Poetry...Spoken Word...Prose Poems...Free Verse... Interwoven Threads of Life's Tapestry of thought...Labyrinths within the journey’s twists and turns through the less ordinary pathways traveled… Understand this moment has come to just write what you feel… don’t ever let anyone say what you feel is wrong..."The woods would be very silent, if no bird sang except those who sang best." The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step... Introspective expressions through creative writing...
Word Whispereer
Showing posts with label cathartic writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cathartic writing. Show all posts
Oh beloved
poetry ! My blessed confidant ,
entrusted steward of my soul ,
my one and only intimate friend !
You bestow a solacing comfort I cleave to ;
beheld like no other divinity ,
a cathartic salve blended
from flowing ink and mind
Together perpetually entwining
an interwoven tapestry ,
the moment’s threads entangled
in an indelible compassionate embrace ;
wholly bequeathed like an old friend’s amity ,
open palms beseechingly beckon
into a sea of ardent sanctuary ,
an asylum for to surrender
wholeheartedly
unto the arms of the soul
Therein lies a soothing acceptance
beheld in the misunderstood
colour of darkness
But cast seeds sown
from a solitary heart ,
where allusions of mighty oaks
from acorns grow
rootlets to leaves
Wherein a restless silence accords
the sweetest breath of new life
like the yearning wind song
breathlessly in search of the lost chord ,
as the winds of change
blow against the untamed tides
tirelessly singing passionately
with the one who writes
with heart on sleeve
Poetry is the endearing epitome
an unconditional loving friend
There is not judgment cast ,
as if thrown stones
upon latent unspoken poesy borne
Only a bona fide comfort in the knowing
there is no longer an inherent need
for merciful surrender
Alas ! leniency to forgive myself
for all I've become
A diary of the falling dominoes chapter, republished on Word Whisperer original poetry blog.
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 in a hovering stale 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 look
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 paper cuts ... a muting suffocation that wears away, silencing the passion of a musing soul ...
Remembering your final evanescent breath’s exhale I close my eyes and
see you’ve gone Sail away into peaceful ocean’s waning sunset Drift away into distant horizons beyond
There is never a well - seasoned sailor’s voyage Without tide book and sagacity in weathered hands Steady compass hold ye sway ,.. deftly poised Never an ocean to wide to cross Nor never stormy seas too swellen to be borne
An unbroken circle courses an unfinished life It’s a long and hard journey pushing on It all seems so vividly just like yesterday Running on faith , a forever beginning impending dawn
Some days are indelibly etched on heart’s walls Some moments were carved in ancient stone These are the days of fleeting memories' pang Still standing tall with fragile heart in open palms
There is a comforting reverence knowing Hearing love’s mantra alive in the breeze Believing unconditional love’s imminent eternal bloom Shall never fade away
harlon rivers ... September 28th , 2014
Note : Time cannot erase what which we hold closest .
An emotional purge ... a first draft to be shared as is
commemorating the anniversary of my father's last day on earth
a poem from "The Diary of the Falling Dominoes" anthology by Harlon Rivers
Squeezing Blood Out of a Stone
What is the song the moon sings ? In the silence of the starry blue night ? Is it the sound of a heart breaking ? Or the mournful bemoans a shadow on bended knees , lost in a moment of stress and strife
No one ever thought they would hear a shadow's screaming echoes at the sallowed moonlit night ! No one gave it a second thought . . . Never bothered to ponder the unknown reasons for the thoughts .
He knew he could never suffer from the madness they perceive It’s easy to look the other way when you’re blinded by what you see Crawling on faith with eyes barely open , through a world of make believe .
Habor no disrespect for honest disbelief , when the flame burns brilliantly high Awakening revelations rise like heat lightning An impossible unseen illusion for those who are blocked by their own light
Just a mysterious inconvenience waiting for the whole thing to blow apart A subtle unnoticed interruption like a shooting star in the foggy twilight Emerging from the vanishing shadows absorbed by the fading darkness taking flight
Some days we innocently stumble Sometimes we trip and fall Smash into something good . . . Hang on until its time to let go Trying to wipe away the final teardrops is like squeezing blood out of a stone . . .
