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