A restless night

Last night , a restless night  

thoughts churning ,

ruminating edgy thoughts

void of peacefulness

  

Last night , a restless night

tossing and turning with an awakened allusion ,

 the distance traveled circles back 

through introspective doubt ,

metastasis borne of outrospective disquiet

Last night , a restless night

dreaming bulbous snowballs expand in downhill motion ,

the inertia of gravity imbibes truth to truth

leaves a wake like an avalanche of fallen dominoes ,

an unidentifiable shadow of confusion

Last night , a restless night

awakened isolated ,

questioning whence this shadow come forth

questioning what was this shadow once

in the truth of light ?

Last night , a restless night  

metastasizing doubt , 

like unseen malignance

eats from the inside out ,

past premonition  transcends

Last night , a restless night

peace so close yet so far away ,

peace befogged by metastatic unease

leaving an inert dawning shadow of doubt

Last night , a restless night …

© Harlon Rivers ... December 2013

Giving Back on Thanksgiving ...a journal entry... republished

"Were it not for hope, the heart would break."~Scottish proverb





Please reach out to those less fortunate...there are countless “homeless families”…

Some thoughts about spending Thanksgiving with the homeless …A hot meal truly is the beginning of hope... Love is a purpose for being...

On this morning after, I’m walking off balance, on a bit of an emotional high wire. There has been an emotional roller coaster ride going on for about 365 days now, that has come full circle. It started out with an unexpected repressed memory flushing to the surface that more or less knocked me off the rails. If dealing with that wasn't enough I was back on a very emotional journey back to a rescue mission I had visited on Sunday’s with my Sunday school youth group much earlier in my life. I had been there for other reasons too. I've been back there several years in a row but this year was so much more emotional than past years. There seems to be so many more homeless people and the families with children?...Well it just breaks my heart. 

 I don’t want this to be triggering for anyone that reads but I would still wish to share a little because it may encourage someone else to get involved and lend a helping hand. I have to be honest there are other safer ways to help. There are many charities out there, my favorites include animal shelters, this mission for the homeless and Hospice. Don’t read on if you are triggered by a highly sensitive, emotional description of experiences at a homeless mission at Thanksgiving. There just is no other way to tell it because it is what is real…


Here is a snippet of what went on from my journaling:

Slept poorly as yesterday’s food prep time, and some clothes and blanket sorting, was reason for some soul stirring and pots and pans stirring too. The best or worst part is that because of the storms last week more stuff was needed. So I helped with the coats and hygiene sundries first. Right out of the gate while helping organize the messed up piles of used clothing while, street people sorted through them, I interacted with 2 different homeless men and one women, likely a street walker. I’m not being judgmental here; I want to be honest and realistic of the painful parts of the real world that were experienced at this intersection of destiny.

The soft spoken woman politely thanked me for a soft warm blanket and a coat for her little girl. I also gave her a personal hygiene packet full of women stuff as well as many pamphlets and brochures about outreach programs.

Back to the men whom I feared I'd have more difficulty reaching out to. Not at all, after the first sentence from one of them. He asked me if I thought a coat he had in his hands would fit him and would it be warm? I said “yes, my friend... I knew that because that coat was formally mine, I just brought it here a moment ago”...There was no time for warm ups or stretching just instant reality of the street…The tears flowed from these two eyes and his glowed back in return. Next he pulled a filthy handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to hand it to me to wipe my eyes...I quickly snorted and wiped away the tears with my sleeve. I then walked outside by a line that was waiting to get in...Anxiety hit me and I thought of running. I walked a block away with tears flooding my eyes and then turned around 180 degrees, back to my commitment. You see, I realize I needed them more than they need me.

The other man was not so chatty, so I spoke to him but we did not look into each others eyes. He either saw or felt what had just happened so it was pretty quiet and awkward. I dug in and found another outdoor coat I had bought the other day at Goodwill for 1/2 price and asked him to try it. It fit well enough; it was warm and a bonus...water proof! He couldn't say much but after I gave him the same packet as the others, well the one for men, he asked me “Will you be here tomorrow, early?”. I said yes and that maybe I would watch for him and try to serve him dinner at 10 am by the way...Knowing full well there would be so many people that it could be nearly impossible to meet again.

