When a poet dissipates like vapor ... " Evanesce "

... a  " Diary of the Falling Dominoes " chapter ...

. . . Evanescent  Soul . . .

If a falling star

kisses ocean’s wild vastitude ,

does anybody see
the impact's circling  aftermath  

as the rippled waves continuum evanesce
(?!)

That fleeting moment when the sea

imbibes the gravity of setting sun ,

surrendering to the yield

of the bending horizon
(?!) 

Will anyone grasp

a simple deep moment's

vision of grandeur
(?!)

What is the sound

a breaking heart's exhale ,

listen but a muted whisper

in the silence of the torn
(?!)

Can “one love” feel

the empathy’s pang ,

behold the solace of a forlorn

callous ache of indifference ;
(?!)

Circles turn , 

seasons pass ,

blind eyes turn away the forgotten ,

" out of site out of mind " . . .

Does anyone heed

swallowed lumps in throat ,

those lonely muted inaudible sighs ;
(?!)

Will anybody hear

the bold expanse of silence
(?!)

© harlon rivers ... 3/26/2014

Authors note : 

evanesce (ˌɛvəˈnɛs)

vb

1. (intr) (of smoke, mist, etc) to fade gradually from sight; vanish

[C19: from Latin ēvānēscere to disappear; see vanish]

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

evanesce :   a tendency to dissipate like vapor . . .

Poetic Philanthropy ... " take what you need and leave the rest behind "

... poetry is  simply deep passion exhaled in words ...

Love gifted unconditionally 

sown seeds of the heart

But humble offerings 

accord to humankind ;

Innate pieces of one love shared , 

the joy of amity reaped

Poetry bears , living breathing witness , 

blossoming words our spirit's bestowal

Manifested soul marrow fruition  

from the throes of wholehearted realms

Bequeathed essence within ourselves 

deeper than thought

Incarnation of unrequited purpose ,  

heart and soul avowal . . .

© harlonrivers ...March 20th, 2014

Authors notes  :

If you read poetry online and have any suggestions of publishing sites that are free to readers and contributors, and seeming worthwhile to the reader or writer experience,  please leave me a link at harlonrivers@gmail.com   or in the comments section below this posting ...   Thank you in advance !!!

I write because it is a key part of the process of maintaining a creative's equilibrium, admittedly I am different and a bit of a nonconformist .  To me what's written has no real monetary value... and to try and attach one would make me feel like I would be betraying myself. It has been my intention to share, advocate , a great  introspective value to those who understand why I choose to do this just like you choose to read ...

 

At this time I have become very conflicted about the whole process of online publishing .   Over the past 10 months I have published close to 300 poems at an online poetry site . They are now asking for donations from their writing membership to publish their poetry there ... 

   

It is no secret that writing is a labor of love hobby that takes many hours and the pleasure of sharing poetry is the reward ... Having spent those countless hours I do not feel it is fair to pay a site to publish my humble offerings to support an unlimited donation system ...   

I am very grateful to Google for providing " this blogspot " space at no charge to it's willing participants ...

Peace on the planet ,

harlon rivers

image :  tristesse - solitude

The Hourglass ... Final Grain of Sand

The hourglass emptied the final grain of sand
thirty days and forty nights pace .

First fortnight passed so misunderstood
second fleeting fortnight
quietly beheld the quill ,
as if a thousand sleepless nights
inertly stood still

Waxing crescent moon in due time waning ,
what was once understood ;
the space between the thunder’s clap
and the lightening’s bolt draws nearer ,
within reach , yet there's a kind of hush unheard

Lost somewhere amidst the hot with the cold ,
the grain of salt between tongue and cheek ,
take the fat with the lean , feel the sensual touch of bitter sweet ,  the silence bequeathed inside the speak

Maybe it’s the soft inside the hard ,
the lost within the found ;
the want entwines the need
the give inside the take ,
perhaps the timorous torn inside the meek

Nonetheless …
all roads lead to crossroads we stand
the thundering heartbeat within the stillness ,
the " azure violin " bereft a cobalt colour of blue

Too thirsty to drink ,  too hungry to eat ;
none so blind as those will not see
while the waning inkwell spills
like sand glass gently seeps ...

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

Postscript: 

 

" azure violin " :a referenced title to an earlier poem

http://melancholyrivers.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-azure-violin.html

 

Even with a sand glass 

and the moon nevertheless so ...

even a simple word whisperer, 

with an abacus education knows 

no matter which way the winds of change blow...

"Everything worth rising for "

Everything worth rising for ...

Midnight darkness whistles through
the fragile Daffodil adorned meadow floor
Lacy yellow shadows bob and sway
to the westerly wind’s whispers

Come - hither . . . . . . . coquettish courting cries
thrum through the dancing daffodils
with the sounds of a passing night train's drone ,
beneath the veil of nimbus beclouded twilight

Haunting memories , familiar daunting sounds

breaking silence ; someone fleeting away on the run , 
escaping as if the winged moon candidly flies

behind swellen storm clouds ,

within the shadowed cloak of midnight's ether glow

The cold and blustery late winter wind gathers up
a jillion frogs' nattering chatter ,                  
rousing the puddled marshland moor

Ribbiting harmony drowning out the wind - song ,
rushing through dormant trees' yielding throes ;
blowing the stirring sounds of impending springtime
in the whoosh of a startling wind whispered song

High upon thitherward ridge top island ,
where midnight loneliness reflects a wanton stare
upon the mirror of moonstruck eyes

Ancient million year old voices
echo across the rolling vista beyond ,
solitude searchingly listening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

           . . . for everything the heart wants . . .

           . . . the only thing worth rising for . . .

                          © harlon rivers . . . 3/10/2014