Inviting and magnetic the towering awesome sight
A perspective of domineering rock and icy peaks
It challenges, dares and beckons with unfolding beauty
Stretching upwards into shades of blue and puffy clouds.
Along the winding sloping trail I make my way, the easy
Lower tract encased in green, till rough terrain appears
Then stimulation is released when steep ascent arrives.
I climb and breathe the pure fresh air, intense intoxication
It is so peaceful all around, a place for meditation.
The time goes by. I look for holds and make full use of spikes
Intent on concentration. The wind comes by and contributes
To the hazards of melting ice and hidden crevasses
The weary limbs in need of rest; a keen lookout for falling rocks
An avalanche of crumbling doubts that slows the pace...
Subdued exhilaration when the going gets too hard.
At last the top is right above. An added burst of strength
Dispels the peril of defeat. One final forward thrust
Victory is mine. The summit reached I gaze in awe
Surveying with pride my sprawling kingdom down below.
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Far away from this bonded crowd,
Far away from these layers of
Oh wings of the air glide me away,
To the world, world above the
To the giant mountains of mist,
Where sparkling houses of rain
World beneath where would be
And sun rays where will be cold
Where I won’t be bound by laws,
And I could speak freely about
things I love aloud,
Yeah to the world with cloud
above the clouds,
Where everything just everything
will be allowed.
Sliding on morning dews that stays
Diving in the night’s sky that looks
like morning light,
With no paths to follow,
I’ll glide free and fast,
Yawing, pitching, bouncing,
Like the endless penumbra it’s
unknown where I’ll last
Yeah endless it is,
And it’s unknown where I’ll last
For Above the CloudsContest
I think I am late :-( posting this
THAW AT CROWSNEST PASS
Huge mountains massed and cliffs sheer. It’s March
And endless blue sky cold is held back by the Chinook arch,
Snowy prairies rolling into their thousand-mile realm -
The landscape is gigantic, majestic, orchestrated to overwhelm.
But I stand and watch the lake-ice thaw,
Surprised by the tiny delicate music -
Descant ice - jingling, jangling, tinkling
In delicate accompaniment to the giant symphony.
Ice chunks tangled in slow waves with the wind
Tiny tintinnabulation before total ablation.
There is silence and harmony around the sound,
The small melody of the ice breaking into spring’s chorus.
Note: Crowsnest Pass is the southernmost way through the Rocky Mountains in Canada
As the sun awakens the forest,
I ascend the faded trail.
A doe and her fawn spring,
startled by the stranger,
traipsing through their paradise.
These overlooked alpine slopes
soak in tranquility,
and newly conceived sunshine.
Enchanted and purified I drink
from untouched springs of refreshment.
Give the valleys to the cities.
Grant the plains to the farmers.
Leave the mountains to her unsettled visitors.
Where civilization grows,
ugliness breeds in desperate streets.
Pollution collects beside her gutters.
Man turns on himself in greed.
In the places people gather,
desecration and hatred are common,
and he is cut off from himself.
His cities are bastions of confusion,
concrete coffins awaiting the fill.
Save me from our urban abominations.
Joined mountains and blankets of forests
Where the sun dances just above the breeze
Deep inside the past and positions of clouds
Following branches and roots to the inside of the earth
Meadows and crevices, climbing alpine heights
Freedom in the wildflowers and fields
Memories tangled up down long dusty roads
I love sky I love trees
and sometimes I can feel the breeze.
I feel like I can fly
With the wind pushing my hair back so lightly the trees are waving
My hair is swaying so is yours as we glide together
as we watch the sunset go bye
and once again I can feel the breeze
the mountains are high
so so high
they are so high
see them see them
to protect me as I walk across the lake
I love the lake
it is so big big big big
I love big
do you like big?
I like the mountains
they are so straight like a statue do you think?
the mountains are high in the sky
I love to just watch the sunset go bye
so quiet and slow like the clouds I soar through the sky
I love soaring through the sky
Here i am again hiking near a mountaintop
as the aroma of hibiscus reminds me
of my charmed youth, of a serenity the winds
cannot contain. As I reach the peak,
my breath spills of gratitude, gently affirmed.
It didn't matter if the trees are older now
perhaps, rustling my grandfather
and Dad’s sleeves---
or if the mossy ferns gather like wrinkled
toes on a late afternoon.
I was bathed with soft of light beyond
the ridges inhaling the serene madness
of a nature-child as if the moment
stretched into a dance of family bonfire.
I flow… and now, my sweet memory retains
a journey of girlhood days: on Mt.Cordillera,
the fullness of my spring lips, my summer cheeks
embrace a rapture I cannot touch
or cuddle in my arms.
