Honeysuckle Wild Rose Dawnbreak

Honeysuckle blossoms unfurl 
beneath a passion pink

wild rosy hued

daybreak  sky

Red Rooster crows

perched atop fencepost ,

echoing across

the harkening stillness floor ,..

“ there’s  something in the wisp ”

an avowedly heralded awakening ,

("cock-a-doodle-doo")

unto the evanescent stars’

looming sunlight  surrenders

the brilliant warmth approaching

first June lazy days ,

peeks up , up over

beyond near mountain high's

strewn shadow

underneath  

tendrils yawn

and

         stretch out - - - - -

let loose from eventide’s

waning shadowed grasp ,

leaning into

arising solar glister

dew drops wending downward

gathered crystalline teardrops

spilled upon

spangled earthen sod

suckles quench

buttercup petal’s rousing

golden yellow hue

morning sunbeams stimulating ;

spring fragrance glorifies

each and every

enthralling moment’s

heart awakened gifts

rapt ,..

reality is a dream

honeysuckle kisses

unwrapped blossoms

perfumed flowers bouquet

so stirringly pungent ,

breathtakingly poignant

yet ,..

so sweet the musing synergy

intimate memories ,

of impassioned pink

wild rose daybreaks

and ,..

salty apple blossom jasmine scent

honeysuckle wild rose coalesce

spicy alluring waft drifting

a spell casting elixir …

harlon rivers ... June 2014

"Crossing Over"... The Final Voyage over the Columbia River Bar ... to points beyond the Pacific Ocean

"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.

http://harlonrivers.blogspot.com/2012/06/stormy-seas.html

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  (!)

" Traces of You " ... A Father's Tribute

Memories of My Father's Traces...

The mighty water falls...landscapes this rivers great divide

                        Cascading walls of water soar and plunge...From a silhouettes high and wide 

A tribute to my father ...  His influence  made me a better man today...

A poem by Harlon Rivers

"Traces of You"

There are traces of you in the rainbow

Wisps of your watercolor palette, paint the mystical sky

The Song Sparrows’ song reminds me 
of your melodic whistle in the summer breeze

The resolute silence your grounded soulful solitude implied.

There are traces of you in the rivers, where water falls from high

Where the ocean’s waves reach some distant shore

I hear the sound of your voice roar in the passing thunderstorm 

Your love light shines like a moonlit troubadour.

There are traces of you in the garden

Many beautiful roses exposed your fragile side

Among the abundant blossoms, it’s effortless to imagine you here

Your peaceful spirit adorns this lovely space where love resides.

There are traces of you in the moonlight night

Glimpses of your shining heart are found in the infinite stars

Your aura is like the harvest moon’s angelic halo

A beacon of compassion for the indifference in other world’s apart.

There are traces of you in the early morning’s dew drops

In the amazing grace of the setting sun

Your thoughtful pondering evolved from life’s vast journey  

An air of ardent calmness, quieting fear and emotion.

There are traces of you in an old song

You fought for the light of truth with love,

With the fidelity of an iron fist in a velvet glove

The kind of muse that left me proud to be your son.

There are traces of your heart and soul 
as your treasured memories grow distant  

There are traces of your loving spirit in my smile

An ancient spiritual essence lives in every breath I take

Your devotion always walked with me the extra mile.

The merciful surrender of an unfinished journey,

Left traces of your verve in the depths of my soul

Those traces of love’s grasp make this life worth living

Infinitely, eternally, spiritually whole.

There are traces of you in this mirror

I see your vivid reflection in my eyes

Your every breath will always be cherished

Your life’s traces remain in the teardrops in my eyes... 

© 2012 Harlon Rivers

"purging”...snippet 8.0

"purging”

a river of tears may flood 

from love's ache... 

even a million raindrops

drawn by gravity’s,

yin and yang 

suffuse vast rivers wide 

always reaching 

oceans’s distant shores…

~ 

only tears can cleanse,

the dust and ashes 

that which verve of heart 

flung into the sea to purge...

echoes of the water’s healing balm 

calm the raging waves...