This was a very personal experience...Enough life went on in 2 days to write a book...At this moment I am emotionally exhausted. An Empath feels all raw emotion as if it were his own. Being an Empath is not a form of mental disorder...It can cause overwhelming social anxiety which no one I have ever met has really understood. But this entry is not about that...It is written to advocate for the homeless...Please, please understand how much it means to give what you can...love is all there is...


“ I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget who you are, but people will never forget how you made them feel. ~ Walter Winchell

The wooden chair on Mt. Pleasant street

The Wooden Chair on Mt Pleasant Street

the chair sat innocently alone on the linoleum
red and white square tile kitchen floor .
the kitchen dish towels that bound innocence, hands and feet ,
were draped across its cushionless cold wooden back and seat.
the indelible leather belt with metal buckle
still aches from the image scared on the heart's walls .

never asking why anymore , age has taught a hard lesson learned ;
understanding that everything is not meant to be understood, yet
trying to accept that which shall remain eternally unchanged .
melancholia triggered by the passing calendar page flips ,
reminded each moment can be gone in a single heartbeat

flashbacks cause a twitching tick in eyes corner ;
tears begin to stream down onto the chill of memories floor
the conscious moment slipping away in moments like these ;
the strength of age , the promise that time's seasoning heals ,
cannot help grasp the edge to stop the slide
a fleeting consciousness fades as the dark scene's pages
play back the black and blue secrets of an old noir home movie.

the looks from the corner of eyes
are felt like unintended persecution .
the whisperers heard under muted breaths  ,
infinitely haunt for a lifetime ;

those questions suspected but never asked ,
the questions answered that were never suspected .
there are reasons this now is and was not the plan
and yet thankful to be mostly whole ...

notes:

... Everything in life you think you've figured out ,
just reveals another path to another set of questions ,
understand this moment has come to just write what you feel ; leaving written traces of past now’s within the words , is a life choice ...

© November ... 2013   Harlon Rivers

Beclouded Pathways to Healing

Anxiety drips from the sky onto the dusty twisted pathway
Large raindrops from an ominous swellen thunder cloud hover ,
compassionately abstaining the perfect storm's wrath
The pathway is distinct and finite and yet temptation
to turn back overwhelms when fear and doubt
intersect with conscious reasoning

The sky surrenders droplets ,
crying as each teardrop spills over nimbus ,
plummets , splashing as a small cloud of dust releases
its puff of haziness arising from mother earth’s grasp ;
beclouding the tentative vision of what lies ahead
on this long and uncertain journey

Each step forward is accompanied by an unsettling
sense of trepidation of the familiar and unfamiliar
Faith in belief in unseen miracles ,
must overcome  the murkiness of muddled doubt ,
for the next step to be mindfully taken

The heart and soul are strong but the flesh is weak
Conventional wisdom predicates
that the human form is flawed, born to fail
Unseen remnants course with the winds of time
scatter like waning traces of dust and ashes
strewn infinitely about the universe

An unfinished life must discover
the strength of will to thrive
when adversity enshrouds direction
Just when succumbing seems imminent ,
inner faith and hope must be embraced at all cost

It is said; “It’s darkest before the dawn”
As our soul journeys ,
the aurora of spirit from within
manifests strength and courage from uncertainty ,
illuminating understanding
that life’s purpose is incomplete

Each step reluctantly taken transcends doubt ,
yet each step is taken in a leap of faith
There has not been growth in this life
without paying the price
Enduring sufferance
cultivates understanding , vigor, valor

Muse of thought is found in knowing
the Bald Eagle adorns a naturally healed broken wing
Its feral spirit could not soar above , yet again ,
without enduring pain and suffering steadfastly
through the trials and tribulations of existence ,
while universal energy
holistically mended her broken wing

The Bald Eagle’s splendor soars over
the shroud of the dusty shadowed trail below
The dust garnishing the melancholia sky
shall one day be lucid at last ;
glistening with a vibrant blue azure
adorning the sunny radiant heavens perpetuity …

authors notes:

"The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step " ...
When we know we need to do something imperative
for our personal well-being and yet the angst of apprehension,
trepidation of the unknown , the ghost of inherent genetics
can become daunting and overwhelming .

