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Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
For Harlon: The River Potion
for Harlon Rivers

the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent

it is all of these and not one

he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river

transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully

as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly

his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,  
searching revisionary pathways

directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves

thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait, 
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position

in him,
my own histories, 
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication

this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others

but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers

<•>
Oct. 20, 2016

harlon is one of the best poets here
if you are new to his writing, be sure to tell him honestly what you think...

his work can be found under
https://hellopoetry.com/harlon-rivers/  
Uncover him, and discover yourself within

2013
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/444023/dear-mr-harlon-rivers/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1020738/winter-whispers/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1913140/in-the-river-of-good-company/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1855694/the-slow-death-of-a-poet/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1995383/traces-of-youa-fathers-tribute/

2014
Harlon Rivers:
http://hellopoetry.com/-harlon-rivers/
my personal call sign, Poseidon
Poseidon was very fitting with Harlon River,
due to the symbolic nature of the water in their names.
I have only read few of this gentleman's work,
But I can assure you his work is very much a gift to the audience,
And like Poseidon that gift is fire to humanity.
Dawn of  Lighten

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833151/a-walk-with-tonya-maria/

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1924604/ode-to-a-brimful-poetwith-a-twist/
and of course<
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1954256/drinkin-mr-coffee-and-cheap-*****/
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Mar 2017
A Bird in the Hand
A sound was heard at my
garden door
A feathered smudge found upon it

There she lay in frightened
trembling dismay
   A giant knelt ...
yet still towering above her

He reached out and touched
her pounding heart
Then cupped her warmth
in his hand

She stayed awhile until
she could smile
At the kindly human mystery

This love they shared
is uncommonly rare
She knew she could be freed

Before she flew
she whispered a song she knew
into the gentle giant’s  beard :

“I cannot make you happy
You're a wounded Bird like me ―
be Free...
you must find the strength to Fly”…

"A Bird in your hand
  is worth two in the bush ―

   Come fly away with me"...



March 2012 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
.
Thank you so much for the special feature this simple heartfelt poem has been allowed.  It is based on actual events that happen often where habitat
meets civilization.  As humans we can mitigate this footprint left behind by lifting the weight of caring with actions that speck louder than words. Who among us has not needed a helping hand when we are struggling with the unexpected?  Moments we must find the strength to carry on with a little help from our friends?

   Find the strength to fly ―

Written March 1st, 2012
reposted from my original account
.
#peace #nature #adieu #kindness #birds #audubon
Continue reading...
Dawn of Lighten Jan 2014
1st Pantheons of Hello Poetry
Ilion Gray:
http://hellopoetry.com/-ilion-gray/
my personal call sign, Kronos/Cronus
Obviously the Titan among the writers of the Hello Poetry,
He has probably the highest viewership, and most commented amongst the poets.
It becomes very evident after reading his work why he is the Titan of poets,
And reading his poem is like historical masters revisited among mortals.

Harlon Rivers:
http://hellopoetry.com/-harlon-rivers/
my personal call sign, Poseidon
Poseidon was very fitting with Harlon River,
due to the symbolic nature of the water in their names.
I have only read few of this gentleman's work,
But I can assure you his work is very much a gift to the audience,
And like Poseidon that gift is fire to humanity.

K Balachandran:
http://hellopoetry.com/-k-balachandran/
my personal call sign, Zues
After thinking and pondering,
K Balachandran is the Zues of hello poetry.
His work is always top notch,
And it has so much layer of meaning in his ink.
I admire his compassion in his work,
And his generous response.

Nat Lipstadt:
http://hellopoetry.com/-nat-lipstadt/
my personal call sign, Apollo
Nat is this exciting charismatic youthful writer like Apollo,
And his vigor is unmatched with his writing.  
His writing is passionate,
And has such strength.
It is so hard not to notice his work,
But when you do read his work,
You will know why I had him as Apollo of Hello Poetry.

Soul in Torment:
http://hellopoetry.com/-soul-in-torment/
my personal call sign, Hermes
His work is like a trickery,
When you think you got it,
You see another layer in his work.
To read his 10w poem,
As simple as it may seem,
You will do double take to see more meaning  in 10w.

Timothy:
http://hellopoetry.com/-timothy/
my personal call sign, Dionysus
Probably the most festive,
and warm poems you will ever read.
Timothy not only write awesome poems,
But also gives lot of positive feed back to many.
More I thought about Timothy's work,
It just made sense to have him as Dionysus.

KMae:
http://hellopoetry.com/-kmae/
my personal call sign, Gaia
Another Titan among the Hello Poetry,
And like Gaia, KMae is like the Mother Earth of poets.
Her wisdom and knowledge is vast,
And her writings are warm and very expressive.

Shaqila:
http://hellopoetry.com/-shaqila/
my personal call sign, Athena
Her 10w is so amazing,
I became Dumbfounded by her work,
Because it's so thought provoking.
She has vast repertoire of her style,
and it is unmatched by many I have read.
I can only wonder now a days how she is doing,
Since she has been Mia for awhile now.

Olivia Kent:
http://hellopoetry.com/-olivia-kent/
my personal call sign, Hestia
Very down to earth,
And calm resting of poets.
If you want a ink with purity,
Check her work out!

Sally A Bryan:
http://hellopoetry.com/-sally-a-bayan/
my personal call sign, Hera
Her work has so much strength,
And love with thoughtfulness,
It felt only right to align her with Hera.
Highly recommend to those who seek love and warmth,
And very hospitable response as well.

CA Guilfoyle :
http://hellopoetry.com/-ca-guilfoyle/
my personal call sign, Artemis
Just like Artemis,
And her work is untamed beauty.
Graceful and amazing to read,
Her work is innocent,
But very strong.
Try to catch her work,
But beware, her newer inks are harder to come.

Jasmine:
http://hellopoetry.com/-jasmine-9/
my personal call sign, Aphrodite
Her work is elegant,
And quite beautiful.
Has a perfect feminine quality about her writing,
And gives lovely expression that empowers love!

Noose:
http://hellopoetry.com/-the-noose/
my personal call sign, Hade
Always great with darkness,
And convey disparity like no other,
Hade perfectly convey Noose's work.
If you ever want to read decay at it fullest glory,
Noose has this covered for you.

Atul 'Drona' Kaushal
http://hellopoetry.com/-atul-drona-kaushal-1/
My personal call sign, Cupid
Probably one with most profound love poetry I've read
And his work is dedicated love poems.
His work are marvel to gaze upon,
And strong display of Eros.
Highly recommend for those who like to read love poems,
If not, check his best poem of all "Angel?"

