L.R. Harvey Poetry

The Pursuit "Wisdom begins in wonder." - Socrates I'm ever wondering away from where I am and where I've been, and who can say exactly when (or rather "if") I'll ever rest again.

Thoughts about Thought     Or: A man reading Nietzsche while his son wants to play catch Reflecting on his life, he placed two mirrors face to face and watched the way the light was stuck in the place between, creating countless reflections of reflections            that funneled into a gaping abyss           of nothingness in an endless tunnel of lifeless, re-used images. In living a contemplative life of introspection, how easy to become like facing mirrors, how quickly to be caught in endless cycles of thinking about thoughts and reflecting on stale reflections while the ever-fresh material of life goes passing by unseen before his inward-facing eyes.

a walk home after heartbreak As if inviting her to take a step and trust the rippled path will hold, a warm October moon rolls out his yellow bridge across the lake and beckons her to walk across, into his pockmarked arms. But this sparkling bridge transforms to strips of wind-blown ribbons when whispered breaths of wind  disarm its feigned appearance of stability atop the water's surface. No, October moon, she's been let coldly down a time or two before  by tantalizing eyes like yours, by promises and empty words that build a bridge to draw her close but only then return her heart confused and cold.  No, October moon, she's learned she will not trust a moonlight bridge.

Meeting the Perfect Poem I imagine that the perfect poem will walk right off of the page and shake my hand and tell me “here’s what I’m about.” She will have honest eyes, and as we talk I’ll inevitably find that she’s remarkably transparent, a beautifully simple soul, the kind who finds it inherent in her to laugh at a baby’s smile or take true joy in crunching Autumn leaves along September walks. We’ll amiably shoot the breeze a while until I feel I know her in full, but right when I believe that life really is that simple                    she’ll leave laid bare a strand on which I’ll pull to unravel an intricate world beneath, a tangled mess of complex truth and lies where on looks like the other, a world where underneath the stark simplicity of her outward beauty there lies an intimate understanding that life is not so simple and yet it is, that life is but a web of paradox, a constant tension between the