Then there is this phenomena nowadays I call " medical limbo"
Anxiety of the unknown while you are just a number on a file

.. a desiderata for needed fortitude ...

         11/15/2013       ... Déjà vu            Harlon Rivers

Poets Come and Go ...

Poets Come and Go

poems ebb and poems flow ~

doubt shadows crossroads
pathways to and fro

the weight upon poetic hearts
course down roads unknown

nothing lasts forever
ne’er look back the road

invisible ... "so it goes"
do unto ... moving on

here tomorrow
gone today walk on

self-soothe the torn soul

never fall in love ...

     ... alone ...

sub-entry : 2 cents worth ...

... the revolving trap door
    of the omnipresent virtual world
    leaves me feeling hollow
    melancholy & barren at times ;
    indifference is not in this DNA ,
    a bitter sweet torn for those often alone ...

... recently I was asked , why embrace solitude ...?(!)
    I did not answer until now ... it was not my plan ...
    albeit I feel lost watching little pieces of heart broken off ;
    chipped away , digital detachment , abandoned , left bleeding
    can a heart get smaller ?(!)

...  what will become of hearts if we keep them hidden... ?(!)
     must it be hidden from perched atop sleeves to shelter...?(!)
     what's the purpose of creative fruition if boundaries              shield,  detachment to save your heart ...?(!)

... cyberbullying wears many disguises to the highly sensitive !

... what is a healthy boundary and will it help you save yourself
    from yourself when cyber-connectedness wanes ?(!)

... is writing a season ?(!)
... if love is a season , why not beat the retreat ?(!)

... all rhetorical questions internalized, yet ,
    I ask myself unashamedly out loud ,
    purging loathed frustrations that highlight
    our live's unplanned imperfections

    At the moment, perhaps self-preservation is instinct ---

... respecting "space"...
    do unto others golden rule --- 

... attrition happens in all forms of communities
    and yet it is,selfishly disheartening ....

    this , a cathartic vented side effect
    of the dispiriting turnover in online communities ...

... where have all the flowers gone?

... I've never been very good at letting go ,
    and besides that , I just don't want to ...

harlon rivers

October 21, 2013

The Gravity of Falling Leaves

The Gravity of Falling Leaves

The weight of morning dewdrops
gravity unclasps synthesis' grasp
they float and drift in dawning stillness
the Autumn leaves come falling down

Firewood stacked twelve by twenty-four,
cordwood for a thousand enchanting fires
sparks a hopefulness for a sustaining credence
igniting only one burning desire ,
warmth to fill a hollow chilling void

Stalled in a moment's startling narcosis
torn between all the things wished for
and believing no one needs anything

A house built for a life you don’t have
unbridled hope pounded the nails ;
build a fire to warm a lonesome heart ,
in a dream you were once running to me

Breathlessly submitting in willful surrender
moonstruck imagination coming to life
awakened by the crackle of the fire
sobering sensibilities fleeting flight

How unintended over and over repeats itself ;
rediscovering that solitude is alone ...

Harlon Rivers

October 14th, 2013

A Restless River's Flow

A poem is as young as the inner child’s ache ;

just like a man , is as old as the ancient spirits within heart of soul

An abacus education is underrated as a hay seed ,

misunderstood is what is and will remain to be too deep ,

taken my time don't make me slow, undead is something to be

The body is a cage and the mind holds the key...

turn it, pray tell, to unlock the chains that bind thee




As a pup I fetched my mother's barbed wire bones

'till my gums bled soap suds to appease thee ..

I never learned a tear was a sign of weakness

cause tied to a chair and beaten...it ain’t jubilee

testified with ink tears for all heightened senses coursing shamelessly ;

testified for those who came before me and left far too soon unknown




Answer-less questions how... answer-less questions why ? (!)

perplexing beyond human bounds of understanding ;

that kinda torn turns kindred souls into too blue ink flow ,

guitar string raw blisters blood red ...

gasping hearts struggle to breathe




...just please breathe (!)...all things must pass (?) ... let me bereave (!)