While gazing at how new stars emit their beauty;
all I know is on this angelic evening’s bliss…
I become a child of eight again.
Anthony Slausen's Pinnacle Contest
WATERFALLS, RIVERS AND DROUGHT
The frenzied forces of cold, icy streams
detonate explosively on the rocks below.
Their rapid currents wreak havoc
on logjams caught in crevasses beneath
the mist and rainbowed spray.
We blink in awe to see this
of pretentious power abruptly
become whirling vortexes
of descending splash downs.
But then, almost as quickly, this despoiler settles
and begins to accumulate in multitudes
of rippling bubbles and froth
immediately bleeding onto the embankment
promptly losing much of its potential goodness
swooshed as sucking sounds
into the wild soils of the firmament.
What survives roams free and for awhile
flows in any direction, with no beginning, no end
as the river turns into riverlets
Eddying on without any selected steering.
The rains that used to drip down from the mountain top
cry to see the diversions of the most glorious river
dissipate and dry up knowing that the drought
which has appeared can not adequately supply
sustenance to a parched soil.
For that sunbaked soil to be reclaimed
the river must continue to extend its reach
and water the seeds of new growth.
and use its silt to fertilize the new life
that waits anticipating its turn
in creation's timetable.
CAK 6-04-2012 Revised 6-18-2013
There's a place to go that feels like a kingdom-
sounds like the magic of a newborn day.
Those shreds of illusion I wrap myself up in
can never dissolve the rapture I'm seeing.
Gazing intently at miles of enchantment
the roar of the mountain takes over my senses.
Layered in purple with streaks of black-silver
singing out clearly across the horizon,
this is the stuff that most dreams are made of.
Amethyst notes that play on in your soul.
for contest "The Sound Of Color"
You can travel the four thousand miles of the Nile
to its source and never find it.
You can climb the five highest peaks of the Himalayas
and never recognize it.
You can gaze through the largest telescope
and never see it.
To be a part of landscape
From a distance landscape has a
A skin mite, grazing fleshy meadows
grotesque microscopic cow,
has no concept of the human form it feeds from.
Just as a mountain in close proximity
is no longer symbolic of its form,
romance and the imagination of it
is reduced to a frozen, physical obstruction
that is a challenge to survival.
The skin mite tumbles, a huge force
has torn it's clawlike hooves from
living apertures, it falls
with flakes of dead turf into a
depthless void, unoticed
by the scratcher,
and the mountain climber sees the
blinding wall of snow that
flashes by him as he falls,
unoticed by the mountain.
For Giorgio's Impress Me 111 Contest
Would I could recall and savor
the striking moment
I came to know of mountains.
Not lowland’s timid rolling hills,
adorned with scant veneer
of weeds, cement and green-grass lawns,
but lofty pinnacles that scratch the sky
with unyielding granite,
against whose might
the setting sun itself does daily yield—
Its bluster damned in mute dismay.
Yet there faintly linger,
among the tangled ganglia
of my mind, images and feelings…
of summits gained, and all the world below,
that I might behold
have no need to remember.
I can feel the frigid air bite my lungs
as my shallow breaths try in vain to
soothe and stop the burning pain.
Each struggling footfall could be my last,
yet the mountain taunts me to keep onward.
The snow has consumed my crampon booted feet
with numbness as trembling loins beg my brain for rest.
Heartbeats match the pounding in my head.
I just can’t stop now when so near the summit.
Blinding snow begins to fall as I leave my two
closest friends behind on the promontory.
They plead with me to turn back with them.
All sensibilities have vanished into the whiteness.
“As I feel the snow fly, I will conquer or die”.
Let these words be my epitaph I call to them,
should the mountain claim my sorry soul.
August 10, 2014
For Charlotte Puddifoot's
Dark Poetry Contest
SOMEWHERE ON TOP
Breathing free, I behold--
sash-like fluffy blue clouds
Nearby, terrace of trees greets
and falls that warble deep.
