
the underlying unspinning a cocoon ?
Carl Halling Jul 2015
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.

Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting ****** in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
                                                                    
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
                                                                    
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
                                                                    
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
"Tales of a Paris Flaneur" is a relatively new work in its present form, having been based partly on a story written in about 1987 (and subsequently destroyed), and partly on material written specifically for what became the autobiographical novel, "Rescue of a Rock and Roll Child".
Jenn Schwartz Mar 2014
For one hundred days, we set sail without as much as one distraction.
But the skies open up,
the waves begin to groan.
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound,
and a wave broke over the railing.

The lost ship would not float again,
with tattered sails and opening seams,
and deck bestrewn with falling beams,
in the deep ocean it will remain.

I feel your fear and despair.
I was much farther out than you thought.
I scream but nothing, nothing will come out.
You’ve gone too far…..
Another nameless sailor’s ghost lost to the sea.

As the tide just sweeps and sways,
When will I find my way home?
Where is the shore-line?
Will this open water become my tomb?
Whoever told the sun to wake?
And whoever told the moon to clutch the sea?

Alone, yes alone, I may not survive.
The water’s getting so hard to tread
with these waves crashing over my head.
Just a hug could make me feel like I was never alone.
Light rain-drops fall and wrinkle the sea.

I should have known the tides were getting higher.
I will fall asleep,
to close my eyes is to be at sea,
and live eternally, immortally.

There was never any way of going back to the old world with any sort of victory,
or good tidings of new discovery.
At sea I sail in the bellowing gale,
on my way to the end.
I made this a few years ago. This was a lyric poem of lines of songs and poems combined into one poem. Sources:  
Line 1: Sinking Ship by Glamorous Enigma
Line 2: Shipwreck by Mary Weston Fordham
Line 3: Shipwreck by Mary Weston Fordham
Line 4: Sinking Ship by Glamorous Enigma
Line 5: You Took Your Life by Ann Bedford
Line 6: Not Waving but Drowning by Stevie Smith
Line 8: With Ears to see and Eyes to Hear by Sleeping With Sirens (written by Sleeping With Sirens)
Line 9: With Ears to see and Eyes to Hear by Sleeping With Sirens (written by Sleeping With Sirens)
Line 10: The Prodigal by Jamie’s Elsewhere
Line 11: Anchors by The Amity Affliction (written by The Amity Affliction)
Line 12: Lost At Sea by Richard Steinmueller
Line 13: Lost At Sea by Richard Steinmueller
Line 14: Anchors by The Amity Affliction (written by The Amity Affliction)
Line 15: Alone On Sea by Allenika
Line 16: Even the Rain by Agha Shahid Ali
Line 17: Oh How I Miss You by Clara Thompson
Line 18: Souls and Rain-Drops by Sidney Lanier
Line 19: A Prophecy by Asking Alexandria (written by Ben Bruce of Asking Alexandria)
Line 20: Don’t Fall Asleep at the Helm by Sleeping With Sirens (written by Sleeping With Sirens)
Line 21: Eternity at Sea by Annie Cordelia Adams
Line 22: Eternity at Sea by Annie Cordelia Adams
Line 23: Treasured Moments by Ron Tranmer
Line 24: Eternity at Sea by Annie Cordelia Adams
Line 25: Lost At Sea by Richard Steinmueller
harlon rivers Mar 2018
A moment recurring
does wash away
like a river rock
The smooth surface
of an eroded stone
is just as hard
as the abraded silence
that  rivers
through  loneliness

Sometimes terrified
of this foolish
blue moon heart;
of its constant
hunger
for  whatever
it is it wants;
the way it stops
  and starts ,..
like a revenant whisper
fanning
smoldering embers
of  fallen  stars
buried deeply
in  the  catacombs
of an unrequited heart

out  of  reach,
just a step away,
but close enough
to touch the crumbs
of some other's love
       bestrewn sanguinely ―
marking the footprints
calling down
an unshorn pathway
never  found

At a deserted crossroads,
many a moon
tiptoe past
inconspicuously;
unnoticed fallen stars
stagnate lightless
in a flash of darkness,
moving back in time
just  standing  still


harlon rivers ... March 2018
Cassidy Vautier Apr 2014
she is disarray,
heart of quandary,
clutter of thoughts,
bestrewn responsibility.

she lays
cool grass tickling her cheeks.
her entire world,
tangled as the spirals in her hair,
drifting overhead.

that day
she let go of the shambles
of everything that was.

her worries,
once so heavy,
became the clouds.
and she had nothing but blue skies
Ceyhun Mahi Oct 2018
I can't even find traces of your feet,
The dust has covered all places, every street.

All the bright tales who are concealed by veils,
Are filled with cries and smiles; bitter and sweet.

When the moonbeams are bestrewn at night,
Waves lying towards shores flit, float and fleet.

As long as the Cup of Youth is sipped from,
Smiles shine like the moon and stars who retreat.

Gain, gain and gain, but it still feels empty,
For some reason, the soul feels not complete.

That Gihon is dream-drunk and world-sober,
From sleep to awake like the Phoenix's heat.
''Stars who retreat'' is a reference to an ayah of the Qur'an: ''So I swear by the retreating stars -'' (81:15).
Cassidy Vautier Apr 2014
you’re looking at me through street lights and dark
you’re looking at me you’re whole world falling apart
waking the neighbors, you cry alongside the rising lark
darling don’t worry i’ll hold your world together with my heart

the demons aren’t real yet you make them your home
screaming behind walls of traumatic stress you call your own
tearing at silk stitches, flashing smiles of chrome
eyes of green lament, it was the world you let drag you down

the glistening stars fall dim in a hushed morning sky
beautiful eyes, you look at me with such deplorable lies
that night, the car, you in my arms, the words: we could die
heart beat rampant, eyes glazed with clouds you whisper goodbyes

you’re seated beside me, apologies and feelings left bestrewn
lethargic beauty, you act as if you are the daybreak’s evanescent moon
mind collapsing into craters, you threaten forever so soon
James Court May 2017
Drag, drag, drag your boat,
gently through mud and **** that
before was a stream

Humpty Trumpty sat
in his gold penthouse chanting,
"We will build a wall!"

Old MacDonald had
a farm on cleared forest land,
E-I-E-I-O

Do you know the nut-/
gluten-/dairy-/egg-/sugar-
free muffin man? No?

She sells seashells by
the steadily rising and
trash-bestrewn seashore

If you're happy and
you know it, get a shrink; it's
2017.
Got any more ideas?
Denis Barter Jun 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!


Rhymer.  June 27th, 2018.
ravendave Sep 2017
In the valley of forever
where yesterday once ruled
we walked in hand together
in country spare and cruel.

I let the child within myself
embrace another's heart
but soon I found myself deceived
alone, and more apart.

The soul that yearns for solace
seeks another place and time
a place where truth and righteousness
are king and queen in mind.

Such journeys are but simple paths
bestrewn with bitter roses
that pressed within an ancient book
once opened, never closes.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!

Rhymer.  February 11th, 2018

— The End —