I beg, do not stop trying to reach inside the broken-unbroken geode stone

re-created the spirit, born of thunder's egg

feel the lightning's egg yolk yellow mist in the breeze

a simple do unto flesh being, kinetic not static ,

paying for mistakes made,



encaged asunder imperfections swept under

the rug haunted by an infinite loneliness ache ;

never had enough hugs leaves an ill-defined lesson learnt ,

stigma-ed, damaged goods from the corner of rose colored glasses

yet seeking a oneness, at moments only surviving

the one in this skin I wish to shed

Never sniffed a gift fish nor criticized what wasn't understood .




Don’t count many too many moons for to know a measure for purpose

I lost love before I found it was the purpose, mistakes I mourn

and, now all the bondage that stirs and churns within the wound

is yearning to incarnate silently free




The expansion of love's light shall surrender the ache breaking the rapacious silence

to fly with the wind as human hearts go out until there is nothing left ;

every word will have meaning whence the heart pulses eternally exposed ...

accepting every heartbeat expressed will have meaning

as the eternal poem never ends ...




***harlon rivers ...October 10, 2013***

All things come to pass...

Too many lengthy rambles

Too many misunderstood lines

Too many unconventional syllables

Too much unexplainable reality without rhyme

Too little musical purging

Too few understanding songs

Too few four letter words spoken

Too long pacing the cage alone

Lost in a moment come and gone

One said, "too deep, no love,"

"Why can't you just move on?"

too intense, don't belong

... love spelled all wrong...

September13th, 2013

Harlon Rivers

Accepting an Unfinished Life

Sometimes change happens so fast you don’t even notice . . .however accepting life's changes as reality, can be a slow and self-loathing process . . . we are always as blind as we want to be. 

Regrets are a waste of time that can leave you standing alone at the crossroads at the end of that day when the sun goes down. . .

Many footprints are left behind

the countless miles of pathways

traveled throughout an unfinished life.

Barefoot traces of past now’s

wind through the ashes,

as the smoldering embers

of a turbulent past boundlessly linger.


Oppressive signs of crawling

on bruised and battered knees

remain engraved in the dusty wake,

knowing a sense that the squandered energy

trying to shed this calloused skin was wasted in vain

Black and white snapshots frozen in time,

vividly retell the incised memory,

when it was as if there was no longer

valid reasons to believe, as forward steps circled


Unable to beckon the strength to defy gravity,

to rise from kneeling on bended knees

with the resolve to stand humbly tall,

while leaning towards the faltering light

Hesitation mired hopeful new strides

crossing the uncharted threshold

into the void reaching beyond nebulous darkness


There were times when wanderlust blisters bled raw

and thread bare socks wrung red

Holes in the soles of worn out boots

overwhelmed an unforgettable crippling agony

Distraction numbed the forgotten heartbreak

that enshrouded the torn, reducing life back

to the beginning miles,

when thoughts of mere baby steps was existence


There are days spent suspended

at friendless crossroads,

overwhelmed by indecision’s

daunting toll,

only to take the wrong turns

foolishly pushed by a faith

in the winds of change


The low road was recklessly chosen,

where the shade in the shadows

of the gutter, would not hide the burning ache;

days of running blissfully free upon the high road

were short-lived, as the loneliness of isolation

became too much weight to bear


Infinitely searching for an ambiguous sense

of ever belonging, as the notion evolved

into an unattainable, unrealistic destiny.

An emotionally perplexing feeling

overshadows an uncompleted journey;

a misunderstood lifetime journey

viewed from the corner of veiled, curious eyes

spanning the cradle to the grave .


All the while,

slowly growing to understand,

it is better to adapt, accept

you may never fulfill a certain

quest for an illusive congruence anywhere,

ne'er trusting the mind made illusion,

thinking you could, yet feeling adapting

was another word for giving up


One day awakening to discover. . .

There becomes a need to cope with

the disappointment when life unveils

the end of the day . . .

In a conscious moment of listening

to the silent stillness within,

realizing you never will...




