Come Hither the Vintage Librarian

Come Hither the Vintage Librarian…

live @ the public library

Theses red bricks came long before digital plastic boxes                      
 books of all we are now… beclouded         
               with the dust in the wind from roots we once came.    
well-seasoned keyboards shine                   
                      aneath the wooden book shelves
         "Splendour in the Grass "

Sound clouds hover over sleeping dog eared pages lie in stillness wait
like an unenlightened haze,                      
    most see through the alluring nostalgic aroma
         newspapers old news...unfold breaking silence;   
              yet I hear this pulsing heartbeat drip the yearning ink
     and feel the corner of eyes upon this presence

The vintage librarian grimaces as sounds meander adrift,                  

remembering the silent days of yore,        
                                 of this handmade scribbled ink, transcribed from outside the box  
                                she’s curious of this one who writes in cursive firstly and not type

        "nearly a lost art (!)" she coquettishly whispers...

                  was she just flirting (?)              ... I dream t                
                           the fragrant scent of a woman's poetic mien swirls,                
                              manifesting awkward moments of thirsting reality,                      

yet still remaining outside the allure          
           of the digital box...                                              

         ...  now stepping back over the threshold                      
          with a keyboard click beyond the edge                
             within it, I find a get out of jail free card,                
   a digital library registration card,                  
   my hand tightly sworn atop a poetry book      
                        and now access to Al Gore's coveted claim of invention        
typed in Shawshank Redemption                  

and hit enter another world        

          Andy Dufresne crawled away from obtuse into the fresh air's light via the library 
With a rock hammer shielded by the Bible,                                             
adorning behemoth singularity... he was freed                                          
                                        
   I just came to the library to be with poetic words, if only for a moment,       
   yet liberating breaths...

Harlon Rivers

7.24.2013

Postscript:   Andy Dufresne was the main character in the classic movie, 

Shawshank Redemption.

His clandestine efforts brought a controversial library into Shawshank correctional facility...  

This thought was just written in a public library and meant to be nothing more than thinking out loud reminding myself of needed groundedness, humility…. by picking up 

nearly extinct books to touch the paper pages and feel the words touch

before hard bound books and libraries disappear like an unprotected endangered species…

Look what I found (!)

536. Ode ...INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY

FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD
by William Wordsworth …1770-1850

…from stanza           X.                        
                    
Though nothing can bring back the hour
          Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
              We will grieve not, rather find
                  Strength in what remains behind;

Vacancy…room rent free as a bird

violet green swallows rent

these calloused hand's

love laden nest boxes ,

metamorphose love and affection ,

nature’s spirit of osmosis

love is not always as it seems

so thrives the call of the wild

the dawn giveth and away

flourishing on natures bountiful essence

and you know that it's right

four walls are a prison

spring and summer visitors fly free ,

promises made ... promises kept

that moment of faith beyond fear,

hearts the size of mustard seeds fly free

hallelujah (!) thundering pulse on high

there comes a bitter sweet now

to all those left behind ,

when all big boys do cry ;

do sigh at the passing of love ,

the passing of love ,

thankful for touching

eternal love’s amazing grace ...

harlon rivers

7.15.2013 ... First Quarter Moon 7 day(s) old

Postscript: ...love don't leave me alone

likely sounds silly , a big ol' grizzly looking man so

I have never been good at good byes ...

seem to get something in my eyes ~

I asked over and over each year past

to go with each piece

of infinite heart they take ,

but know there are more nest boxes to build

for to fly away tomorrow

with paper wings  (!)

Seaside Ballet...a sensual day a the beach

Seaside Ballet...a sensual day at the beach

The fragile we are, whimsically followed the route
of the breezes' delicate perfumes.
Golden sorrows’ fair colored seaside flowers,
adorn the allure of the sand’s enchanting margins

Lust was once veiled in the shade of the driftwood shadows,
the west wind was seen erasing the sand’s secrets
aneath the indigo azure ;
where the breakers throw their cresting agua shadows
onto warm soothing sands

Crescent waves climax, unfolding their swellen pinnacles
in the restless sea breeze; the aquatic sprays stimulating
the surf’s rhythmus surges, were not enough
to sate wanton imprisoned desires rousing;
well hidden wishes flourishing of imagination’s
buds swelling for to blossom forth verve

Tongues craving to taste the unsung song’s tone,
Lips longing to stir wanting estuaries,
where waning stardust’s fleeting kisses once clasped lips;
the colour of flesh blushes, 

clutching where white hot passion flushes
a delicate halo illumine quiver’s warm euphoric shivers .

Braille goose bumps ripple tenderly
as a feather brushed against tickle,
kindling dulled light; sublime cinnamon tones flicker,
traced freckles arouse asymmetry
at the puffy apogee of heart

Evanescent the distance between
reveries & distant driftwood shoreline Swizzles
Dreams scrolled by sensual caress…
hearts drawn, fingered into flood tide moistened island sands,
passion’s exhaled breath released in her siren’s song ♪♫♫♪

Acoustic moans sung blissfully unto the awe of the sea breeze,
releasing the ballerina’s twirl; 

rhythmic crescendos trace rising wave shoals,
as the mermaid lilts with the rhythm and the sea
Came high tide for to sweep away loving traces in the sand 

gifted by the waning seaside ballet …



© 2013 ... Harlon Rivers ... all rights reserved