"rare" poems
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
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I would have taken the easy path
But that would leave no room for glory
I would have picked out a comfortable life
But that isn't God’s kind of story
I would have followed a prettier road
But missed the most beautiful way
I would have clung to familiar things
But lived out my days in the grey
I would have chosen what’s stable
But grown cold, apathetic and bored
I would have sought out earth’s riches
But lost all that in heaven is stored
I would have liked more successes
But not learned so quickly of grace
I would have seen myself praised more
But given up knowing God’s face
I would have tied all my loose ends
But not known it’s He Who brings peace
I would have wanted for happier times
But traded a joy that can’t cease
I would have opted for normal
But not tasted rare delicacies
I would have preferred a man’s love
But been robbed of Divine intimacy
He’s chosen for me the high road
More jagged, more narrow and steep
So now I must travel this difficult way
Ever knowing it leads to the deep
Now I must choose to cherish His path
And trust Him to walk with me there
Now I must hasten to take up my cross
The fellowship of His sufferings to share
For one day this life will be over
And all my afflictions will end
It is then I will see what all this is for
In my Bridegroom, my Savior, my Friend
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
I use my eyes to see
As anyone else would
I see the colors all around me and the faces of those I love
I love my eyes for they let me see things some can't
Like the expression on your face when you make a mistake
Or the rare smile that you hide
But now my eyes are tired
Dark circles surround them
And my vision is slowly getting duller
The world seems to be turning into a monochrome mess
I couldn't even tell when the red under your eyes
Had turned to the same black as mine
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
happiness is like a golden apple between my teeth
oh so rare & oh so sweet
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
I live in a forest of fallen sunflowers, old and wise, they speak to me of the days gone by
When the sun sets among the wilderness blaze, they tell me night is befalling, and I must make my departure
They tell of decades ago, how they’ve watched as humans lived their lives, most rotten in nature
They spoke of the one that used to tend to them, how gracious and kind, how pure and warm
For the sunflowers spoke with melancholy, for they knew that their former caretaker was well gone
So for a moment they wept their tears of seeds, and sung soft melodies of their former caretaker
They spoke to me and warned of the evils of humanity, how they were too once the victim of the evil
They asked why humans destroyed what’s beautiful around them, why they wish to sabotage what keeps them breathing
But they spoke to me and said I was a rare human, one that had good intention, and a sensitive heart
As night began to fall, I left the forest of sunflowers, carrying their tearful seeds
To spread as I walked away, to maybe rejoice and create life once more
The forest I hope will remain tomorrow, that it stands the test of time
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
That silly feeling inside,
Bubbly or fluttery?
I can't decide.
It's as if a million butterflies are just there,
Underneath your skin tickling you without a care,
They want you to know that these feelings are rare.
Embrace them don't push them.
Just let them happen.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrows sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tall stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.
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wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.
she is sweet but sad. super sad.
a good poet who wants to guide me.
but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.
seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,
and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.
"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"
my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.
my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,
how I do not want
to be skinned alive.
for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.
and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley
***no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^***
that ain't me babe.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
"Friendship day"
A growing trend
To recognize, appreciate
and celebrate a friend,
Had many friends,
co-traveled the journey
Many left when paths bend!
A question bothers today,
On this friendship day,
Can all be named as "friend"?
"Friendship for companionship"
and
"Friends for benefit"
These terms mostly fit!
But the picture is not always grim
Some stars hidden mostly,
light the life,
Whenever it's dim!
Friendship cycle too is
sinusoidal,
"Friendship in hardship"
and
"Friends for life"
Proved the best!
These types are rare,
but in need, such friends
are always there!
True friends don't need
an earmarked day,
They are together
Irrespective of distance
in the night and day!
True friendship doesn't
really need an occasion,
Whenever they meet or talk,
life becomes "A celebration!!"
