.
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—
the 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 in
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
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
Why do I write
When my castles fall
And every time it takes its toll
I tried to protect it
By guarding the shore
For tides take
What ever I make


My castles are sand
I know its bland
But like my poems
I know its little bit dry
But I always try
To make it glorious
Though words are not luxurious
For my words are true
No matter how plain


I will protect my castle
No matter what
Even if the tide takes I back
Cause if it falls
I will make it again
Like my poems
Will continue no matter
How much I'm in Pain
I will continue to write no matter how hard it is.
The arrival of the night on distant shores,
completes the cycle of relentless waning hours;
In circular repeat of day's end glories,
we softly whisper life's reflective stories.

With moonlit skies as constant company,
our feelings caught in wondrous reverie;
And love is but a boastful source of care,
when suddenly the sky grows dark and bare.

But in the swirling essence of the night,
we set about to make our memories right;
In tossing sway the rumbles of the waves,
allow us to submit to what we've craved.

Approaching dawn with sunlight from above,
finally satiated by passion's whirlwind love;
Our shadows fall like twins upon the beach,
as knowing smiles creep gently 'cross our cheeks.
PoserPersona Aug 11
During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin's annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
daily did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Not once upon a time but now
among most innocent ones,
an Arabian voice is buried
in the thick wall of bricks
furnished with glory,
floating in the oasis of money.

Yet, when it switches to it's origin
then maybe is a poor Arab speaking.
Still the rest of the world
                                 can forget the oil
                           it's no sad story anymore
the sand beneath his feet shines
                                 brighter than the gold!
English Jam Apr 21
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly

Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath

Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea

People in suits war with each other for bloody glory, sign a strip of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche

Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this

P
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I have stuff to do, but I ended up procrastinating and this was the result.
on unending grains of sand
wind has its way
sweeps past also in gusts
sometimes with gusto
evenly tempered
no wants only whims
season upon season
the sands change
never two alike
we never met
but i feel your words
reveal more than this dust
a grain of sand
solemn, immutable
sending lessons
to us all
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