Supersymmetry Breaking
Individual divisions
separate the singular
partitions in the river ice
with fissures running from one side
to somewhere on the other side,
for some unearthly reason known
to only water, winter, and
the wind, the long northwestern wind,
that continental absolutist
monarchy of global movement
spinning still from some forgotten
ricochet of bang, big bang,
the nicest round that ever rang,
a bang that breaks sound ice in two.
~Son Rivers 2007
Yesterday the cold was like some northern raider laying claim to everything outdoors. The little snow that fell on Saturday effectively convinced the land that it was larger than all life itself. Blowing in white whirlwinds across the frozen river, it joined forces with the winter’s arctic onslaught, dimming the sight of eastern pines upon the other shore. That was the last greenery to meet my sight before I turned the wheel towards home.
~Son Rivers 2007
We are born to western witchcraft, technological black magic, spells increasing motion faster than the speed of sound and entertainment like a laser. What else could we need? Last evening saw the full moon rise above the river ice like our own third eye looking coldly on accomplishments and seeing no reflection. Trust nothing but emotions. Listen to the winter wolf that howls within your own luxurious enchantments. All is just distraction meant to play some three card monty with your soul while selling you a cure for something that you never had until you paid in full for previous alleviations. Like the full wolf moon, it’s all a vicious cycle.
~Son Rivers 2007
There’s nothing like a quiet morning by an iced-over unmoving river when even your thoughts are still and the sky is spreading its rosy-fingered dawn upon this classical New England landscape and nothing moves you to question the grace of it all. It is what it is and you are who you are and there’s not a single fabricated moment in the mix. Even when you’re driving on an interstate and headed for the static of the city, you still remain right there. Your blood is flowing silent and alive like the river running strong below the surface of that steel and frozen glass. Every word you speak from that instant on is some eternal whirlpool deep beneath the mystery of its current. You’ve fallen though the ice and that is making all the difference.
~Son Rivers 2007
River ice.
I really don’t think that one word can make a poem. But two!
Every word we hold within our mind is like a vessel filled with passengers. Each one has a story that it wants to tell. If not a ship of fools, it’s most certainly a boatload of motley characters.
River. Where can one begin to list associations this one joins inside my personal community of memories and education? Begin with Huckleberry Finn rafting down the muddy Mississippi with Jim before his reckoning to light out for the territories, and open up on an infant Moses found within a basket upon the banks of the River Nile and still I’ve only just begun. What about that January morning more than thirteen years ago while riding along the Merrimack and thinking to myself my marriage growing cold and lifeless was a little like that self same river, frozen.
Ice.
~Son Rivers 2007
The river is partly ice. The sky is partly cloudy. I am partly awake.
The car is somewhat driving itself this time of morning, as the late January dawn arrives noticeably earlier. Most things can now be seen.
The trees look dead, but I know they’re not. A pile of wood stacked for burning also looks dead, but I sense it’s not. Things may look dead but they’re really not; it’s our thought that makes them seem that way.
Science says electrons circle everywhere and quantum waves of amber grain are crashing deep beneath the surfaces we think as solid and secure. Our spirit has been telling us that same old thing since time was immemorial.
It’s time to come back from out the dark.
~Son Rivers 2007