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 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Intensely hued frieze borne across the winter dawn Each fleeting sunlit daybreak moment , passes like borrowed time , knowing the sun radiates its lent glowing gifts bequeathed of another season come to pass
30 days and 30 beloved alchemistic sunsets Each a recurring chromatic kaleidoscopic firmament , a moments ardent enhaloed sanctity ; heart racing yet torn , uncontrollably sinking like the setting sun left gasping for breath
A season’s full circle fruition , merging in a docile silence . Merciful surrender to the moment’s fading luminescence ; waning light seeps out with seasons’ receding ebb , monotone grey skies darken stalling the dimmed light of day
Fog rolls in like the long forgotten high tide’s ebbing flood, quietly beclouding the traces left behind in the heavy mist The pace slows as the immuring world enshrouds the nebulous line between whence the befogged allusion lies
Wintertide’s evanescent sunlight has no mercy Its suffused absence envelops humble mortal prisoners mired by hovering hazy inversions Trees lean southward , dreams bathed in latter day’s illume, begging for the last dappled rays warmth atop this ridge top winterness
It’s as if the final winter solstice cast sundown’s befallen spell ; the last solar waves steal away the final fading spirit dropping it uncaringly into the entomb depths , a refugee of winter’s deep sea of darkness …
The grandfather clock stands stately With his back against the wall An outside glance of stature Graces his space floor to tall
The dark burl oak wood's beauty Mellowed by time's aesthetic charms Quarter sawn by mortal hands As it ticks away time gone
The rhythm of time echoes loudly Breaks the silence of the ambient room Bright polished brass pendulum swinging My soul's heartbeats in pulse's womb
Hammers note quarter hour carillon Counted bell toll fleeting time has gone Hammers strike the melody Westminster chimes the loss of time
A hand crank winds the triple cables Each Sunday comes seven days Tick tock tick tock the rhythmic pendulum pulse Hypnotic sounds the heartbeat of a home
Lunar time marks blue moon rising Roman numerals the face of time Lonely hours tick by gradually A sorrow laments past moons gone
The vesper gongs inside of soothing darkness Sounds an ominous tocsin to the soul A reminder the circle courses continuum Still a lucidity embraces the spirit in heart of soul
This clock devours all silence All darkness consumes a soul Inscription plate reads "In loving memory of a beloved giver of time bestowed."
The grandfather clock stands solemn Time ticks away the wasted tears and what they tell Someday I’ll be gone like your poignant memories , Time waits for no one, when another winds your waning song ...
"Crossing Over"... The Final Voyage over the Columbia River Bar ... to points beyond the Pacific Ocean
Red sky at morning ... sailors take warning !!!
First dawn's light steals away over the towering Cascade Head.
A heavy autumn dew dripped from the Whaler's bow rails
as sun rays flashed like beacons from rain-forest headlands on high;
where Pacific Northwest rivers September equinox dawning ebb,
pushed us mercifully unto the chilling stiff autumn sea breeze.
Dappled sun reigning through the pinkish purple morning sky,
patchy fog adorning the awakening inshore headlands atop the bay,
shining from the pearly gate’s mission bells higher ground
beckoning another fisherman lost and found at sea come home...
Heaven’s lighthouse alerts the celestial sky
of the pending eminent soul journey,
highlighting the distant horizon’s breaking swells
capped of white meringue sea foam.
Sea gulls escort precious cargo's final voyage,
gliding gracefully in the shadows of the firmament,
our lungs filled, revitalized with the salty air's poignant elixir
Pelican vanguard's white light reflection guiding our vessel seaward,
alone in a perfect storm...
Northwest gales standing up the ebbing tide’s uprising crescents,
waves pounding in rhythmic flow;
calling all angels, my ruminating mantra
the Clatsop Spit’s dangerous song sounds the stark reminder,
life's raucous changing seasons, prevailing winds siren’s call,
that now is nearly here...
The countenance of flowing salty tears liberating release, vast ocean's raw
sheets of saltwater spray would not hide.
He just sat and stared at the seaward horizon
while the telltale tears flowed ,
perhaps a dream of a merciful final surrender with eyes wide open,
love steering our vessel west where sun shines to set
Now far beyond the visible ache,
for mine own eyes blur trepidation teardrops
rained as sheets of sea,
the wordless conversation known ,
the compass full circle drawn
like the sacred salmon's cycle ends
to nourish back ancient sage unto its own;
forever beginning life, eternally drawn through river estuaries
stirred by ebbing infinite tidal pull...
There is an oppressive weight found
within paternal understanding,
and yet, as certain as the dawn promises the inevitable setting sun;
all things must pass as sure as all things begin,
someone you love most, longest in life
has come forth to break bread at sea as the torch is passed,
sharing life for the last time comes too soon with little warning.