Pradip Chattopadhyay
http://hellopoetry.com/-pradip-chattopadhyay/
My personal call sign, Helios
In my eyes poet Pradip seem to be the sun of the poets,
Always filled with bright energy.
Very mystical in this poet's ink of ray.
If you want a poem that will brighten your day,
I recommend Pradip's poems!
Please don't take it too personally to my call signs, just wanted to add dimension to my writings with individual characters, and by adding a layers to convey the best description with gods and goddesses metaphor.  Some were really hard to distinguish with the characters, and some were already taken by others.   With limited 12 gods, it wasn't perfect, while some were dead on!

This is to recognize some of the best poets I have met and read, and while everyone is good in their own rights, these few people really stood out for me as the pantheons of Hello Poetry.

This may change after 2014 review in 2015, and make a completely different list when the time comes.  Who knows, I might just stop after this one!

This isn't completely finished, but for now this will do.  If I want to add more stuff I maybe inclined to do so, but with limited times as of late due to work we shall see where my attention spanned will take me.
Continue reading...
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Dear Mr. Harlon Rivers
Dear Mr. Harlon Rivers,

When I was young,
I wrote like a young man,
With fervor and righteousness,
But heartfelt was not eloquent,
only self-satisfying.

Now that I am an old, old man,
My mind does the best it can,
Simple lyrics born in the poverty
Of a mind in an angular decline.

But never did I command the
Troops of this language that
You have under your command,
At this, your peaking, your apogee.

Your master key unlocks all
And set our souls soaring,
But yet we cannot reach you,
For you orbit at the point farthest
above our modest reach!

Your Admirer and Devotee,

_______

Please sign your name below if you agree.
You know how.
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Jan 2017
The Slow Death of a Poet
...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter

invisibly dying from the inside out
no one is looking into unseen eyes
no one can hear a muted voice fading
no one is close enough to be near

the deafening thrums echo
anxieties’ racing heartbeat
within morphing flesh shell ,
gasping for new breath
in a hovering stale silence

from a distance
the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ;
much closer the reflection reveals
someone I once knew by heart

now an unrecognizable mask
enshrouds a terminal emptiness
inconspicuous at a fleeting glance ,
impossible to discern what storms rage
from the inside out ,... unnoticed  

an uncontained wildfire
smoldering within,  lies in wait
for the imminent winds of change
to fan the flames into the final
eternal silent ashes

a poet reaches out demurely
offering a candid look
into the window
of the imperfect human soul

there is no poetry
met by indifference
just gathered unread words scribbled,

squandered time
dripped slowly on an empty page ;
moments turn into days
days turned into years

invisibly dying from the inside out
an unfinished life trickles out
like seeping blood evanescing
from a bottomless puncture
wounding ... penetrating the heart,
leaching out the slow death of a poet

for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ...

befallen to indifference is poetic death
by salted paper cuts ...

a muting suffocation
that hiddenly erodes away,
silencing the passion
of a musing soul
one unread word at a time ...


© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
it is an enigma how poetry evolves in meaning over time
― like a self-fulfilled prophecy, some become transformational, some become new beginnings or some become a finality of a metamorphosis of peaceful endings or deleted attempts at understanding the misunderstood...

... all to be determined and allowed to let be

― THE END ―
#poetry #poet #life #death #thoughts #perspective #indifference #remembrance #mortality #rawhonesty
Continue reading...
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
Ode to a Brimful Poet...with a Twist (2013)
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal

the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir

Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide

His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst

needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time

Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding

The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being

A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.

~

The Twist

This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.

Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.

I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.

For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.

It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers

by Nat Lipstadt
one of us, his tongue Moses-stung, with a hot coal of language's divinity
~
this would-be poet,
weighty troubled by misdirected words
of a musing troubadour,
for if ever a reflecting pool ought be
a two-way mirror reconfigured,
this poem is deservedly reversed
and of him homaged

by time, well weathered the poem above,
it's simple elegance tips and tilts the scales,
double blinding the justices supremely,
binding them for honesty for the subject,
is the auteur, one who sees too well
and yet l!
cannot perceive himself in his own words,
when now needs the judgement of their verdict
and your worthy recognition

now I ken better distance 'tween artist and art,
I, a workingman's daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in the waterfalling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue
and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
not I,
one of us, his tongue, like Moses-stung
with a hot coal of language's divinity

blessings, the keenest of nature,
where they divide and how they intersect
his brimful heart in our eyes fulfills the passerby's thirst
for revelations, small shards of shared sensibilities

my voids filled by the words of his quill

"to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees"

This was written April 15, 2017
for Harlon Rivers
by Nat Lipstadt

behind the poems,  travels another world…
#lipstadt #brimful #poet
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Aug 2018
a fistful of sand
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints  in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave


A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam


Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide


Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky


There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo


Each new breath inhaled,  disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
    in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held


Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger



harlon rivers  ...  August 1st,  2018
a piece from the TRAVELOGUE collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/27104/travelogue/

Getting away from my ordinary life maze seems to be changing perspective; moments still unfold as they are intended, but there is less peripheral distraction, more focus on the simple things that enrich life in the moment.

I did not plan on posting anything else until back to daily Internet access
in Fall ... plus, much I've scribbled these days, seems derivative of the last  pieces i've published: that said, this is of the present moment and as close to peace as I've tread in eons:  Thank you for taking the time to check out something newly written at a time when my web access and participation @ HePo is sporadic at best.   :)  rivers
#metaphysical #pathway #footprints #marooned #summeringaway #travelogue
Continue reading...
harlon rivers May 2018
On half-moon lake ☽
(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
#travelogue #chronicles #narrative #journey #loons #halfmoonlake #nocturne
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Jun 2018
"Crossing Over"... Dad's Final Voyage over the Columbia River Bar ... points beyond the Pacific Ocean
.
Red sky at morning ...  sailors take warning !!!
First dawn's light steals away over the towering Cascade Head.
A heavy autumn dew dripped from the Whaler's bow rails
as sun rays  flashed like beacons from rain-forest  headlands on high;
where Pacific Northwest rivers September equinox dawning ebb
pushed us mercifully unto the chilling stiff autumn sea breeze.
Dappled sun reigning through the pinkish purple morning sky,
patchy fog adorning the awakening inshore headlands atop the bay,
shining from the pearly gate’s mission bells higher ground ,
beckoning another fisherman lost and found at sea come home...