~   ~   ~

...snippets from thinking out loud

to be continued

© Harlon Rivers 2013…. All Rights Reserved.

Beyond the Majestic Bounds

"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…

Beyond the Telegraph Road

“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...

Standing in Majestic’s shadow ©  2012~2013 … Harlon Rivers  …All Rights Reserved

© 2013…Harlon Rivers 

Calling All Angels...

" Mother's Sons "

… some mother’s sons have a warm and nurturing relationship from the beginning, appearing surreal to others who  experience a more perplexing paradigm. 

… this is a chapter from “Watching the Thinkers Journey” by Harlon Rivers © 2013

Fritz-Zuber-Buhler

Mother’s Sons

born and raised

rooted in bedrock

to carry that weight 

upward over 

the untrodden mountain

spirit's fervor 

once hatched 

on a flat rock;

birthed from primordial 

native earth

genesis dawns essential inception

mother womb 

bearing the fruit of the vine

flourishing the spirit

of quintessential love

newly awakened 

dawn emerges  

finding a thriving hope

arose from the dust and ashes

where it was once forgotten

the arisen seed bears

the strong stem of its ripened essence;

sons are like nurtured blossoms ,

returning as one whole 

flowering heart of soul...

"It’s hard to go back to the beginning when you feel like you are walking on thin ice… sometimes we must go back to go forward"

Spring Cadence...Coyote Moon

... a chapter from "The Minstrel of the Blue Moon"  written about  vanguards of spring , in the Cascade Mountain foothills , illuminated by a full moon...

Spring Cadence

The coyotes’ wail shall
never again paint
a yellow moon so full
or tint its deep
pearlescent sheen so blue

Natural ambient elements
serenade the moon and stars
A plethora of all heightened senses
savor every sparkle
in midnight’s near and far

There may never be
another magical moment
sung exactly like the untamed timbre
bemoaned through these trees

Celestial incandescence reflects
the sky’s mystical mosaic’s afterglow;
transcendent resonance ricochets
from the angelic lily white petals

The native dogwood’s flowers
draw down the night sky’s radiant montage
Scattering a natural luminescent palette
as they sparkle with the twinkle of the stars

The coyote’s medley of mournful laments
echoes the moment’s budding essence
adorning the blossoming dogwood's bouquet ;
it’s natural enchanting ambiance
graces the awakening spring ,
within in the moonlit woods…

© 2013 ... Harlon Rivers 

Listening for Some Light

A chapter from " Watching a Thinkers Journey”

© 2013 … Harlon Rivers

“Listening for Some Light”

Everybody is looking

for some light; redemption is

deafened by the blinding glare

Squeezing the last drop out 

from within

stunned cold silence

Throwing the dice;

blindly rolling

circle of life roulette

Once there was a way

for wild eyes gone blind,

to learn to see again

Once there was a way

to see beyond

an empty space too big to fill

What will become of love

if we keep it 

hidden?

Walking away fighting shadows;

while what won’t matter

always remains

What is lost is gone forever;

what is found is

yours to keep

The distance between

what is and what isn't overshadows,

the symmetry you want to feel ...

© 2013 … Harlon Rivers

The Forces of Nature

...the many forces of nature seem to be weaving new threads into it's natural tapestry. It is better to yield to it's forces than to deny what will be Mother Earth's way on this day...

Looks like nature has given this day a theme as 60 mph wind gusts from an unexpected Spring wind storm that has taken its toll on the future...