Since friendship is reassured
in this way,
To all my friends from HP
"HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY"
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
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
.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
PATIENCE is one virtue so rare
That is often missing in our daily affair
PATIENCE is a companion of wisdom
He who has it stands among kings in any kingdom
It is an habit that cannot be thrown out of the window
Without it lives you in a place of limbo
PATIENCE is not just how long we wait
But how we behave while we wait
It is a virtue of grace put together to make a pretty face
One year of patience equals ten years of peace
PATIENCE is the key to contentment
That locks every gate of resentment
One ounce of patience is more than pounds of brains
Investing in the bank of patience yield no loss but more gains
PATIENCE makes lighter what impatience may not heal
Driving through a narrow road but on a balance wheel
A heart fuel with patience drives with an unseen speed
It might be a soar fruit but with a sweet seed
PATIENCE is truly a virtue acquire it if you can
It will make you a good father,a better mother and a perfect human
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
It’s rare to find
people who
genuinely
actually
truly
listen
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
When we met, love Obnubilated me.
I became bananas about you.
I wanted to be luculent.
Just to be Pauciliquent.
I however felt like a blatherskite.
You probably thought I was a glaikit.
Did I sound like a meacock instead?
If so, it’s due to kakorrhaphiophobia.
I might have operose my feelings.
Did it seem like I wanna mamaguy you?
You behaved like a frondeur.
Your callipygian body looked extramundane.
Your hair looked ulitichous.
Did you feel like I lusted your Callipygian shape?
I foresaw a love that won’t flatline.
If it does, it will be eucatastrophe.
Now we’re together, I’m disenthrall from Misogamy.
You’re a deipnosophist and a mixologist.
I’m edcious.
To keep you happy, I share a boffola.
To me, love felt like a Humdudgeon.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the Pollock-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
Be the change you want to see
Try not to judge, let others be
The rain will stop, the storm shall pass
Pleasure is pleasing and love can last
Set up for sorrow, it's hard to see
Open your eyes, switch off your tv
Put down the remote and venture outside
Get out in to nature where healing resides
Turn off your phone, log off the net
You'll be surprised with the solace you get
Write a poem, cook a nice meal
Declare your love, see how it feels
Put away the plastic, stop doing your hair
Go back to basics, even though it's rare
Laugh at your troubles, hug it out
Why are you frowning, what's that all about
A sign of the times, the information age
Escape from the trap, break out of your cage
Tell me now, how do you feel
Please keep it up, do we have a deal
Memories last but gadgets do not
Live your life fully, run from the rot
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
What I am,
Is not what you are,
Because unlike you, I never was human.
Never was able to really feel emotions, which you all adore,
Been called a demon for that reason, a monster which was deserted,
Emptiness, calm and drenched in the sorrow of never fitting in is what embellishes me, an ornament of true, cruel sadness, undetected.
And yes, I don't understand you, perhaps I don't even want to, knowing what humans are like, I accepted my fate of being alone,
I let my fingernails grow long and sharp to at least fit into the picture of a monster you have put me, because what else do I have left ?
A heart, perhaps which desires to take those under its wing whom suffered the same tragity, orphans with no place or rejected, abused.
And a body, carrying a thousand marks done by a knife, or these nails, in a cold desperate wishing to be normal at least for a day, to not be alone and deserted, with no one left to talk but a silly pen, a pocket watch which is about to stop ticking calmly, gently very soon.
An ember of light, triggers some emotions at rare occasions, which fade into nothingness as the day begins to face it's end, ah, phantoms
So, what I am,
Is not what you are,
Because I am...
A demon.
~ Umi
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
It was golden and splendid,
That City of light;
A vision suspended
In deeps of the night;
A region of wonder and glory, whose temples were marble and white.
I remember the season
It dawn'd on my gaze;
The mad time of unreason,
The brain-numbing days
When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze.
More lovely than Zion
It shone in the sky
When the beams of Orion
Beclouded my eye,
Bringing sleep that was filled with dim mem'ries of moments obscure and gone by.
Its mansions were stately,
With carvings made fair,
Each rising sedately
On terraces rare,
And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there.
The avenues lur'd me
With vistas sublime;
Tall arches assur'd me
That once on a time
I had wander'd in rapture beneath them, and bask'd in the Halcyon clime.
On the plazas were standing
A sculptur'd array;
Long bearded, commanding,
rave men in their day—
But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face battered away.