Heaven’s lighthouse alerts the celestial sky
of the impending eminent soul journey,
highlighting the distant horizon’s breaking swells
capped of white meringue  sea foam.
Sea gulls escort precious cargo's final voyage,
gliding gracefully in the shadows of the firmament,
our lungs filled , revitalized with the salty air's poignant elixir
Pelican vanguard's white light reflection guiding our vessel seaward ,
alone in a perfect storm...

Northwest gales standing up the ebbing tide’s uprising crescents,
waves pounding in rhythmic flow;
calling all angels!   ― my ruminating mantra and plead
The Clatsop Spit’s dangerous song resounds the stark reminder,
life's raucous changing seasons, prevailing winds beckon
with the allure of siren’s call,
that now is nearly here ...

The countenance of flowing salty tears liberating release ,  
vast ocean's raw sheets of saltwater spray would not hide .
He just sat and stared at the seaward horizon
while the telltale tears flowed,  perhaps an unspoken dream
of a merciful final surrender with eyes wide open,
love steering our vessel west where sun shines to set ;
now far beyond the visible ache,  for mine own eyes blur
trepidation teardrops rained as sheets of frothing sea.

The wordless conversation known,  the compass full circle drawn  
like the sacred salmon's cycle ends to nourish back ancient sage
unto its own mandala ―  forever beginning life,  eternally drawn
through river estuaries ― stirred by ebbing infinite tidal pull ...

There is an oppressive weight found within paternal understanding,
and yet,  as certain as the dawn promises the inevitable setting sun ;
all things must pass as sure as all things begin ,
someone you love most,  longest in short life ,
has come forth to break bread at sea as the torch is passed ,
sharing life for the last time comes too soon ― with little warning ...

There was an emotional unidentifiable hollow pang brooding ,
as if letting go gradually,  yet potentially instantly,
that drains every last drop of a breaking heart ache ;
waning strength swallows down hard ― stifled sighs ― lumps in throats, words better left unsaid ― only cleansing tears flow, knowing when they start to purge,  they might not want to stop again.

This moment's final autumn’s changing season’s waning ebb
That final riptide will forevermore change all other rivers’ flow
where oceans set mother earth's rivers free until the end of time ...

My father ― a man's man who seemed to find a peaceful Zen ;
an unfinished life was reborn that day to see it through
as my hands grasped the wheel , compass held steady.
The son to carry on the weight of love and compassionate understanding ;
love born in the blood inspired the fortitude to carry on.
As a life flashed before my eyes on that final raging Pacific sea,
instincts mused by ancient Tyees’ souls stirred drawning sun's
radiant rays of perception ;  accepting this life on earth
would never be the same but would just simply be ,
knowing this light's shine will never glow quite the same again ,
yet radiate a more deeply vivid luminosity...

We melded into that first day of Autumn,
falling silent , and yet our heads held high
There was nothing left to be done but pray with eyes wide open

“spirits of all oceans of mother earth …
show the sacred salmon's tragic heroism, the way back home to peaceful waters”

Few words were spoken as everything was silently said.

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose,
under Heaven"

The Outrage cleaved the surging Pacific's heave, knuckles white,
the wheel held sway,  climbing mountainous long ocean swells
breaching the south jetty's giant boulder walls ;
there rolls the mighty Columbia jaws,
where all Rivers suffuse with vast oceans, eternally free ...


.... Harlon Rivers    .... September 22nd . 2013
Post Script:
With fondest loving memories of my father's life and times shared~
So much of this day's memory is deeply repressed and each year I try to free a little bit more but each year passed has been privately circle filed, yet I try again to be set free..   Purging emotions so intense that they are nearly blacked out... I did not realize the basis of depth until later private moments... It was in fact the day of the Autumn Equinox a few years ago,  a final birthday celebration of sorts combined with bringing the Boston Whaler Outrage, home.   Dad passed 1 week later after this trip from Pancreatic cancer ...we spend the final 72 hours alone together at Hospice after his birthday..."Crossing Over"

Not unlike myself, there was an inherent restlessness to my father. We found a peace, unlike any other ― one with nature. He used to like to say he felt at home on the ocean. He went out as many as 30-40 miles alone on the rare occasion the Tuna came that close to the NW Oregon ― SW Washington coast...That may not seem like much in land miles, but you cannot see land from that distance and the Columbia River's confluence with the Pacific Ocean is known as one of the most dangerous bar crossings in the world. I thought Dad's life would have a very different ending...this one never crossed my mind, letting go is far more difficult than hanging on ― rivers


June 18th, 2017   Fragments of the Sea
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1954243/fragments-of-the-sea/

June 12th, 2012:  Memories of My Father's Traces...
A tribute to my father ...  
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1995383/traces-of-youa-fathers-tribute/

Thank you for reading ― have a great summer :)
#fathersday #tribute #father #dad
Continue reading...
r Aug 2013
Harlon Rivers
Fishing for salmon
Stare that bear square in the eyes
Help you forget your gone friend
Have a hell of a good time
Fishing for salmon
Continue reading...
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
in the river of good company
in the river of good company

I dedicate this poem to
Mr. Harlon Rivers,
one of the best poets (here)
and from his good company,
i could drink all day and
never be quenched

~

Preface

sometime, the heart wants it wants,
denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised

sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you
awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes
the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and
mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing
uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed!

do believe this condition can be found in the medical books
under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation

my heart wants to write a poem,
cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet
from the heavenly crime scene,
and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place,
when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^

~~~

in the river of good company**

simple sentiment but good god
all I ever wanted and so oft lacked
such was my fate, one I made,
had plenty good words for boon companions,
the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves
cross my face, a love lapping slapping
of concentric pebble rings,
till like most good things
gone good goes bad,
it just happens to evaporate and
you think someday, maybe,
you will walk again in good company

the brain says quit right here
but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition,
for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under
palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so,
memories,
of when
you walked in good company

men women no different - it is that heated aura
tween bodies that confirms that you are once again
a human being, just a being, temporarily
enhanced, elevated, by good company

so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says -
one more for the road can't hurt ya,
write that poem -
and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman,
will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot,
do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured,
drinking from the river of good company,
mouthing not even dare whispering,
satisfied satiated, loving and loved
~
all reposts greatly and  grateful appreciated!



4/2/17 9:24am
the perfection...
~

K. D. Lang - The Valley (Jane Siberry Lyrics)

I live in the hills
You live in the valleys
And all that you know
Are these blackbirds
You rise every morning
Wondering what in the world will the world bring today
Will it bring you joy or will it take it away
And every step you take is guided by
The love of the light on the land
And the blackbird's cry
You will walk
You will walk
You will walk in good company

The valley is dark
The burgeoning holding
The stillness obscured by their judging
You walk through the shadows
Uncertain and surely hurting
Deserted by the blackbirds
And the staccato of the staff
And though you trust the light
Towards which you wend your way
Sometimes it feels all that you wanted
Has been taken away
You will walk
You will walk
You will walk in good company
I love the best in you
You love the best in me
Though it's not always easy
Lovely, lovely
We will walk
We will walk
We will walk in good company
The shepherd upright and flowing
You see
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Jan 2017
Harvesting Poetry from the Tree of Humankind
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother

Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry

A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases

A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy

Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths

As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
  
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...


© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
#poetry #poet #heart #soul #transformation #enlightening #deference #treeoflife #onelove
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Mar 2018
wild iris
sword-shaped
wild iris leaves
pierce the meadow sod,
reaching outwards
from cold reclusive shelter
beneath native strawberry
carpeted  repose

juxtaposed  ―  smoke rises
to  the  sun
like the basal verdures
of fleeting winter's escape;
crawling up an invisible
spiral staircase seeking
the azure heavens
r e n a s c e n c e

a  nexus ―
stormy winter’s windfall
and,
  irony of a wooden match,
gathered winter tinder
inflamed,   sacrificed
to the heraldic spring skies
of the begetter;

just  like
the  wistful  soul
beheld a simple  man
that impatiently rests
on the threshold
   of a dream,..
unnoticed
by the billowing silence
of evanescent
winter exile:

daydreaming
a peaceful ascendance;
dissipating puffs of smoke
drifting  away
unto the ether,
weightless as light


harlon rivers ... spring 1st, 2018
thank you for reading
the past moments shared
#spring #renascence #nature
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Oct 2016
Cleansing Rain
Look up and breathe it all in
The sky is crying, exploding
with a torrential waterfall.
Inhale natures’ showering
an unblemished symphony
The black cloud’s unavowed weight
lingers invigoratingly overhead

Emotions ebb and flow
with the moment’s
immanent spirit of light;
there is a liberating sensation
that excites anticipation
of the sky’s impending
purposefully fated  release ...

Heavens… flood down holy water
in a drenching act of baptism
a merciful drowning in a river
of celestial tears
Dowsing rains wash over
in a cleansing rain

Refresh the dust and ashes
the fallow summer leavings
What once was a blossoming presence,
evolving into a dimming  
cold winter reign...

Now all that remains is but
a shadow of what once was;
hearts and bones nearly eroded away
by the years of fallen tears

To rinse away unrequited love’s
stagnant inversion, washing away
the invisible bonds that bind
to the loathsome heavy ball
of an unforgiving chain ...

Know the cleansing rain
is the spirit of love, washing over
a malnourished heart of soul;
exposed and bared naked
to a remiss world

Looking out with thoughtful eyes
into the boundless universe
Never to stop believing
rejuvenating dreams course beyond
this long road

Imagine the storm clouds
parting in the ominous
threatening sky
as an uplifting awakening light
comes shining through;
renewing the promise
that surrendering to love
shall renew purpose

and it feels like rain...
baby can you feel it (?)

December 2012 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved                  .
The first cleansing rains of Oregon Autumn
sent me looking back for this poem
from The Word Whisperer collection
unpublished here after the conclusion
of my original hp account...I guess at some point
the more things change the more they stay the same?

Its hard to believe it went from : "come September ... when the leaves come falling down"   http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1759619/come-september-when-the-leaves-come-falling-down/   to "cleansing rain" in such a few golden autumn days...
#love #rain #nature #thoughts #rejuvenation #cleansing #republishing
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Jun 2018
Towards the waning midnight sunset
I saw the sun steep
into the seascape ―
lonely as a drowning
    wave
         on still-waters

the dimming of the day
rescinding evanescent daylight                                                         ­         .
fading with the slack tide
         lost at sea ―
a gloaming moment
         let fall from
the remains of the day,
like some other passing
sea bird's molted feather
drifts away untamed

I sit silent as the driftwood
lingering at the watermark,
watching a random gust
    erase the footprints
of another recurring day, 
bearing abandoned memories
    and vacant heartbeats,
atrophied in the drifting sands

    and I see you walking
    towards the abating  
    midnight sunset ―
         but I know
    you're just a mirage;    
like the dimming afterglow
of so many waning moons
            elapsed
         
ever-changing tides grow low  
and promises made lightly  
         do ebb away
          
Scanning the distant horizon ―    
    a blindfold heart    
    mooning all at sea;
parsing a deserted shoreline,
    wondering if love
          is too late ,..
    to stem the tide ―


        harlon rivers

      30   May   2018
Note:   apologies for the inconsistent reading, posts and replies.  Internet access comes and goes out here off the grid.   Thank you for taking a look through the words― h.a. rivers

Chronological TRAVELOGUE collection:
9 of some more here; published & unlisted

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/27104/travelogue/
                                                                                                                     .
#ninilchik #alaska #travelogue #midnightsun #thoughts #allatsea #you #unhealed #pothole #lowroad
Continue reading...
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
Nice Jewish Boy, Poet ******, And ****** Of My Own Life (July 2013)