Forces of Nature

Douglas fir spires
fight back turbulent gusts
Helpless to resist
the inertia of their wild sways 

Dormancy leaned towards
brighter season’s horizons,
stretching out into the southern winter skies
seeking the radiant warmth of surrender

Now the southerly forces of nature
bully them effortlessly
as their statuesque grandeur
arches evergreen  apexes
headed to the north

Snow White Trilliums
hug the shelter within
the mossy forest floor
that lies below

Delicate Tiger Lilies bow
their graceful heads
in prayers of hopeful  survival
Fragile Bleeding Hearts
lay tainted by the raging tempest

Wind battered Forget - me - nots
will not be forgotten
by the nearby Johnny jump-ups
hanging their bright colored faces
under the weight of the fallen wild iris

Petal baron Mountain Ash trunks camber,
arms stripped naked
down to its  lichen covered bark,
while it's nurturing orange berries
are lost for nature’s reasons

Red breasted Robin’s someday flight south
remains fleeting seasons away
That autumn journey to a distant Garden of Eden
where their unending circle began
The very embryo of direction
birthing the wind they love and shall loathe

The evergreen brow's ,
tender bloom of pine-cones ,
steal away to the North
over the abrupt basalt bluff

Nature’s defiled new beginnings
free fall like cremated remains,
ashes drawn in a downward draft
over the boulders
scattered down the  leeward cliff

Mother Earth’s natural respite
shields the drifting remains
swirling into the currents
of the rushing water far below

Peace like a river
awaits the forces of nature
A natural conclusion
brings the elements of life back home ~

© 2013 … Harlon Rivers

Sentimental Moonlit Sounds

... it has been said that time heals all wounds ... seasons change ... the more things change, the more they stay the same ..." I love you but I'm not in love with you " ... there is a " cliche  du jour " for every occasion ...

Well here is a new one...well spun in a different way ..." we did the things that we learned we shouldn't do again ~ what wasn't learned from mistakes, we will make them " ...

I watched as you disappeared following the infinite rails, headed for unknown final destinations, far beyond the distant horizon…

The Great Horned Owls hoot willfully for hours

breaking the silence of a cloudy and humid summer night.  

The windows to the outside world are wide open

allowing the sweetness of the firs and pines fragrance 

to permeate the stale bedroom air. 

The conversation between the owls

sounds like a long distance phone call

in which time pauses between 

the short awkward sentences.

  

One sounds as if she was in the next room.

As their unique majestic chatter

echoes off the giant trees,

as the other yearns to be near

from a country mile away.

He answers her questions willingly

from the stillness on other side of the draw;

up the treed hill overlooking the rippling brook

where it enters the cool spring water

trickling over the mossy  rock dammed pond .

From the north, beyond the crest of the hill,

a new sound is heard in the night’s darkness

hushing the flirtatious owls lullaby.

It is the sound of the distant trains, down in the valley,

speeding though the night on the infinite rails.

  

Once again from this vantage point, 

I count crossing horn blasts like sheep 

First whistles are barely heard from great distance

evolving into an undeniable ending to the peaceful solitude.

A dream ruining, eyes wide open, ruminating noise.

Finally  fading into the night air restoring silence

after 28 horn blasts warning all creatures and mankind

that the train from somewhere passed in the night.

Crossing crossroads through great physical and  cultural distances

traveling under the cover of night to nameless destinations. 

The Great Horned Owls were silenced

by a thick aura hovering in the atmosphere, 

a stillness filled with heavy nighttime air.

Weighed down by poignant sentimental emotion,

the silence of ardent reverie replaced their

eerie calling with a heavy thick haze

you could cut with a knife.

I reminisced quietly in my mind

over that exact sound scenario’s feeling of déjà vu,

knowing I've been here before through many seasons past... 

Remembering our time together... 

As you lie next to me

with only a musky cotton sheet

partially covering your sleeping beauty.

Listening to the silence

broken by the wonders of nature.

I watched you countless times;

content to be in the moment

as I enjoyed the melody of your sensual

exhaled breath as you slept.

Willingly, I silently counted 

owls and trains... contemplating

the loss of this fading moment

mindful time waits for no one

while watching your peaceful slumber

knowing one day soon you would vanish to be free.

I watched as the red sky dawned

as you boarded that train.

Abandoned and left behind 

with the burden of these roots 

grounded in the bed rock of my history ;

I gazed hopelessly blinded by the rising sun, 

as you disappeared following the infinite rails, 

headed for unknown final destinations, 

far beyond the distant horizon …

© 2011, 2012, 2013 ... Harlon Rivers