hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply

a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas

it's been said so many times before
                   similes,...
     form clots at the tip of the quill
                    words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment

metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
       sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
       in considered words

        miles of silent reverie,
                     spun,...
        like a spider reprocessing,
        carefully savoring
        each fine silk thread of web,

        spinning the womb of time...

© H.A.  Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved

I really hope the
Unseemly image of me
Burns right through your soul.

I thought you would make
Me beautiful, but you just
Thrived on my slow death.

I used to hate goodbyes,
So every time we parted
We said,
"See you tomorrow"
"See you later"
"See you whenever"
Because it left the hope
Of seeing each other again.
I've started saying my goodbyes now
And I think it's because
When you left me
I really felt what goodbye was
Supposed to feel like.
I didn't like it.
I still don't.
But now that I know
What never seeing you again
Feels like,
It is a lot easier to say
Goodbye to everyone else.

You're a dime--
But not in the way that you think.

You're the dime that he
Leaves on the table because he
Doesn't feel the need
To pick you up when given spare change.

You're the dime that he
Puts in a machine with no hesitation
Because he just had a craving
And you're helping him to get his fix.

You're the dime that he
Digs in his pockets for so that
He can call home but he
Doesn't find you because you aren't there.

You're the dime that he
Lost because he
Never paid
Attention to you until he couldn't find you.

You're the dime that someone else
Found and picked up
Off the street and
Actually wants and appreciates.

You are a dime.

You’ve put leaves in piles
with ceaseless breath—
before, they were green
and dilated. I think they
knew they had to fall.

I’ve seen the grayed walks
lie under milkfoams of
fog you spear with flits
of once-in-a-while rain, as
Jupiter swallows comets.

You wrap birds in tight
black coats, slimming
their feathers. You don’t
let them speak. A dim
shadow is uncovered.

I find sheets over me,
all white or all sky blue—
remembering how clean
the cool dryness feels
and rustling in the wind.

I should write a villanelle right now,
without delay—no more ado will do—
I would, except I can’t remember how.

Indeed, my meter mastery would wow,
And always rhyming perfectly would woo—
I should write a villanelle right now.

I bet that I could even court a cow
With deft command of each and every moo—
I would, except I can’t remember how.

Soon, I’ll lose my grasp on “thee” and “thou,”
And I’ll be barely left with “me” and “you”—
I should write a villanelle right now.

But first, maybe I’ll try to find some chow.
I could make a hearty soup or stew—
I would, except I can’t remember how.

Before I storm the stage to take a bow,
Uncertain if I’ll get a cheer or boo,
I should write a villanelle right now—
I would, except I can’t remember how