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...
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
Coyote howled to another frostbitten dawn The cold Winter Moon is a bitter sweet mistress Luna’s final full phase marking another passing year Hope can grow faint so subtly, like winter's waning daylight , barely noticeable , until its former presence fades away without a trace …
Falling from love’s spinning wheel , feels as if gravity has drawn out the Ocean’s final tide Visions of grandeur adorn new beginnings ; their smoke and mirrors embellish illusions , while leaving a pathway of footprints , leading to a conclusion of stymied dreams
The victim of my own imagination watches as the imagined remaining natural elements become obscure The more things change the more they remain the same It is daunting how the chicanery of the mind plays tricks on the lonely heart of it’s flesh Loss of balance leads to mere mortal ambiguity
Being pricked by the barbed stem of a beautiful thorny rose , is like a dart to the heart ; you feel the sting at the moment of penetration , however the drip of blood cannot be heard over an audible emotional sigh , benumb the abandon of the silence .
Life slowly trickles out drowning the spirit of the soul … Silently, without notice from the outside world , a broken heart bleeding out one drip at a time is painless , except for to look in the mirror and watch it happen Knowing all the while the end is near , watching as sheer agony unfolds ...
The only way to stop the bleeding , as a broken heart suffers through the ache of unrequited love , is to stay away from thorny roses while moonstruck under the lonesome silver light of the fully illuminated Cold Winter Moon …
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;
“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...
... 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…