5: Nice Jewish Boy, Poet ******,
And ****** Of My Own Life

Dedicated to the people
Who keep me company here,
Some in the mid of night,
You know who you are...
and the POlice trooper who caught me
doing 85 in the HOV lane.  Cost me 200+ and 3 points on my entry ticket to heaven
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Listening to Daughtry^
Like ya oughta,
Singing very loudly along
to, and as it so happens, when
I'm agoing
Home.

Long neck Corona
Cooling my sweaty brow,
Top down,
You betcha my neck is
Red, and the officer who just pulled me over
Ain't looking none too pleased,
In fact, he's alooking a little red too!

Officer I said,
Saw that sign,
30 MPH Minimum

Swear I was doing
At least that
Above the 55 speed limit.

He said, it's ok dude,
I like your music taste,
Heard you singing
Daughtry and Green Day,
James Blunt and Nickelback
In the HOV lane,
Maybe even some Buble
I may have heard, as well,
But don't Miranda incriminate yourself!

I like your taste in beer,
I like that you don't use no sun lotion,
If it's ok with you,
I'll just stand here and listen,
And maybe, join you later when
I'm off duty, at the station.

Officer, a nice Jewish boy I am,
Officer, a good ole country boy from the city,
Wear Harlon River's hat when he ain't,
Went out fishing with RRR (r) on his boat,
Woodpecker chaser,
got me a .45 neath my pillow,
And you should see me gut a

Poem*

Slice its belly open,
Sometimes straight, sometimes Askew,
Feed the gulls them
****** insides on the dock, by-moonlight,
Can ya cut me some slack?

Mmm, I see here in your license,
You are a disabled guy,
A **** poet ******,
Who often does his best work
Legally all alone in the HOV lane,
So I'm gonna let you off this time
Just with a warning!

If you drive and compose,
Ya gotta observe the signs posted:

No more than five per day,
Poems can you post

If singing while driving,
Top gotta be down

No writing about drinking,
there are underage children
Reading your wrotes

Finally,
No more sad poems,
The world is way over its quota,
No mention of scars or pain,
Tears, loss, broken or going insane,*
No heart sickness on sunny weekend days,
Got it?

It's a big problem in these parts,
If you see one, report it to the
Poetry Authorities!

Yes sir Officer,
If you give me your name,
I'll slip it in some little
Unobtrusive limerick,
By way of a thank you note,
Cause after all
A nice Jewish boy
I.am.

He said that won't be necessary,
Voyeuring yourself ain't illegal,
Just bad manners.
But if I catch ya one more time,
Using those aforementioned bad words,
And doing 85, in the left lane,
I know where ya live, and
I'll see ya 'when September ends.'
Full of references, enticements, to friends and some ole poems left out in the sun to rust, cause sometimes it be the rusty ones that make you glad in so many different ways...and happy to be alive...this one was gifted to me by Harlon, so I gift to him, right back at ya!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Home" by Daughtry

I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.

The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love remains true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.

So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,

Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don't want.
Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old.
I said these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
I'm going home.
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Mar 2018
Only one hears a silenced heart ...
An indifferent ache swirls in the silence
throbbing like a dancing candle flame;
no one understands the heart of silence
moving the darkness with its ancient dance

Its voice is only felt but never heard
the way it whispers the reality it bears;
disrobing the nakedness of a fragile heart
exposing inherent truth deep in disguise
retouching the chaos passing of love laid bare

Unspoken emotions that nobody hears
float around a muted tongue benumbed by fear
doubt is a bitter taste that knows not love
searching for a labyrinth to begin to wend a better way
trying to feel the unfelt warmth of love in an endless cold
waiting on a frozen emptiness that never thaws

No one understands the haunting fear,
... surly it couldn't happen again ― and surly it will,
a heart stifled silent,  silence doth loudly peal
                poignant dreaded words:

                 "It's not you ― it's me ,.......
      I love you but I'm not in love with you"

and like winter dreaming for the sun to reappear,
to come back again and dry the memory of fallen tears,
a hushed heart falls off the earth lost in ether shadows lay
mooning in the lonely silence within moonlit dapple

When you pull love too close ― it will push you away
some silence heals ― a dissonant silence cuts to the bone

       Only the lonely feel a silent voice sigh
         Only one hears a silenced heart die ...


               harlon rivers ... March 2018
#silence #emptiness #muted #heart #thoughts
Continue reading...
Path Humble Apr 2018
Harlon R: A simple man walks a twisted lifeline
By Harlon Rivers; sent to me in a message
3/17/18

A simple man walks a twisted lifeline
a Path Humble, seldom seen or said.
He often hears from river edge,
watching the simple beauty echo
in the harmony of river's song.

And in the green and peacefulness
a rare light enkindleth a pleasant gladness,
A timeworn body needs a place to catch a breath
for a while, for a while...

Where the wisdom of windblown silence beckons
muted whispers without a home …
for to lay down unerasable burdens unshed
for a while , for a while...
#harlan #ph #pathhumble #lifeline
Continue reading...
harlon rivers May 2018
Beyond Majestic Bounds...a prose prologue to: ' Beyond the Telegraph Road '
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott

... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P  Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top


crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.

the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.

I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.

watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;

...inciting
a conscious moment,  
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.


harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2528185/beyond-the-telegraph-road-a-poem-in-memoriam-of-the-love-of-friends-brothers-promises/

postscript:
the poem above is notes turned prose poem...still stirring from a moment remembered. We were best friends from the neighborhood just shirt of 20 years.  When we were teens, skiing, we used to look up to the tip top of Mt Hood and say: "someday we'll climb up there together and look back down here from the top";  four years later i saw him drive away down our gravel road for the last time ― you never know which goodbye is the last ―

This is a piece inspired by climbing a snow and ice packed, 12,000 foot dormant volcano in the cascade mountains of the Pacific Northwest.   The original, that this is intended to be an intro for, is "Beyond the Telegraph Road"
  
Edited to say: Thanks for the encouragement Laim...without it I may not have shared the rest of the Memorial day story here at HP...
#rivers #soliloquy #mountaineering #promises #friends #humility #honor #respect #prologue
Continue reading...
harlon rivers May 2018
' Beyond the Telegraph Road ' ― a poem in memoriam of the love of friends, brothers & promises ...
" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus

                 ~              ~               ~    

The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,  
just below the timberline

The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach                                  
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world

My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon  
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds

It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down

What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song

The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me

While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away  

I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.

Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...



written by:    harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
