C.M. Rivers

"The point of being an artist is that you may live." ~ Sherwood Anderson


Poetry

  • Light My Way

    Originally posted on C.M. Rivers: May my heart light my way.  May it come into a place not unlike the narrow line that exists between water and fire, a pocket of stillness where both forces are within reach.  Then I could learn their ways, how to call on them, how to let them enter me,… Continue reading

  • Remember

    Meanwhile, the wind blows, incredibly.  The sun rises – seen or unseen – and moves across the sky, incredibly.  Water covers most of the planet.  Effervescent laughter is remembered.  The vast silence of the world helps quiet the noise of your mind.  The great emptiness fills you up and calms your heart.  Do not be… Continue reading

  • Yard Work

    Let me tell you now how much I will miss you. Let me not spend another moment wandering the world with words unspoken. Let me not wait until you are gone, as I have waited with so many now lost from me, and narrowed my eyes as withered chances blew past my flushed cheeks, lifted by a sudden… Continue reading

  • Flicker

    Who holds this light?  Nobody knows, only that it stronger grows. Dim or bright, the smallest flame can light the darkness just the same.      Continue reading

  • “Many Miles” by Mary Oliver

    The feet of the heron, under those bamboo stems, hold the blue body, the great beak above the shallows of the pond. Who could guess their patience? Sometimes the toes shake, like worms. What fish could resist? Or think of the cricket, his green hooks, climbing the blade of grass- or think of camel feet… Continue reading

  • The Tourist

    Why do I wake while morning is still night? I grope along endless caverns, it seems, descending many fathoms deep into memories of the past, and dreams of the future, my hand outstretched, a flickering candle in the curl of my fingers. Journeys that – in the present light of day – I struggle to… Continue reading

  • Just Know

    Just know that you are the master of the singing bowl, the viscous ripples in the air, the temple in the clouds and mist.  Know you are the heart that leads the way, the swan who dives, the moon in May. Just know you are the artist, the canvas, the muse.  Know you are the… Continue reading

  • Omphalos

    My fires are so thirsty, the hunger drinks itself. Transcendent wheel turning, at once groaning and soundless. I speak the language of rounded stones, spoken at the navel of the world.   At times I cannot even reach you. At times I scoop you up to ride across the world in the cups of my… Continue reading

  • From Rilke’s Book of Hours

    I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a… Continue reading

  • Cooking Poetry

    There is poetry in cooking, and there is cooking in writing poetry.  Both require science, art, observation.  Both require an approach that is – to some extent – a combination of military thinking and creative thinking.  A sense of when to obey the laws, bend the laws, break them, rewrite them, be served by them.… Continue reading