© Harlon Rivers

just beyond the washed out bridge

An aubergine damp and drifting fog enshrouded
the partially washed out bridge abutments
as the night's shadows stole the traveler's daylight

once a favorite passage spanned rivers wide, now where journeys end;
once there was a way to the other side of the turbulent waters,
crossing over the whitewater boulder field to the distant washed out cut bank.

the abrupt pavement break dead ended
the pothole strewn abandoned road less traveled,
where raging river washed out the shoreline of the rocky shoal

an unexpected perfect storm’s lightning bolts
snuck up like summer heat lightning turned cobalt blue,
gravity’s flash flood from mountain high sky

the avalanche came crashing down without warning
moving mountains, carving a new pathway with nature’s unstoppable wrath
the gentle bend in the mellow meandering river’s flow now forked unrecognizable.

the bridge that linked that lonesome valley
had left an island ghost town
just beyond the washed out bridge

those that did not heed the warning signs
save for the memory of the forgotten essence of the ancient bridge,
sat at the beclouded mountain waters margin;

now at crossroads burdened in the torn of doubt,
not wanting to go back where the only labyrinth passage
bestow an island whence secluded came ...

September . 2 . 2013

It takes an island to build a bridge...

Thank you for your reads and support...
be well all... ~ peace on the planet ~

harlon rivers

The way I’m meant to be...

The way I’m meant to be...

 "All we are is all we are,"
these echoes resonate straightaway beyond the vague
It took a long while to get here, awaken in the dream,
embrace the wound, can’t fix the way I’m meant to be

Somehow I just don't believe it
I’m just drowning out here caught in the rain
Hear a gentle pitter-patter dripping light
yet flood the tears unbridled reign

"How on earth did he get so jaded? "
…the little bird heard it once said;
whispered from a very near yet very far distance,
thought out loud, casually breathed unsaid

Silent words streak white hot
through the mind’s fiery frictions sleight,
like a burning comet’s sweltering resistance
throughout the journey, atmosphere’s cosmic flight

This weight from a world fighting gravity
is too much for these broken wings to fly away
Just unhook the leash, where I'm meant to be
release me back unto mother earth's fields,

whither birds fly upward over the mountain
where wild dogs run free…

© Harlon Rivers ...2013

Found and Lost

Found and Lost


Dappled moonlight wanes
collides the passing clouds,
found and lost
the circle never ends

missed beginnings found
broke down breathless;
a whole lifetime lost waiting upon
for to feel the real life begin

moon beams burn
right through this skin,
rouse my soul light
shines unto this land and sea

some kind of chains
are holding me down
spirits chatter in high places
never meant anybody harm

accidental crashing
into a hopeless life
runaway now sensibilities
ere bring you to your knees ...

seasons change
from whence it came
how can you take this losing hand
and ever make it win?

Harlon Rivers

Jimmy Cliff performing "Many Rivers To Cross" 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TegLTsuvzXQ

Fallen Angel Rising

Follow the dark cloud seducing the celestial azure
through the vivid midnight barrenness
Luna’s tempest storm seeds the sipping clouds
by casting star dust to and fro

There’s a naturally flowing cadence in the unsettling breeze
releasing a pulsing rhythm beneath the moon
setting high in the heavens
Wide open eyes scanning the distant horizon,
across the sea of a sleepless storm

The Angels of mercy shedding their healing tears
like cleansing raindrops steeping compassion
A delicate shadow swings symmetrically from a rope pendulum ;
cloud bursts' lilt purging under the sky’s summer rain

Supernal heavens flood down in a drenching suffusion
cathartic immersion, mending souls shine clean
Dreamfully painted heart of gold
dawning under tomorrow’s kaleidoscopic rainbow

 © harlon rivers  July, 2013 ...Third Quarter Moon  23 day(s) old
Aaron Neville ~ It feels like rain

The Ghost of My Darling

The Ghost of My Darling

There comes a time in every life,
when the ache out lives
the invisible scars that wound,
endlessly drawn to renewed beginnings
to find a spark, enkindling a new fire
in the sky, reflecting effervescent hopes,
at each fresh dawn's forever beginning first light

You shall always remain such a mystery,
forevermore knowing it’s impossible
to unwind the long and winding road’s wrong;
an unplanned crossroad's repose
for to rewrite history’s ne’er to be forgotten song

If you want to be free, 
why didn't you ever release me?
Only you held the power, the strength to be set free;
killing hope softly, abating that which remained
hidden where there once was none,
cleansing truth to purge the soul to learn to love again

As fluid as a river’s love may flow,
the rivers are arising beyond the margin's bounds;
even the flame that burned the candlelight's glow,
will not evanesce the traces no longer exposed
waning unrequited  love, ebb to naught
eroded by constant winds of change

Come again the pang, 
love’s waterfall vanished in the night
fleeting waterlessness, 
all too well polished sleight of hand
Some say… “I can’t make you love me
 if you don’t”
“you can’t make your heart feel
 something it won’t”

Your changing contentment’s 
loomed in shadows of darkness,
veiled within an unwritten, 
unfamiliar song

If only...

fair thee well to the ghost of my darling
I've come too far down freedom's labyrinth pathway,
I've come too far to turn around and hit the ground



©harlon rivers …2013

postscript:  caught in a moment thinking

about somebody I used to know...

2 bolded lines are a tribute to a fine songstress
from Bonnie Raitt's classic song -" I Can't Make You Love Me"
no truer words written...

And if she is still "afraid to run out of time,"
perhaps she won't mind the reprise

...and so it is ...(10w)

gravity is transparent ..

before teardrops fall

the weight is blue ..

© harlon rivers ... 2013

Bi-polar Angel

Bi-polar Angel

Nobody sees clear of the flutter
of a thousand swallowtail’s wings
Soaring so high above beyond the bounds
from the dark shadows lurking broken wings
Free to sing the delicate colour,
a voyage with fragile paper wings
Tall enough to look down
in a moment’s blind eyes blink
seeing mountains move on high

Zooming afar enough to touch gravity’s azure,
the paper moon’s passionate kisses taste;
a swellen appetite, intimately unfolding paper airplane wings
There are two sides to every wishful coin
both sides can be smitten
like a weeping butterfly gone wrong,
caught out in the summer rain's passing throng

Climbed the highest enough, to fall so low
spiraling down --- way down deep the rabbit hole;
what goes up must come down,
a metamorphosis of another familiar kind
Hark! the herald angels sing and sigh
Tomorrow's shine will once again dry
rain cleansed paper winged angels
and a thousand paper winged butterflies
forever free to soar again,
reaching for the vast sapphire sky ...

© 2013 ... harlon rivers

The Fool on the Hill

Many Beatles' songs had vast poetic value but none feel more autobiographical that this one from 1967, Magical Mystery Tour later released on a greatest hits linked below...

...photo from this hilltop ©...harlon rivers ...2013

The Fool on the Hill

Day after day, alone on a hill ~

The man with the foolish grin

Is keeping perfectly still ~

But nobody wants to know him

They can see that he's just a fool

And he never gives an answer

But the fool on the hill

Sees the sun going down

And the eyes in his head

See the world spinning round

Well on the way, head in a cloud

The man of a thousand voices

Talking perfectly loud

But nobody ever hears him

Or the sound he appears to make

And he never seems to notice

But the fool on the hill

Sees the sun going down

And the eyes in his head

See the world spinning round

And nobody seems to like him

They can tell what he wants to do

And he never shows his feelings

But the fool on the hill

Sees the sun going down

And the eyes in his head

See the world spinning round

Ohh oh-oh-oh-oh ohh-oh-oh

Round and round and round and round and round

He never listens to them

He knows that they're the fool

They don't like him

The fool on the hill

Sees the sun going down

And the eyes in his head

See the world spinning round

Ohhhh

Round and round and round and round and

Ohhhh

Songwriter(s): John Lennon, Paul Mccartney
Copyright: Sony/ATV Tunes LLC

Sub-entry:   Posted here for poetic value and this author claims no rights or potential profit for doing so.  The words paint an evocative picture of an image seen in the cracked mirror on the wall…. Resident crows caw out side the open window...seemingly mockingly, like I am the one that doesn't get it...

