Giants

When I was younger, I dreamed of giants,
overly grandiose thoughts, beliefs,
impetuous desires, falsehoods, contradictions.

Now that I have aged, none of those
quaking trees of life remain, only
fallen timbers, a mountain of antiquated bones.

No stench of the decay lingers,
there is only a sense of stale stagnant air,
dried husks litter the path, detritus of the past.

Did I slaughter them, I the giant killer,
or did time become the immortal villain.
Cronus wielding a scythe of minutiae.

They become unnoticed, small things, until they
culminate in a shower of tiny arrows, piercing
the flesh, reaching into a once ambitious soul,

The trivializing of being, a fusillade,
pointed disappointments and failures,
missed chances and opportunities.

Count not the past it is dead , buried,
nor the possibility of tomorrow, count
the day, the only truth is its brief reality.

©2021 Donald Harbour

 

Testimony

I have watched and listened,
Suffered from contradictions,
Those gaps in a man’s life.

There are misconceptions,
Blatant mental posturing,
Delusions defining a man.

They are misguided, shortsighted,
Easily manipulated, injected,
The vinegar of male inoculation.

These vocal dystopian needlers,
Miserable cretins of neutering,
Harpies eating the grist of manhood.

We need not fear them, ignore them,
Pay no attention to them, for
A man is no one’s beast of burden.

Some may think this folly of conjecture,
But, it bears the soul of Occam,
Simply put, we are what we are.

Acceptance is a harsh reality, truth,
The granite laid by human history,
It is the blame game between sexes.

Wasted posturing, justifying micro-niches,
The piddling prattling of wannabe’s,
Never reaching the true stature of a man.

Hold this truth close to your breast,
There is hidden danger in masculinity,
Subtle skirmishes can have dire consequences.

Even a male praying mantis is comfortable,
Feeling safe in his exoskeleton,
Until a satisfied female devours him.

©2021 Donald Harbour

 

Things Possessed

Are we not possessed of possessions.
Things in transition from one state,
to becoming something other than they are.
Every pot and pan, each book and tablet,
a garden, and home, all transitory.
Even the thread that binds a shirt,
changing, neither a possession nor
possessed, used, not owned, allowed.
This mind that writes these words,
changing, what was thought possessed,
now gone, here given to the reader.
We are all things that ever were,
recycled particles of the cosmos,
what we will become is never kept.
The only real thing that can be possessed
is this moment, this second of time,
a sweep of a tick-tock on  the eternal clock.
Things do not belong to us, as we do not
belong to ourselves, for we are only,
an earthly dalliance of creation, and
that too is a possession of eternity.

©2021 Donald Harbour

 

Retribution

Slipping on his father’s shoes,
the little boy was beaming,
“daddy, now I’m just like you”,
and so, begins the journey.

It is a rugged path to manhood,
the shoes do not fit, but
he will grow into them…one day,
and so, begins the journey.

We leave footsteps in the past,
young men stumbling, to keep up,
driving to fill fading imprints,
and so, begins the journey.

It is a human obligation,
from father to son and so on,
each stride planted in different dust,
and so, begins the journey,

Some shoes become boots, hobnailed,
footprints in sand or jungle paths,
a nations youth slide into memorium.
and so, begins the journey.

Old men once in their youth,
now tamed by time and disappointment,
heads bent with anticipation,
and so, begins the journey.

Souls beckon for their escape,
a pursers bell chiming debarkation,
husks arriving at the final shore,
and so, begins the journey.

Creation’s retribution, a return,
fresh consciousness to begin again,
a new being, a new life,
“daddy, now I’m just like you”.
and so, begins the journey.

©2020 Donald C Harbour

 

Starship

On a clear winter night,
When the frost begins to awaken
I lay on the cool fragrant ground,
Mother Earth strapped to my back.
A million billion twinkling lights
Spread across the sky just for me.
They banish the darkness of night,
A blazing universe of celestial candlelight
Spirits leave their hiding places,
Whispering, singing, caressing,
Frolicking among the vapors.
A gentle breeze carries their voice,
These night gypsies quiet the soul.
This magical moment a cup of wine,
The nectar of nature’s offered grape.
I have become the prow of Gaia’s ship
Plowing through a sea of stardust,
A course set toward a distant forever.
The beauty overwhelms me, I cannot breathe.

© 2019, Donald Harbour

Etymology of the Heart

Deep down inside of me,
a question lingers, languishing.
Which heart will I have today?
That muscle that contracts,
The one that pumps life, or
The one that aches, and waits.
Playing the jester to hearten
these heartless hours, comically
synchronizing each heartbeat.
Ticktock of this life’s clock,
it is folly to believe the song of heartstrings
could capture the fire of desire.
So I wait for the masters’ decision,
its heart-to-heart prognostication,

©2019, Donald Harbour

Testimony

I have watched, listened, experienced,
Pondered to learn from contradictions,
Those gaps, the teachers in a man’s life .

There are glaring misconceptions,
The folly of blatant mental posturing,
Delusional justifications trying to define a man.

They are misguided, shortsighted,
Easily manipulated, injected,
The vinegar of male inoculation.

These vocal dystopian whiners,
Miserable knife wielding neuters,
Harpies ingesting the food of manhood.

Some would saddle the horse, ride him,
Use the crop until his strength stumbles,
But, no man is anyone’s beast of burden.

Some may think this folly of conjecture,
But, it bears the soul of Occam,
Simply put, we are what we are.

Acceptance is a harsh reality, truth,
The granite laid by life’s history,
It is the blame game between sexes.

Wasted posturing, justifying micro niches,
The piddling prattling of wannabe’s,
Never reaching the stature of a man.

Even a comfortable conforming male praying mantis,
Safe, feels insect manly in his resplendent exoskeleton,
Until on a whim, a satisfied mantis female devours him.

Let your light shine

Damnation is laid in the belly of our fears,
humankind’s quaking horror of everlasting darkness.
Those tiny hairs that first herald a breeze,
the same ones that motivate our souls to scream
alarm us as we are beckoned, peering into the unknown.
There is no choice in the matter, no bargain,
A Cararra trimmed portal cannot stay the nightmare,
No amount of Psalms, incantations, blessings,
no prayers, meditation, or pious beliefs,
nothing will stay that voyage into that gloom,
except, the immutable light of ones spirit.
Let it shine, hold it forth, brighten
each day, each person and all creatures with it.
A sempiternal bit of creation connecting us
with our creator, a beacon to guide us home.
There is no gloaming to our night, only
that warm sunset of welcome shining at journey’s end.

©2019, Donald Harbour

Damned to live

It is oh, so subtle,
No remark, no words said,
A slight shifting of the eyes,
A movement of the shoulders,
An unfinished breathe,
These slight adjustments change us.
I know you, I can see you,
I am drawn into your aura,
A quirk of conversation,
The words drift aimlessly.
No connection to the moment,
It is miss direction, a slight of hand,
This is all a magic show, nothing,
Nothing in our future,
Will over come this passing.
The bond between becomes broken,
Memories crumble,
They are foundations built on sand,
Yet you persist,
Always the fanatical true believer,
And I, a skeptic lover knowing that,
I am damned to live in your lies.

©2018, Donald C. Harbour

Ozarks

There my loves lay,
Those breasts swelling,
Challenging their limits,
I dream of them, I inhale their scent,
This loamy contact with them,
I love this moment, this communion,
They are surrounded with mystery,
An archaic moaning of ages,
Loved, challenged, dismissed,
They survive, triumphant, waiting,
These Arkansas Ozarks,
Mother Earth’s children.

©2018, Donald Harbour