Authors notes: a prose prologue;

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2528189/beyond-majestic-boundsa-prose-prologue-to-beyond-the-telegraph-road/

5/26/2013 Edited to delete the back story:    ...thank you for reading.
#rivers #soliloquy #mountaineering #promises #friends #humility #honor #respect #prologue
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Feb 2018
Awakening  a  Familiar  Silence ...
The hollow wind funneled the voice
of the distant night-train crossings,
awakening  a  familiar  silence
hanging from the vast wilderness sky
A restless heart hearkening the echoes,
imagining  a  runaway  Pullman
flew away off the rails,    airborne
on the winged wind headed north

Winter  pausing  for a moment
in  the  shadows  of  familiarity,
as if parsing the unspoken breathings
in an  echoless  surrendered sigh;
uncertain if tacit words set free
could ever allow a heart broken
        to feel whole again

There  is  no  absolving  voice
that whispers in a solemner tone :
        Death  has  no  mercy  ―  
love remains marooned in the wake ,..
and it feels like the world’s gone mad
letting time be the arbiter of perpetuity

The fading dream of a motherless child;
a wish to be held maternally
fell to the ground with a thud,
        breaking the silence,
dissipating formless as the shape of water

Muted cold lips so full of questions
morphing into fugitive sighs
come the unsettled night;
when shadows disappear like frail memories
that  passed  too  soon  to  grasp,
thickly palpable as the warm breath
a winter bird alone on frosty branch

There’s no fear in braving the darkness
in the  winter wilderness of life borne alone
There’s no way of knowing what you’ll find
down that long empty road back home
Life just flashes by silently before your eyes
        through the windshield
    of countless miles and miles

And there’s nothing you can do about it ―
It’s like hearing the moment of truth in a lie
when all I was looking for
was  how I got here in this now,.. yesterday

only finding a hopeless poet
scribbling  slightly stained pages,
spilling  a  bitter  sweet  dream ...


        harlon rivers ... February 2018


///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
1st night back home:  the end of a 2400 mile road-trip

I know I can't catch up here, all anyone can do is start again..

I've heard it said: "starting with the ending is the best place to begin."

Thanks for reading !!!
#travelogue #roadtrip #nighttrain #winter #breathings #roundtrip #journey #death #thoughts
Continue reading...
harlon rivers Mar 2018
Spring Mountain Willow
Crimson maple buds magically pucker
under brightening skies
Lenten rose reluctantly unfolds
absolving the shadowed snow,
stemming the wintertide

Spring's impending bloom
mystically stirs the delicate human heart  
soothing from outside its sheltering shell

A converging pleasantness
of a sunshine sown awakening
cleanses each morning breath drawn
to sate an urgent restrained longing

The wilderness carpet comes alive
with a burgeoning salient sweetness
drawing out a glimmer of gladness
from stale suffocating darkness’
wallowing in the winter ennui

Another kind of poignant balm sinks
from the tall mountain willow tree
touching the sprouting blue sky

Furry fragrant catkins blossom sweetly
like the remnants of a love once known
softly brushing against a fading memory
of unerasable stains begrudgingly beget

Like fawning flowers falling fallow
in a passing season’s pollination breeze
Manipulating frayed heartstrings,
unhealed as the deer peeled scars
and rubbed bark of a mountain willow,
scarred  from another season past

Some protective shell ― never grows back
when benign heartwood is brought to light


harlon rivers ... Spring 2018
#spring #nature #paradox #healing
Continue reading...
harlon rivers May 2018
Finding lost rivers ― ( a travelogue )
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―  
spinning with the
world go round

Circling back down
a long and winding road;  
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,  
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
  
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run

The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low

Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―    
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―

A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,  
towards the Alberta prairie

White knuckled steering wheel
held sway,  rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
          reincarnation; 
default reset button paused ― 
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
            jars it free

Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
         a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
  like a fading last breath

Letting it all unfold to become what it is


     harlon rivers ... May 2018
       ... travelogue 2 of some
#travelogue #soliloquy #narrative #consciousramble #roadtrip
Continue reading...
harlon rivers May 2018
in memoriam to memories
“You cannot hold it, but it will cradle you.
You cannot see or touch it, but when contact comes,
You will see me, hold me, as in the days of your youth,
When you loved me best,
And I, you.”

From: Seven New Poems for Seven Days #2: Hover
... by Nat Lipstadt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


in memoriam to memories:
for Miriam and Nat


reading each thought numerous ticks of days,
imbibe the silent of the silence
hanging from the rafters this wilderness roof;
grayed heartwood walls that separate
fractals of inseparable distances ― celebrations
the roads taken ― memories of those left behind
at the side of the mile untrodden


Congregated love and sorrow’s spoken words
scribed on paper bark touchstones ―
etched watermarks of perpetual tides
patina the afterglow of life's ebb and flow,
traces of everything and naught can ever fill


Experiencing intimate moments immemorial;
the whispers of living pulse still murmurs
in the gentle breeze between the gathered words of heart
breathing deeply ― a rush of systemic truth
born in the wholly sacred blood bequeathed


A soul outside the lines ponders ―
the sum whole of a life well lived;
coming to understand, although
all might not see the same light shine:


there’s a place one day we’ll return
we found along the way
because one day will come by here …



harlon rivers ... Memorial Day weekend ... May, 2018

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Out yourself.
What will you be remembered for,
if at all?”
... Nat Lipstadt

seven poems (+ 1) for my mother (July 2013)
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2509850/seven-poems-1-for-my-mother-july-2013/

thank you for sharing the love, friend...
#memoriam #memories #love #thoughts
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harlon rivers Aug 2016
Standing Barefoot on Rocky Ground
Come walk with me a mile...
Walk on without our burden’s weighty shoes,
warily trudging over the long rocky pathway
a lifetime in my soul.
A final edifying voyage to freedom.
The winds of change are blowing briskly
as we walk charily over the long and narrowing
rock-strewn passageway.

I shed these boots and skin, no longer fitting
my scared, blistered and callused soles.
As time slowly passes,
this craggy passage has evolved
from a two-way trail,
into one-way jagged forage…

Standing barefooted and naked on rocky ground,
dark sunken sleepless eyes scan
the rolling vista as the wind blows
dust from the halo around the sun,
blurring the delicate wispy cirrus clouds.

The sun’s radiance paints frozen ice crystal azure
into a vivid aura of prisms’ brilliant corona.
Kaleidoscope rainbows adorn the closest of solar stars.
There's something in the ethereal air
that leaves my soul unsettled,
grasping for an evocative stability
trying to understand the silenced voices
crying out within…

The pain and suffering has vanished
as if the body and soul have separated,
numbness from the ache of longing,
severed nerves, callused fears
ruptured on serrated rocky edges,
deadened useless flesh cut to the bone
by misjudged obstacles encountered enduringly.

The barefooted spirit courses on,
suffused in the solar spectrum’s dust;
yearning, longing to saunter
above and beyond the bloated feathery pillows;
cumulus clouds finally resting at peace.