...The Azure Violin

"A Diary of the Falling Dominoes" chapter also published under "Whispering Moon Beams"

...The Azure Violin

The violin’s azure strings wept softly

from inside the quiet torn of the soul ;

musical echoes lamenting

a poignant abyss too vast to fill

each and all silenced reverie,

leaving the philosopher’s stone unthrown

Blue guitar minor chord changes, 

bent notes phrasing sharps and flats ;

memories gently weeping confirmation 

repressed flow of soul silently leaks out 

The spirit's currents eddy ;

suffused within spoken verve ,

purging streams overflowing , 

an alchemist’s soul unfurled...

© Harlon Rivers

6 . 12 . 2013 ... journal entry :

" an unexpected perfect storm & bluebirds "

A musician with a wounded wing ...

trying to find the strength to fly.  

Nothing fills the void left behind 

when we lose an invisible , 

indivisible, irreplaceable thread 

that binds the tapestry of our lives ...

I started playing a guitar when I was 5 and now I have been unable to play in 15 months…but one winged writing has finally turned into 2.   I am blessed 
to ( feel/be) mostly whole.  Sometimes change can happen so quickly we don’t even notice ... and yet accepting change is a slow process …

"four walls are a prison somedays"…

Writing a poem , while pacing this emotional cage , has me thinking about a quote from one of my favorite movies

...from Shawshank Redemption ;   Red : [narrating] " I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged . Their feathers are just too bright . And when they fly away , the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice . Still , the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone ."

"side affects" ....of synonyms & cliche

side affects ... of synonyms & cliche

perhaps too much was already said...

maybe a wing has healed enough

to find the strength to fly

possibly a sense of ever belonging

anywhere is perception...

conceivably the weight of gravity is too much 

to arise from groundedness

expecting to fly...

perhaps there is no end to find...

apparently there are too many questions

and not enough answers...

possibly a soul is lost inside...

imaginably silence is golden...

for all one knows

this was all a dream...

~

When the music is over turn out the lights

When the music is over go out into the light

~

where honeysuckle hummingbirds whir,

buttercup bumble bees buzz atop yellow…

for all one knows

there is not that much that changes.

perchance we just repeat so …

imaginably we are always as blind as we want to be...

likely hearing what we want to hear

inevitably just disregarding the rest...

~

© Harlon Rivers ... 2013

Authors note:

One day...
I listened to a song that skipped just before the end of a vinyl LP...Perhaps, I thought it may have been the work of a soothsayer but an omen nonetheless because "perhaps" was too misunderstood....

What to do? First the record's ruminating skip was driving me crazy (short drive) ... I elevated the stylus, sat it down and took ol' blue out to walk the influence of the song's moment off (!)
As we strolled, the cliches ruminated out loud like the ticks and clicks of a scared record, another life flashed back and forth before my eyes. In a moment I realized we're not that different... and what's in a name(?)

"I spent the day with my old dog mo
"Walkin' down an old dirt road
What he's thinkin' about
I don't know
But for him i bet the time
Just goes so slow
He's just a dog you know"

Blue rivers keep right on rollin...♪♫♫♪♪ ∞
song writer; Eric Andersen

Regret

there once was a magnificent puzzle

people smiled at strangers

because they didn't know any better…

we go where we don’t know the way

expecting to fly beyond

the mystery of gravity's pull

yearning to fly free ;

and yet

choosing freely

to shoulder the weight

yearning to be unleashed beyond (where dogs run free)

knowing all the while ;

human hearts go out

until there is nothing left .

there is always that possibility

that we will return with so much more

than we gave, regardless of knowing

we might feel empty on return ...

'pacing the cage'

discovering solitude is alone ...

unchained absolved

restless regret

puzzled because we just don't care

that we didn't know any better ...