In that city effulgent
No mortal I saw,
But my fancy, indulgent
To memory's law,
Linger'd long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with
awe.
I fann'd the faint ember
That glow'd in my mind,
And strove to remember
The aeons behind; &
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From where I lingered in a lull in march
outside the sugar-house one night for choice,
I called the fireman with a careful voice
And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:
‘O fireman, give the fire another stoke,
And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.’
I thought a few might tangle, as they did,
Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare
Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,
And so be added to the moon up there.
The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
On every tree a bucket with a lid,
And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow.
The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.
They were content to figure in the trees
As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades.
And that was what the boughs were full of soon.
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I fall in love with everyone,
I'm falling hard for you.
You aren't something easily found,
you're rare,
and real,
it's true.
You've traveled such a rugged path,
but through the trials you grew.
This isn't all just simple math,
it's souls
and spirits too.
The future holds
what you can't grasp,
but you can see it through.
And when I place it on a graph,
it all adds up to you.
Scatter plot the present and past,
you'll end up with the new.
But isn't music,
secretly math,
that follows certain que's?
No!
Music
represents our love,
for all that may ensue.
It's symbolic
of our emotion,
either happy
or blue.
It's what I feel,
that prompts my life,
with what I need to do.
The sounds i hear,
release my fear,
and in my heart imbue.
A fire,
I could never start,
without some help from you.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you
you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to
a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you
oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution
i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war
i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
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This is for you:
-the girl who is so ashamed because of her acne,
-the girl who cries in front of her mirror because she doesn’t
look like Picasso’s muse,
-the girl who forgot how to smile because of her problems,
-the girl who cries her eyes out every night because of him,
-the girl who is so terrified to attach because of her past relationship,
-the girl who is different from the others,
-the girl who wants to save every soul she meets, except hers,
-the girl whose heart, blood and soul runs wild,
-you are so much more than the sprinkles from your skin.
-you're not Picasso’s muse, but you definitely are God’s muse.
-don’t waste your life being so stressed, just enjoy the journey.
-you need to be strong.Cry your heart out, but stop,your tears are too worthy , make them rare, for the real ones.
-try to love yourself first, then someone else.
-your future is not defined by your past.
-you need to save yourself first.
-run with them, darling, and never look back.
This is for you, girls.
You, no matter what, are good enough.
You are lovable.
You are strong.
You are independent.
You are different.
You are rare.
You are you, and that is your power, learn how to use it.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
Up until now I’ve never seen beauty
The way it's been presented before me.
Your beauty is as rare as a desert rose,
Covering you from the top of your head
To the very end of your toes.
I’ve seen how beauty illuminates from your skin
And shines directly from your very heart within.
I’ve seen how you looked with your big beautiful brown eyes
Revealing to the world the place where love resides.
It’s not every day that I see beauty like this in all its exposure.
When real beauty to me has been kept in its enclosure.
Baby, it’s not because of the clothes you wear,
Or the way you comb you hair,
It’s not by the voice you carry
But by the character you carry.
Your beauty is so rare.
Because girl, you continue to show that you care.
Your beauty becomes real
When you continue to show your loving smile.
And, baby, that becomes a big deal
When you’re full of determination to go the extra mile.
Beauty isn’t real and does not become so rare
By the look of your body.
Girl, that’s not why I care,
To me it’s not what you are as a whole.
You carry that uncommon unmatchless beauty
That makes me wanna get to know you better
And see very well into your soul.
Sweetheart, your beauty is real because it does come from within.
And I continue to believe that it’s always been.
Your beauty is an exotic treasure that’s beyond compare.
And that’s what makes it so precious and rare.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 5:30 AM UTC
F l o w e r s a r e t h e m o s t B e a u t i f u l
I n f o r m s, c o l o u r s and E s s e n c e s
Galaxies Even rarer
In
Fleur of cosmic Space
Threads of our dreamy dust
Embraced in no time we drift
E n d l e s s l y
Intimate Polarities Sacred Pollienation
W o m e n are Rare Flowers
M e n Create~d: for Us
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC