a black swan of loneliness

In the fog

of stifled understanding ,

holding on by a frayed thread

to all these useless dreams 

of living alone ...



waiting in the wings

 
for the turn of the tide ;

keeping one foot

in different worlds

while traveling

somewhere else

in my mind

crossing many rivers

trying to reach out 

and grasp another

perpetually eroding 

shoreline ...



though I weary be ,

sometimes silence

is the sound

of loneliness ;

sometimes loneliness

has no sound at all

in the pensive hush

of lowliness ,

a benumbing ache

reverberates

the ruptured stillness ..,

the hovering dark clouds

masking 

a black swan of loneliness



a silent throbbing

echoes like thunder ,

immerging unto

the unplanned

solitary throes ,

with the sleight of hand

a gravitational collapse



an enslaving

desolate hollowness

plunging into

a nebulous black whole

bathing in the rays 

of darkness ...


where the stars

hide by daylight

shrouding a forgotten sole

immersed in

an ocean of emptiness



harlon rivers © December 5th , 2014



“I was never really insane except upon
    occasions when my heart was touched.”

    ― Edgar Allan Poe

note: 
          " all these useless dreams of living alone,
             like a dogless bone "

attribution :
             a lyric from Damien Rice's song
                  Colour me in
             " my favourite faded fantasy "




additional postscript:

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The black swan theory or theory of black swan events is a metaphor that describes an event that comes as a surprise, has a major effect, and is often inappropriately rationalized after the fact with the benefit of hindsight...

Stormy Seas ... a poem by Harlon Rivers

Stormy Seas ... a poem by Harlon Rivers

A storm is raging on the frothy sea

Mountainous waves toss the vessel to and fro

The ravaging Nor'easter impales with a deafening blow

Raucous salty sheets of spray soak and dampen all around

A bucket bails the raged sloop 

She moans and groans as she’s flung about

A sailor sails ; a sailor relentlessly bails

Alone in the perfect storm

Two oars are manned on the stormy seas

The halyard torn and ripped from mast

To row and bail is an impossible feat

It’s hard to tell when you’ve sprung a fateful leak

The captain mans the forlorn skiff

Traditions sink down with the ship

His furious soul laments life’s toil

As violent waves crash the gunnels hold

He screamed out loud, “My time has come!”

“My ship is sinking, her broken pieces will not be found!”

The rampart boat, well-fortified yet built to fail

Plummets from hills of water pitifully tall

Cracks are leaking where the lurid light gets in

But so does the salty water, will drowning soon begin?

Lost hope floats the helpless, fearless one man crew

His soul now guides his ship

A vessel drifts lifeless on the empty calming sea

Nothing but it can be seen for miles of skies

The free board is deep the briny water high

Two apathetic oars both silent, is a lost soul inside?

© November, 2011... Harlon Rivers 

   A three year full circle... revisited
         … melancholy déjà vu

the slow death of a poet

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 ,
gasping for new breath
hovering in a stale misbegotten 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

the uncontained wildfire smoldering within
lies in wait for the winds of change
to fan the flames into the final ashes

a poet reaches out demurely

offering a candid glance

into the window of the human soul

there is no poetry

met by indifference

just gathered unread words scribbled,

squandered time drips slowly on the 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 wound 

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 wears away, 
silencing the passion of a musing soul ...

one unread word at a time 


© harlon rivers ...October 10, 2014

After the flood

photo by Alex Howitt

After the flood

An emotional flash flood
leveled a demure life’s terrain unrecognizable
as vast shoreless oceans course
void of reposing lapping island sands

 
oh there had been stifling
breathtaking reign before,
deluge washed out burning bridges

understanding iced veins pulsing
like flowing glacial fields
carving morphology
leaving emotive writs strewn
like ancient hieroglyphic's
homage paid to the catastrophic
floods of yore

latter days came cleansing rain
as gentle as fragile hope
often swept away
exposing abandoned traces ;
after the rain it becomes apparent
it’s the little things that erode away the soul

lasting hieroglyphic scars leave vestige
a lonely heartache‘s indelible dominion
detailed surface contour ,
breaks and stains ,
invisible hints ,
memories only in the eyes of the beholder

as flood waters subside
massive erosion had cut through
remnants of restless regret
benumbed by near drowning
receding symmetry
eroding into a meager incarnation
of what once was

after the flood
leaving a heart
of channeled scablands
earthen essence dispersed
like dust in the wind
down wind
a barren unrecognizable reclamation

harlon river © September 2014 ...all rights reserved

The Inertia of Spinning Eddies

The Inertia of Spinning Eddies

There is a world

some know intimately

A world where

you’re never enough

A world that casts aside

misunderstood imperfections

like stigmas' ashes ,

burnt traces

in lonely mirrors

left behind

Behold the fate of a leper

never belonging ,

alone all along ,

yet spirits too strong

to be spun undone

Turning and turning
around and around
circling and circling
redundantly spinning on
a world of spin
whirling right on by
wound in the heart
tear in the eye

Each and all wild waters
temporarily restrained
by swirling rip tides pull
sooner or later
there comes a time
all untamed currents
do ebb and flow

Claps a warring
wave of grief
upon the shoreline
so powerful it deflates
all breath
succumbing
to a wearying wave
pangs the reality
     of the pending void . . .



© harlon rivers
August 16th, 2014

The Memory of Light

The Memory of Light

A stillness strove to soothe the unbridled darkness
Shadows mystic shape did tether behind
by frayed thread ,
Drew me backwards while I sought ,
strung to the memory of light

Thoughts bound to contravened affections
Trussed to what once seemed
unfettered certainty
Fading allusions disavowed without balm

A lonely silence hauntingly pulses ,
Drowning out the learnt sagacity of solitude
Ache of a parched heart famished for solace ,..

Hearken quietude ... 

not a word spoken
yet everything is heard ,..

Staid in the serene respite
Understanding the natural
Detachment of disregard
in the turmoil of human struggle 

in search of truth ...

© Harlon Rivers ...  2014

Life hanging by a frayed thread

Life hanging by a frayed thread

so precious is she this volatile one
rescued he from the torn a perfect storm
unconditionally ennobling a broken heart
as it raged arduously this land and sea

how can a fading heart love so strongly
pulse weaker each vulnerable passing day
a love that bridged a forlorn lonely chasm
bereft an impossible emptiness too vast to fill

her heart’s grandeur spans his cosmos every twinkle
fraught by the weight too much gravity to bear
the breadth her unconditional love’s murmured imperfections,
eveanesce a waning life well lived

together their unbounded love hangs in the balance
juxtaposed beneath the sword of Damocles
the rumbling murmurs of a brave heart’s whispers
her bequeathed love once made him whole


black eyed dog lies in the fragile, shatterable balance
yet , a broken heart enlightened by unconditional love
time takes time, keeps on ticking sorely on your own
same old mountain ,..  is a steeper climb alone ...

harlon rivers   July 2014

... an overwelming reason to go digitally dark

the passing of unrequited love ,.. or something like it

you slammed the screen door closed

to the best part of my losing streak

blowing down the road like the wind

some say: “a rolling stone gathers no moss”

begets a heart’s defrayed silent drone

steal away your season’s sigh fleeting past

it’s been so long without a scrap or crumb

now summer’s back abloom at long last

that waning memory look in your eyes ,

comes as no surprise , hints once known by heart

looking down on me

like you’re higher ground

beneath those rhinestone clad paper wings ;

did carry burden’s weight , all torn and bent ,

against a stream of vanity and broken dreams

how I remember when you sang so sweetly

blinded by love can be such a liar

oh ! how unrequited love can be an empty cup

when you’re too thirsty to drink

when you’re down on your luck

I kissed your swellen lips passionately

felt the sensual sway of your hips

divin’ in blind into unknown depths

your mouth tasted so full of questions

eyes deep as restless blue ocean reflections

knowing I could n’er be the answers

unknown questions , answerless allusions ,

you still don’t know what love means --

fallow innuendos ne’r quench an insatiable thirst

can’t even tread water in an empty cup …

© harlon rivers ...June 2014

note :   ...just a vent or lament?

meloncholy thoughts of someone I once knew...

not so long ago, yet this haunting out of the blue...

perhaps a summer breeze rattled the screen door astir

and let the memories drift in ...

Song for Zula ... Phosphorescent

The Sublimity of Silent Understanding

You could see him walking hesitantly across the rolling vista hillside

Each step seemed to be carefully chosen

as if the fragile earth could be damaged by his footprint .  

Stopping as if he had arrived at the final destination .

His stature left the impression of a gentle man

You knew at first sight , there was more to him than that notion .

Seemingly always alone . . . like he was serving some life sentence

A solitary confinement that banished him to a life of solitude 

"Why do you trust me so,"  thought the gentle man ,

staring into the tall field of grass ? 

He realized what was thought in his mind ,

was spoken out loud breaking the silence .

They just looked back at him with raised ears ,

then looked away into the wooded grove as if to say ,

 “you know why”…

The soft baritone voice would often be heard

in the hush of nature’s tranquility .

He spoke to them as if he could understand their silent responses

from some other ancient level of unanimity of rhythm .

He sat on a nearby mossy rock very quietly

imagining he were part a oneness with the small herd .

He had a spirit that undoubtedly belonged " somewhere " 
unbeknownst to an unrequiting world

His ragged beard and salt and pepper untrimmed hair

left the impression he was from a simpler time

From a place where the world no longer passed by

on its search for rhapsody

Blending against the grey hued stillness of that boulder ,

He felt so grounded in nature and yet so misunderstood ;

irrelevant , invisible and abandoned by man , 

dreaming he was no longer human

as he melded into the arms of mother earth

Some slept , doe eyes closed , some watched with curiosity
His heart held openly in his hands ,
ached for the sigh of human touch

None moved away from the presence of the moment . . .

With heads and ears to the sky , they all seemed to move closer 

in an unguarded air of amity , as he continued to weep

"Why must I always feel like I will never be loved ? "

"Why have I never been accepted as I am anywhere but here ? "

Becoming fully immersed

in the spontaneous soul flow of tranquil harmony,..
... the silence of the deer replied ... 

Fallen from the arch of a rainbow

Fallen from the arch of a rainbow

Words written to steal away
the ache of somber silence
Diminish the twinge
an unheard heart pulsing restlessly

There’s a kind of solitary hush
chafes inwardly with a deafening lament
Invisible in the dewless starry eyes
as obscure onlookers pass on by

Pensiveness as vivid the memory
the incandescent quenching sun
Yet this weightless state still borne
never touched by a single caressing sole

Gravity cascades rippling downward
rolling like the flood a surging tide
Swamped by whelming distant memories
climbing over the rainbow arch of love

Swept off its expansive colour'd high-wire
into a lonely solacement woe betides
Free falling off the edge
a befallen amazing grace

Sinking level with a bottomless ocean floor
Suspended wistfully adrift
the cold dark rogue gypsy currents sway

Dreaming of looking up beyond the bounds
at last forevermore . . .

harlon rivers ©...5.25.2014

to the bird on a wire with song

To the bird on a wire with song 
♫♪♪♫♪
by harlon rivers

The burgeoning spring cadence
enchants the dew suffused air
Thoughts of a wealth fresh fruits and flowers ,
vegetables , new tomorrows
edifies this long awaited morn

Passing season's natural cycles continuum
ever changing season’s ebb and flow
Fallow ground battered mercilessly
by tempest prevailing wild wind-song

Drawn the unsown garden plot's alluring kismet
dormant 3 seasons languidly fleeting traces past
spate of pouring-down rains passing
beheld many wintertide’s wrath

Frost heave scared flesh
rough-hewn malignant deep freeze
Staid in abandoned quietude
patient beclouded moment’s pause

Incandescent stillness stirring
aneath the waning yellow moon
Sojourn a restful sleep's lullaby
soon to be passionately unmasked

Not long ago but waning memories
blanketed with a frozen variegated white ;
lying naked in silent atonement
barren of botanical life

Abundant with earthen elements
enriched in respite yet ,... Foxgloves strove ,
strewn about by past summer breeze ;
seeds sprout like mind of their own
caretakers , the ground they call home

Bird on a wire ruminating psalm
knowing each breath
is the conscious moment sung
Song Sparrow sings so sweetly ;
no sweeter melody a daybreak's known

Musically musing without worry
where the next worm will crawl ,
the one who often ponders
this hallowed garden ground ,
a steward of the earth's treasures

come back home yet never gone

Pacing blissfully the daybreak
spade and trowel keys in hand
whistles in melodic whispers
to the bird on a wire with song

Paired chickadees chatter whimsically
overlooking from atop cedar roof-line
calloused hand hollowed houses perched
atop deer fence post high throne

Mountain foothill's richness
loamy dormancy awakens unto sunlight
unlock its hidden earthen magic
a new dawn's awaited genesis take flight

Heart of earth’s opulent gifts
her bequeath dowry opened reverently
Humus aromatherapy wafts
ancient earthen aromatic soil

Mother earth opens her soul ,
to break bread ;
sown seeds of wholehearted hope
For to reap the abundant harvest
of a simple life well lived

Mushrooming sagacious harmony
with the spirit of the universe
listening to the resplendent essence
nature's uprising sonata sung

Black crow listens ,........
what language is spoken from heart of soul
in dim light by familiar voices intone ;
listening to the dawning unseeded garden's
broken silence , beckon a time for moving on ...

May 18^th , 2014

authors note: 

A daunting shoulder rotator cuff injury and long rehab has kept me from doing many things I love...this writing, with dirt beneath these nails, my land has been cultivated and now in the planting process after 3 seasons in limbo, life goes on...

We are not that different this land and I ...After writing and reading I ponder this life and me in this space, were thoughts this fallow land I embrace as home, really just introspective purging metaphors of a season finally changing , new seeds sprouting at fallow forlorn crossroads frozen in time ?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

I’m more than you know
I’m more than you see here
I’m more than you let me be
I’m more than you know
A body in a soul
You don’t see me but you will
I am not invisible
I am here

There is no them
There is no them
There’s only us
There’s only us
There is no them
There is no them
There’s only us
There’s only us
There is no them
There is no them
There’s only you
And there’s only me
There is no them

...from Invisible...U2

Lightning can strike twice

Waking up to a humbling moment

stealing your breath away ;

leaving you sleepy eyed ... awestruck

Lightning can strike twice

Pealing thunder growled

with the rumble of a runaway flash

booming lightning bolts

fling billion volt mortars helter-skelter

glare ricocheting illuminated verve

weighty tolling crashes

oblivious to gravity

hurling reverberated reflection

ominous charcoal grey billowing nimbus

blackened rolling storm clouds roil
ignite ether cannons

fire cloud to ground bolts

hotter than sun’s mantle

drenching rain shards

shattering the silence of the dawn

roaring through the awakening quietude

holding on for life

singer of high poems resonates

echoed litanies
upon the impearled threshold
of the dawn ,..

coyote running naked in the rain ;
bearing witness ,..

God’s natural gifts bestowed

mitigate man’s visions of grandeur

© Harlon Rivers ...April 24th, 2014

unrequited ... (12 word)

the distance
between restless pages
speaks louder
than spoken silence within words . . .

... harlon rivers ...

Washing away castles made of sand

a changing seasons
perfect storm surge ebbs

high tide sweeps away
castles in the sand

all vestige washed beyond
amidst frothy fleeting sea foam

drifting with the flow
of oceans tidal pull

bathed seashore's clean canvas
without a footprint's shadow

ne'r a recognizable trace
nor whispered hint adrift

neither remnant visions of grandeur
nor telltale artifact ruins linger

what once was beheld
now a fading relic 

an impossible dream . . .

       ~              ~              ~

"retrospective solace "

 . . . the more things change
the more they stay the same

maybe there’s not that much
that ever changes

. . . perhaps we just repeat (?!)

     ~               ~              ~

"needing" vs "wanting" ...(14W)

wanting what was taken

more than what's given

invisible agonizing allusions

. . . bitter sweet torn

harlon rivers

* up to date *

fistful of mercy ... (10w)

clenched fist

loathed knuckles

yearn

to be

extended

   opened palms ...

harlon rivers 

"fistful of mercy" by fistful of mercy 

from: "as I call you down"

Sipping from the Well

Sipping from the Well

Looking for a silver lining
every time it turns out wrong
Weighing reasons to believe
looking for a lost heart to behold

Seeking the golden skeleton key
that unlocks the garden’s velvet gate
Feeling a deep ache left out in the cold
on a golden autumn morn

Walk along the garden pathway
follow down the garden trail
See the reflection in the wishing well
looking wistfully back these eyes' novelle

Tripped and fell another dawning
trying to come in out the storm
The only silver lining shines the moment
sipping hopeful waters from your well ...


Harlon Rivers ...  © October 11th, 2013


Understand this moment has come to just write what you feel…
don’t ever let anyone say what you feel is wrong...

