...Hypothetical Scrutiny...

It has been said;    “In the final analysis,” as if there were one distinctive defining moment, that all musings of theoretical truth are finally revealed...Breach the damn that holds back consciousness.  Let thoughts flow freely...

A Poem by © Harlon Rivers 2012

It has been said...

“In the final analysis”

as if there were one distinctive

defining moment, that all musings

of theoretical truth are finally revealed



Only an imaginary score card has been keep

by some unseen score keeper

to be tallied at a final definitive, 

yet unknown moment 



The long passage across life’s ocean

is only a process to an ending chapter of an infinite journey

Finally reaching that distant opposite shoreline

stepping out… into other side's new beginning



One can only speculate

though philosophical scrutiny.

Judgments of provisional ideals

are heard from every corner of the planet



Is personal soul searching self-appraisal

or nothing more than narcissistic conceit?

Or could it be the process of an evolution

of our spirits that gives life meaning and reveals purpose?



To wholeheartedly become who we are in the moment

Acceptance no matter who or what that may be

The quest for precise definition too exact

for any other human being

other than our own spirit to comprehend



The epic, complex magnitude

of our intricate existence

A final accepting personal valuation

could be a definitive moment

of conscious enlightenment



Mere theoretical truth-seeking

an unproven idealistic

interim possibility

...Hypothetical Scrutiny...

"Flight of the Red Breasted Robin"

The Mountain Ash grove is always a fascinating spectacle in the fall…After watching for several days…recording the thoughts, mentally painting the picture for a sit down at the table, in the window with a pen and paper  tablet.   Today was the day for a 30 minute stream of natural consciousness in this narrative prose poem about a reoccurring seasonal fascination with the American Robin’s cycle of life…When I stop to ponder the irony, actually our circle of life is just as round…

 …a narrative prose poem by  © 2012 Harlon Rivers 

Hops and jumps are blurry motion across  the dewy meadow floor,

as the dawn brushes away the sandman’s magic

from the corner of sleepy eyes.

A sudden hazy yet abrupt stop…

A hasty, halting, motionless freeze,
Stillness, as if some final destination had been reached…
  

Neck stretched and craning,

Tilted with an eye to mother earth.

With a focus beyond interruption.

In the blink of an eye, 
In a motion too rapid to capture,

the nowness of motion, flashes.  

She stretches the earthworm with the grasp of subsistence

knowing after fall comes the long winter.

The morning sun illuminates the glow of the Native Maple’s

glorious orange and yellow color palette.  

A steady stream of activity rushes in and out

of the giant tree’s golden splendor.

Abundance perishes with the seasonal gardens decay. 

Mornings of blueberry and strawberry feasts

have left the red breasted robbers foraging

for the last rotting apples the deer have left behind.

Harbingers of spring…

  

Blueberry sneakers…

  

Gleaners of fall and winter..

“Teeek”  “tuk” “tuk” “Tseep” fills the overhead air

The flock returns repeatedly to and from the towering Maple

to the ripened cornucopia of berry clusters of the Mountain Ash.

The Robin’s flock ravage and gorge on the plentiful delights.

Soon the crimson berries fuel of flight will disappear

as if it were only an illusion of the passing seasons.

The pearl gray sky is an ominous backdrop for the fickle fleeting migrants.

Daylight fades as the flock disappears into a break in the clouds

of the ominous pending winter sky…

In the blink of an eye...life’s seasons transform

The stormy whirling winds of change

carry the golden leave’s splendor across the rolling vista.

The naked rooted scaffold’s branches stretch

across the sprawling tapestry of the wooded sanctuary.

Winter flocks of Thrush and Robins, arrive on a frosty new dawn

Red breast feathers puff with morning sun’s rays,

warming the tree tops leaning toward the southern sky.

Their journey here and now,
from distant mountainous horizons,

is part of this soul’s circle of life…

~Harlon Rivers October 23rd, 2012~

Memorizing the Dust Storm

A Poem by Harlon Rivers

Memorizing the Dust Storm....following your heart no matter which way the wind is blowing... 

Left behind, feeling dazed and confused, 

fading memories of steps taken abate focus

Ambiguous blinding passage through the reeling dust storm

Bread crumbs left behind are meaningless subterfuge, 

as intuitive direction falters

Vanishing with the dust of the helter skelter reeling wind

All direction is lost, past tracks permanently erased 

like dust in the wind

The vertiginous pathway left perplexing and undefined

There is no going back when all steps in all directions are either

forwards or backwards… yet all in a same unfamiliar direction

While navigating passageway through the blinding dust storm,

the wanderer envisions sensations of traveling through obscurity

Crawling blindfolded through an ancient unknown labyrinth

Strictly running on the faith of natural instincts for guidance 

Crossroads are passed in darkness in fleeting moments

Ignored without even the slightest inclination they existed 

Spontaneous instinctual recognition relied upon for direction

….Clarity Denied…

Lost in a maze of fogged obscurity

Emotional thoughts dizzied and whirling

As if the mind’s broken compass needle

were spinning in a magnetic dust funnel

Swoon by the startling intermittent silence

Impaired by bewildered confusion

Vertigo sensations of disequilibrium

Stumbling, tripping, falling, bruised, exhausted and crawling

Breathless...and yet lifted up by the spirit from within

The impassioned soul of a fervent unfinished life… 

© 2012 Harlon Rivers