© 2013...Harlon Rivers

Notes:

I'm never gonna chase something,
it's a total waste running after 

what we feel the pull
~ now is plentiful ~

nobody needs anything :

“The quickest way to receive love is to give; the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly; and the best way to keep love is to give it wings”… amandamabel

Regrets are a waste of time ...
measuring by our pain is a concept cloaked in darkness

... more than a snippet, less than the wind's song

Natural Treasure

. . .memories of the last Memorial day camping trip

Natural Treasure

unbridled memories 

ascend vertically 

well beyond 

the Newberry Crater ‘s

vast azure 

where the snow melts away

and

the creek starts to sing 

~ Paulina Peak ~

falls

tall

in stillness

emotive roars

burst into song

now breathless

with a magnificent 

icy chill

melting snowflakes cling 

to pine cones 

then helplessly relent

cascading from

Ponderosa pine brows

may ancient  ashes

hallowed heritage 

rest peacefully amongst 

high earthly treasures . . .

 Aouthors notes:

Getting lost in a moment as I sometimes do,  I found myself drifting back to the last trip I made with my Dad camping...when we got home he discovered he had terminal cancer and was gone in less than 3 months, as a very young man.

With this being Memorial day weekend and with father’s day right around the corner it is both emotional and difficult not to go there...RIP all those who have gone before us...you will never be forgotten as we are all eternally connected...

I cherish the roots of my Native American blood... Thanks for reading a moment not ever shared before this "now"

" What Am I to You? "

An unanswered question ruminated for a lifetime ...

What am I to you?

Neglect is a form of abuse... a spoken word narrative...

“ What Am I to You ? ”

 

So many miles of roads and skies have passed
into the rear view mirror ,
since an innocent child became a man .
I can’t help but wonder how you felt as a mother ?
That moment you saw my dark brown eyes
open for the first time ...

Did you love me at that moment in time ?
When you peered deeply into virgin eyes ,
innocent as a lamb ; wondering who this gift would become ?
Did you ever wish all my dreams would come true ?

Now that so much life has passed, what am I to you?
Do you still think of me as time rushes by ?
As if there was still enough left
to retrace those ill taken steps ?
Arriving at the beginning anew, to upright
that tipped over toy box of broken dreams .

Emotional distance cannot be measured by humans .
Self-anointed experts proclaiming profound
concepts of mathematical calculation ;
nor hypothetical philosophical consequences
by renowned scholars or theoretical thinkers .
The power of love is infinitely beyond measure .
The recognition of feeling unloved as a child
is immeasurably daunting .

Matters of the heart and soul
can be an unfathomable enigma .
Ambiguous to the blamelessness of youth ,
at the prime of childhood innocence ,
exploring the threshold of unbridled dreams .

It’s been a long and lonely journey
with an abandoned lamb
An everlasting quest to understand
the misunderstood meanings of love ;
tirelessly searching to find illusive understanding
bearing the weight of a baffling void
from the cradle to the grave ...

One lonesome dove's  heart ,
drifting without guidance ,
in a search to unveil the end of rainbows .
There should be plenty of time for hatchlings
to find the strength to fly
before they strengthen their wings to soar .

Somehow the baby Robin returns to the nest .
Touched by human hands, then pushed out ,
rejected and abandoned .
Orphaned with a misunderstood cruel kindness ,
only to plummet into the arms of mother earth ,
running before its wings are strong enough to fly .

Naïve innocence is a child of the wind
Every time paper wings were blown away ;
up into my tree top’s solitude I flew .
until I slowly, reluctantly, climbed back down .

Meekly crawling , still unable to fly back into the nest ,
only to be cast out by an iron handed storm .
Extracted from the nest like a fragile bubble
blowing away in the wind .
Bursting as it touched your thorny rose .
 

On this lazy sunny afternoon ,
the gentle breeze moves the lavender Lilacs’ fragrance
through the tall wild flowered fields .
Bowing gracefully, yielding to the gust's beginning and end

The Robins sing blissfully from the treetops .
As this journey’s pathway twists along,
that final moment will come
when the circle will be complete .

What am I to you ?

A long since forgotten child with sighs too deep for words ;
one left loathing an insoluble hole too big to fill .
A broken heart , never understanding why
the innocence of an unconditional love was never enough
Accepting the unlovable life sentence of a black sheep banished from the fold for my perceived indelible imperfections .

 Am I ?

A humble survivor of your perversions secrets
They shall remain safely hidden within your soul’s dichotomy
Entwined within the buried secrets
seen only in my eyes . . .

  © 2012, 2013 ...  Harlon Rivers