A Changing Season’s Great Puzzle

A Changing Season’s Great Puzzle

The spirit of the ancient tree

pondered the great puzzle

A simple twist of fate

moves the bedrock

these tap roots grasp

These deep roots claw

when trunk sways instinct

Branches reach out

beyond their golden arm’s length

Wind whips wildly astir

in ether eddy’s high places

Grey clouds veil bespoken allusions

of misunderstood alchemy

Caught out in the rain

once again a lucid aberration

The tree cannot become

igneous basaltic lava it clutches ,

nor can it run from fire ,

for it fears not the flaming glow

of the Autumn woods

The trunk rises above these embedded roots

like metamorphic rock

Quietly cogitating release ,

its fickle lucent gypsy leaves

chasing the blustery wind ;

contemplating the great

puzzle unfolding before these roots

Changing season’s shelter ,

prevailing wind undresses ,

naked to the world again ,

left as found . . .

yet another wooden ring ...

Did another unbroken circle mean anything ?

© Harlon Rivers ... October 10th , 2013

Authors notes :

We cannot run from who we are . . .

                                                          

The Winds of Change Can Make the Dominoes Fall too ...

It has been many miles in the rear-view mirror since I have come back to write specifically for this blog chapter.   Having published writing at a couple creative writing sites the past 2 +1/2 years of a roller coaster ride experience.   Perhaps not the right thing to do for someone with melancholy genetic tendencies , overactive anxiety hair trigger buttons of the highly sensitive. 

"All I was looking for was me ."

Let me just say those vulnerable to the side affects of their own imperfections .   There may be a few readers that understand what that means .

It's not like I have not been through this writing/publishing cycle before .   It is just the first time , I was more naive to the effects of raw honesty many have not seen , so they don't understand or don't give a damn .  That's cool !  The results were the same and over time  lost readers  disappeared who were not interested in the melancholy truth of mood disorder cycles or reading the creative side of it . . . about as vanilla as it can honestly be said.

After regrouping during a time when writing became the only relieving creative outlet , I tried publishing again but after a few deletes from unfavorable comments , I began holding back writing and only picking and choosing what to publish .   Soon it no longer felt true to myself and a back log of unpublished writing sits with dust gathering and even though there are hundreds of published items the reads have recently gone to near zero which means The Winds of Change Can Make the Dominoes Fall too ... writing and publishing publicly is a season . . . and seasons change . 

Some of this unpublished writing over the past 6 months is
complicated , but here is the only place I will publish the cathartic writing .  There is previous writing that was intended to be a part of this journey , but is not yet published here as part of this intended chapter and needs to be so there will be some republishing on "Diary of the Falling Dominoes" that was not gathered on these pages . . .

Who knows , maybe the time has come to discontinue all of this and just  leave me where you found me . . .

 . . . crossing muddy rivers . . . 2. 19. 2014

I’m all at sea ... again

Mother... oh mother ocean !

enraptured waves rise to her natural beauty’s crest,

beckoning with such gravity ;

her salience seeps

aneath her saline tides’ tameless undertow

All at sea

hidden just beneath her surface swell ;

savored breaths beheld 
within enchanting frothy meringue foam

Drifting with the tug of her pull,

rip currents surge ebbing allure 

Mesmerized pulses magnetically drawn, 
within all rivers’ wild flowing cadence ;

acoustic rushes enfold the rhythm and the sea’s song

Someday the essence of her cleansing waves’ baptism,

shall drown the torn under the intimacy of firmament

I’m all at sea..
Bathe myself in earth mother’s wishing well ,

drifting back to where it started ...

© Harlon Rivers

Jamie Cullum … All at Sea

No bed of roses for to sleep

No bed of roses for to sleep

The velvet clover days

enchantment have waned ,

milk and honey dried

where the silence echoes

spurned throes

of wintertide

Cold and lonely

daybreak ,

there is no longer

bed of roses

for to lay upon

petaled amazing

grace

Dawn's fog clears

its multihued shades

of monotone grey

yet ,

the weather

has no affect

on the dolor

of yesterday's love ,

a changing season

grown cold

The icebound river

flows not

unto the sea’s

frigid tideways ,

barren estuaries

The bitter east wind

won’t blow away

this benumbing ,

forsaken loneliness ,

beyond the fallow

winter wasteland ;

purge your season's

haunting memory ,

footprints bereft traces

hopelessly lead me on

        Sing you a little prayer  . . .

bestow a frozen river

to skate away on ,

back to a sea of humanity

helplessly adrift

       whence you came  . . .

Harlon Rivers ..... ©January 26th , 2014