Dipping heart's lesions and these benumbed toes
into a healing balm
from the bowers of bliss..

An unfinished life
an open ended dream,
reluctantly waking to take the last ,
surrendering steps  beyond the threshold...
A long and winding rocky journey’s destiny
draws near

The halo around the moon
illuminates an understanding firmament;
the celestial sphere’s
pending imminent soulful rain awaits
the metamorphosis at the brink of dawn.

A shower of heaven's rain
shall mourn the loss of flesh form
as the spirit of an untamed soul lives on,
barefooted,
naked and free
like the dust in the wind
absorbed eternally...


2011 © harlon rivers
all rights reserved
Hope is like Faith, believing in something you can't see,
but knowing in your heart it’s real.

We all have faith in something...

"Never deprive someone of hope ~
it may be all they have"....Anonymous
.
#life #thoughts #soul #journey #seasons #aloneness #ouroboros #rockyground
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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
In Their Own Words: “All I’ve ever learned from love is....”
In Their Own Words:

“All I’ve ever learned from love is....”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So come, my friends, be not afraid.  We are so lightly here.
It is in love that we are made.  In love we disappear.  Tho’ all the maps of blood and flesh are posted on the door,  there’s no one who has told us yet what Boogie Street is for.                                     Leonard Cohen

All I've learned from love that it appears on its own timetable,
and, all I've learned from love is, it is the purpose. Harlon Rivers

“is crazy and this is infinite and ever so sobering wondrous possible"
Medusa

It is a paradox of two people - in debit to one another though each may never realise;
and neither one of whom would ever consider recalling the debt. Gideon

A headlong charge into a vast unknown that promises fufillment of every lacy, perfumed dream, but may instead deliver wrenching wounds that only another love can heal. Lori Jones McCaffery

every fantastic mistake I ever really made! Drunk in shallow bar light with a woman of my wicked dreams who laughed as loud as me at our shared ****** jokes we both got. We loved for awhile and then wandered and still loved forever as we found other dim bars with more wicked dreams.                                        gray dot (unknown)

All I have learned from love is to give more than one receives unconditionally.                                                ­K Balachandran


"love is the great equalizer: ignoring age, race, education, wealth, religion, disability, and sanity... simultaneously capable of lifting all to the highest highs and dragging all into the deepest depths. In love there is no pride or ego." forgotten

that just beyond is a hidden trail, where a magical river of the purest water flows free. Here and only here, my heart can be revived, and my mind is stilled by the silence I find. Love’s call is gentle. Joey

“that love is as love does.”
victoria

All I ever learned from love is the meaning of the word, "unconditional!”.           SE Reimer

Sometimes we fall in love, and sometimes love falls on us.
Stephen E. Yocum

it is gentle rage, come like sun through clouds, to feed parched earth....one word to set life a tingle, the first smile of a golden
boy's day.  The last caress before sleep, the letting go of a dying
friends hand and the gathering together of companions for food
and laughter, love comes in many guises, has many faces and is
lifeblood to the soul hiding within.                   betterdays

where the beginnings end and the ends begin.    Elizabeth J.

The burial of fear and all we’ve ever known In hope for a new flourishment.    Dante Rocio

that life flows in abundance of peace, harmony and balance when I
surrender to live in love.                                                            ­    Cné

that love assuages hurt and heals the wounded...it rings with melody
and dances to the heavens.  It’s the divine giving over of body and mind;  it's mystic transcendence an overwhelming feeling of pure ecstasy.                                                         ­                              patty m


that love is a dunghill, and I'm a crow that stands on it and caws.
                                                           ­                           Thomas W Case

Acceptance.  Acceptance of myself and of the ones I love.
                                                           ­                                    Kelly Rose

It is easier to give love than to accept it.         Walter W Hoelbling

was what I learned from her...Love is above, beyond what we all wish, we had to touch the sun, the moon, the stars; everything we have.                                                                            Temporal Fugue

that it is unique; it makes the softest body, hard, and softens the hardest heart.                                                           ­     poetontheroof

Our hearts tied but I don't know how.                       Anonymous

Love has the ability to surpass life. Even though you are gone I still can’t stop loving you. “Love leaves more behind than death ever takes away. “ -unknown.                                        Love Storytelling

to never go searching for it. That's it, I guess.                      Aparna

has been gleamed through the sacrifice and service of a few extraordinary souls.  For true love is borne of sacrifice, and
it compels us to serve.  Without those elements, it cannot exist.
                                                                 J Klein and Sons Pen Parish

it requires curiosity to truly uncover; it is an emotion
that makes us uniquely human.                                        Angelique

that sometimes it hurts and sometimes it thrills, but
love that kills your pain is always worth the dying for.                 r

it is a gift from God, most precious and not to be abused or taken
for granted.                                                         ­ South by Southwest

how to hurt.                                                           Andrew Crawford

is that, it comes like lightning...it jolts, it makes, or breaks a future;
it hangs around, no matter what, if it's meant to be...yours...
all i've learned from love made me a tree, with fruits
with a blend of sour and honeyed truths, it is heaven...
when bared, shared... reciprocated.                            Sally A Bayan

that it is hard and it hurts but we cannot live without it... there is no storybook endings. You take the good and bad and make it what you need.                                                            ­                     Melissa S.

The burial of fear and all we’ve ever known
In hope for a new flourishment. Dante Rocio

that I can’t, won’t, don’t want to ever live life without Love! ♥️ Feeling Love Sparks everyday forever and always ♥️ Loving Love Glass Slipper Girl

to accept it when it is given, to share it when it is felt, to cherish it because it is a gift and that whether it hurts or it heals, it is far better to have experienced it than to not have.                                  BLT

that love is...forever studied; gravity, it is akin to the sense of gravity;
it can never be explained, felt, or experienced, but never grasped in ones hand.                                                            ­              wordvango

that if you have it, you should give it.                                  amanda

how to turn up my face and surrender to the rain.  
                                                         ­             Clementine Valerie Black

that God is love expressed by Jesus, and I'm my best when I imitate Christ.   Christos Victor

the most over analyzed, overwrought word that remains after thousands of years, completely
inexplicable.                                                   ­             onlylovepoetry                  

it's a strength and weakness, ecstasy and agony, a belief and fear (of losing), emotional contradictions yet so intrinsically precious to be worth living and dying for.                          Pradip Chattopadhyay

the emptiness of smothering empathy for all that lives, feels and needs.  It's to bear eternal suffering...                                   Traveler