There was an emotional unidentifiable hollow pang,
as if letting go gradually, yet potentially instantly,
drains every last drop of a breaking heart ache;
strength swallows sighs lumps in throats, words better left unsaid
only cleansing tears flow, knowing when they start to purge
they might not want to stop again
.
This moment's final autumn’s changing season’s waning ebb
That final riptide will forevermore change all other rivers’ flow,
where oceans set mother earth's rivers free until the end of time...
My father ... a man's man who seemed to find a peaceful Zen;
an unfinished life was reborn that day to see it through
as my hands grasped the wheel, compass held steady,
the son to carry on the weight of love , compassionate understanding taught love inspired the fortitude to carry on knowing we can
never go back.
As a life flashed before my eyes on that final raging Pacific sea,
instincts mused by ancient Tyees’ souls
stirred new sun's radiant rays of perception;
accepting this life on earth would never be the same yet would just simply be,
knowing this light's shine will never glow quite the same again,
yet radiate a more vivid luminosity...
We melded into that first day of Autumn,
falling silent, heads held high
There was nothing left to be done but pray with eyes wide open
“spirits of all oceans of mother earth …
show the sacred salmon the way to peaceful waters back home”
Few words were spoken as everything was silently said.
"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose,
under Heaven"
The Outrage, knuckles white the wheel,
climbed mountainous long ocean swells
breaking over the giant boulder jetty;
there rolls the mighty Columbia jaws,
where all Rivers suffuse with vast oceans, eternally free...
.... Harlon Rivers .... September 25th . 2013
Written with the fondest loving memories of my father's life and times shared~
So much of this day's memory is deeply repressed and each year I try to free a little bit more but each year passed has been privately circle filed, yet I try again to be set free..
Purging emotions so intense that they are nearly blacked out...I have never tried to publish any memory of this day until now although I do find hints that come to me much later after publishing some creative writing, I did not realize the basis of depth until later private moments...
It was in fact the day of the Autumn Equinox a few years ago, a final birthday celebration of sorts combined with bringing the Boston Whaler Outrage, home. Dad passed 1 week later after this trip from Pancreatic cancer ...we spend the final 72 hours alone together at Hospice after his September 25th birthday..."Crossing Over" R.I.P. Dad
Stormy Seas I believe this poem linked below is one of my favorites I have written to be an earlier creative account of this emotional day.
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a
story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott
... a prologue to " Beyond the Telegraph Road "
tribute to a fallen brother
Beyond the Majestic Bounds
crampon cleats tickle her snow packed bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.
the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkled
like diamonds in the rough.
I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.
watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;
...inciting
a conscious moment,
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being...
Authors notes: aka…a
bit of back story...
At 20, tragedy stuck my life when my best friend I had grown up with from just
down the block, perished in a head on crash. We lived together in college at
the time and we were all headed to the beach for the Memorial Day weekend. Another friend had a 2 seat sports car and
at the last minute I could not go because 3 did not fit. (6’4” 200 at the time)
I was disappointed and felt abandoned by my best friend as I watched them drive
away, down the gravel road for the last time. Then came the knock at the door by the state
police at 1am inquiring about next of kin, a moment that changed my life forever.
When we snow skied as teens, we always talked about climbing the
mountain we were on. It took years and the weight of a promise, some practice, physical training and a 6 month
mountaineering class to discover so much more than closure…
“Don't
walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.” - Albert Camus
a poem about a commitment to a fallen friend ,
- honored -
Beyond the
Telegraph Road
The
telegraph road circled through the foothills,
arising
towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been
a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly
dead ending, just below the timberline
The
dawning blue sky’s heavens look so much closer now
Just
a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched overhead on
the final material traces
disregarded by an indifferent world
My awakening
soul is ascending
beyond
the distant alpine horizon
At
the threshold of a trackless pathway,
climbing
up above the clouds
It’s
exhilarating to look back and know
there
is no turning back around
I’ve
never been higher
and
can never get back down
What
unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just
on the other side of the impossible dream?
The
last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There
is not that much that changes,
when
we just repeat the same old song
The
atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like
dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If
only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The
ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding
the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The
only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation
is at the core of freedom's survival
But
it feels almost like running away
I
have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve
climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come
this far always feeling subtly afraid
It
has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing
I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding
it was love that brought me here
Naturally
tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on I'll keep searching for the
shining light of guidance Listening for a voice
that softly beckons me home...
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