red.                                                                                                     Fog


to give, far outweighs the take.                                        Mike Hauser


that it lifts open our minds' eyes, overturns our fears in this vast expanse of the unknown - it etherally reveals our connection
Melody

how deep is my ignorance.                                              Joel M Frye

that love has nothing to do with ***. It has everything to do with sick kids at 3am and holding back your friends hair when she pukes in the gutter crying over some ******* who just dumped her. It's selfless.
                                                       ­                                                 Acme

noth­ing compared to what I've learned from pain.                 v V v


the things I’ve never learned.                                               M-E

that is the cancer and the cure; the detour and the straight line; proof of reincarnation and death everlasting; the intersection where extreme selflessness and selfishness meet, becoming indistinguishable; it’s shapeless, nearly invisible, and yet known to everyone; a verb, a noun, a conjunction between and a preposition to a beginning and a dead end.
                                                            ­                               Nat Lipstadt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thanks to all the participants, so far...(see the note below)
This is an open, living poem; anyone should feel free to message me to add, amend, or delete; just message me directly; won’t modify if you just comment.

one more thing don’t ask me to add an old poem that is only tangentially related: write a max of two or  three sentences that
clearly and directly responds to the title...

format is.deliberately sloppy, just like the subject    
matter.

and the original version (2017)

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187204/all-ive-learned-from-love-for-leonard/
#their #words #all #learned #love #lipstadt
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harlon rivers Apr 2017
Thunder Whispers Beneath
Earth Day, April 22, 2017  "give back to Earth",
as an "offering" for all the planet gives us.**
For Global Earth Day information visit:  http://www.earthday.org/


       Her ominous shadow
             shown a path
   far beyond the miles high
  a majestic mountain stood

   Silently climbing down
         million year old  
      steep canyon walls
               at dawn,
  each step chosen carefully
     coursing with purpose

    Finding a way forward
         was the only way
           to look back up
      river carved ravines
     where higher ground
              once stood

  Instincts drawn downward
       gravity feed towards
         the faint murmurs
       deep echoes tracery
   down sheer basalt cliffs

          Artesian waters'
       resounding gurgles ―
     bubble up to quench
     a lost soul’s incurably
   intrinsic parching thirst;
       to find an unfolding
       metamorphic peace
     in the trove of igneous
     fountain veins of earth

    There’s not need to wait
      on sunrise pathways lit ―
   there is no fear of gravity’s
     downward silent weight  
      nor burden to be borne

Listening beyond dark silence      .
      igneous bedrock roots
     beckon deeper expanse ;
  spirit realms of ancient souls
     whisperer like thunder
        to the soul of man ―

Awakening ruptured lifelines
    deep below earthen crust ,
    creations hidden essence
     eternally remembered
         by the light above ...



April  2017 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
deep artesian rivers flow
from the wellspring fountain of soul...
     homage to planet earth ―
Celebrate World Earth day ... April 22nd, 2017
#earthday #path #gravity #earthveins #nature #npmearthday #thoughts #souljourney #rivers #fountainhead
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Fah Aug 2013
laughing with the universe
Well - didn't i say , we'd be in new spaces ... Harlon Dearest

THey got my email somehow

but i got the pictures before it was closed down

i'm a director now
we found the island
it's great working with ya - just saying ,  mad respect to the living dead

just ghosts floating around in machines

i just wanna love everyone ya know
and make sure they are all fine and happy and tuck them into bed with some cookiesz for lunch and just chill about and yaknow have fun :)


i love you harlon rivers from the day you were born to the single day you died and still in eternal (!)
life is
this .


this . is life and the messages from the bottles are all coming back
and so we just send more
and more

and we send them across time answers and space's questions because those fabrics are real and they leave some zeal and i won't keep it under wraps
rivers flows are free and rivers flows don't have eyes that see
they have eyes that carve and caress and breathe and leave the mess till after

we got the cleaners in at the moment

hART

CLEAN THE HEART
AND THE SOUL
YOU KNOW WHERE TO GO

YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO

I AM THE WOUNDED HEALER ON THE RUN


WHAT WE FIGHT IS VERY REAL


but don't you worry

i got friends on all sides

heh heh heh

didn't i tell you i was naughty ...but nice

;)


A little drop of poison  doesn't **** the man quickly

no , his punishment is slow and painful

but i dance with the devil

i have a crown of butterflies and black roses

every day i go more and more insane


jokes we all millionaires up in dis hood

ain't a penny that is wasted

we grow our own food -

metaphysically .

*****.

oops and i being rude again. i swear to you this country is a mess

there ain't no country for old men better than the wild planes of I AM ERICA (translation AMERICA: PEOPLE OF NATURE )

LOL THEY GOT YA


HAHAHAHA
WHO ARE THEY?

THE JOKERS


THE ******* NUTS JOKERS

WHO FLY BY NIGHT

TO DEFEND YO ASSS
BY TEACHING YOU A BIG UP LESSON

NO NO PLEASE DON'T STOP ON MY ACCOUNT
IT'S COOL

YOU JUST SHOUT AND SCREAM AND I'LL BE THERE


INFACT
ALL YOU
NEED TO DO

IS PICK UP THAT CALL

THAT MESSAGE

AND WE WELCOME YOU IN


I'M SHOUTING *** SOME OF YA'LL ARE KINDA FAR AWAY

IN DREAMLAND....LOL.
dreams are real
and have value worth more than money can buy

use wishes wisely
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harlon rivers Sep 2018
One Man's Wilderness
words drift away unfettered
from whence they came,
passing like undreamed clouds
– pragmatic eyes to the sky
   in a searching stare –
unsought thoughts disappearing hence
a fog bow fading into sunlight

there are days when
   it comes out in my silence
there are days when
   it falls down in my tears:

muse – muted in poet's pause,
heart and soul whispers
  laid bare unwritten
  behind parsing eyes
disregarded words let loose,
        ungarnered
the way low hanging fruit
falls benign — unharvested —

   shortsighted  insight
   from a bird's eye view
silently fermenting traces
and unfiltered memories
come and go unheeded words,
discarded like the passing
   time of our lives

at times  it's  ludicrous
   to follow down
lingering footprints
left behind callous:
when the shoe won't fit;
slogging across eroding
time-worn stepping stones
scattered on this twisted line
these feet have been walking down,
trying to make a getaway
   from myself

walking away from the memories
like so many indelible footprints to escape
– while dreaming stardust into stars
   in nameless constellations –
reaching out from the inside,
   site unseen,
   trying to experience
   the empirical shape
   of  stifling  silence
   in a theatre made by chance

distilling the gifts and burdens
of trying to live a worthy life
   only I'll see...


harlon rivers ... September 27, 2018
pondering reticence, my recent hesitation makes me wonder — do you ever just not write down the poetry that is right in front of the eyes of your soul? This is the last piece i've written and feels as if it could be... but any poet knows — you can't steer a river

"One Man's Wilderness" by Richard Proenneke, is the title of a book I read twice this summer "Alone in the Wilderness"

"poet's pause" a truism/expression coined by Pagan Paul

Thanks for reading.
#travelogue #life #thoughts #poeticpause
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