05:20 PM, January 10, 2015
Sponsor nette onclaud
Contest Name SOMEWHERE
Living on a mountain top in Vermont "Spring Showers" are very dangerous
With several feet of snow still covering the rocky terrain above the tree line
a recue unit is always prepared for the fools that climb the cliffs; unprepared
They pay no heed to the weather report: Spring Showers today and tomorrow
on top of a mountain the rain falls and creates tiny rivers under the snowdrifts
A slow rain tears the bottom layer of snow away with a sheet of ice at its base
The potential now for an Avalanche just rose 80%.Are there fools climbing today?
every fifteen minutes, the rescue squad check their gear. The thermo body raps,
Snowshoes, Snow spikes, heat sensored depth poles,helmets with red, yellow,
and green push on lights, two way radios;checked batteries,Coffee and Whiskey
When one lives up here long enough; You can hear the snowdrifts : drifting
It has been raining for almost 48 hours,as raindrops keep falling my fears rise
Down in the Valleys, they cherish the April Showers,looking forward to May Flowers
I have to go now and call on my ham operator radio for assistance.The alarm is
ringing, the Snow is rumbling down the side of the Mountain.You asked to tell why
we do or do not like Spring Showers. I will tell YOU when and if I Return.
April 15, 2013 for the Contest : "Spring Showers" Sponsored by "Russell Sivey"
The grandeur of a majestic mountain
standing proud against the horizon
with its snow-capped peak
enveloped in fleecy white clouds
against a clear azure blue sky
The glorious majesty of a stately sequoia
towering above the surrounding vegetation
being the largest living thing on earth
its massive trunk over thirty feet wide
with its gnarled rugged beauty
The wondrous artistry of the setting sun
edging the darkened clouds with silver linings
and painting the evening sky
in brilliant colours of the rainbow
mirrored on the ocean's surface below
The awesome power of a thunderstorm at night
with jagged bolts of lightning
that split the darkness
and light up the surroundings
with blinding dazzling intensity
The thunderous roar of a mighty waterfall
cascading down in huge torrents of liquid fury
smashing into the water below
creating mists of water droplets
that transform the sunlight into a rainbow
You whisper in my ear
midmorning bird songs
with that scent of mountain air
and foliage extracting its green emblem.
Switching to fields of neon;
your breath mimics the sunset sky
the feeling of kissing your newborns forehead,
so gentle and soft your entrance.
You ease your way into a majestic overlook
of pomegranate leaves,
and weak, crisp, dead skinned grass.
My delicate irises wince at
overpowering sun rays
but the heart of your existence
I open my eyes for.
I can’t miss this.
My body balanced
by your impeccable temperature,
you look so beautiful tonight,
in my window frame,
your fire grows in the pale moonlight.
You whisper in my ear
midnight cricket hymns
so seducing in your presence
that I can’t get enough of this.
Their Autumn Leaves.
And then embrace the ground.
The pathways I tread
And the horizon I see.
Amidst them, I halt
Amongst them, I sit,
Stare and admire
Them as they shower from trees.
I listen to them,
As they rustle,
In the soothing autumn breeze.
Wondrous it is to listen
To the tales they tell,
Tales spelled in their toungless accents
Tales that are the soul of each of those
Falling, twirling, rustling
Between the sea
And the mountains that seem
To hold hands
Refusing to let go
Of each other's ties
For together is the home that lasts
While at the same time
Bathing their feet
In the love of deep blue sea.
A place of serenity
That once seized
One comes to feel infinity
Watching the tides
Moving onward to the shore
As they have done
For thousands of years and more
Protecting all life
For it knows its size.
Many have come and go
But the land remained
The mountains have kept their hands
Together, hoping some day
Some will catch on to their message
It is here one can know peace
That holding hands enhance
That the sea from the moment of first glance
Has been so in love with
Reaching out to this eternal bliss
In tidal waves of
Copyright August 2010
I lay sleeping with eyes wide open,
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning,
I lay sleeping with nothing to dream about.
I lay sleeping with no care and sleep with eyes blind,
I lay sleeping, there with my eyes wide open.
Seeing the dark change from dark to black.
There is no moon, there is no sky
just purple strokes of paint in the sky.
Take that morning dew smell and close your blind eyes.
Smell the morning, that smell that clicks in your mind.
The smell of childhood dreams,
that as an adult never came true.
Sleeping bare in the nude with your eyes wide open.
Thinking of her, as she is five thousand miles away from you.
Wanting to love and hold her, but no use in crying.
Sleeping their with blind eyes in the dark that dances in the light.
Your lamplight turned down low,
as life trickeles down in its nightgown and yawns for sweet slumber.
Tired from longs days, and sometimes long nights,
wanting to curel in bed and close its blind eyes.
Dusk will soon peek its head through the blinds
and awake life to a new dawn.
She sleeps in the morning, and walks at night.
When he sleeps at night, and walks with a bare nude heart in the morning.
Life climbs over yellow mountains,
and meets her fellow compainion
a handsome fellow with broud shoulders and blessed with an ego
as I sleep there with my eyes wide open.
As I sleep with my eyes blind to what life has intented for me,
and as I raise to walk the lone streets at the break of the dew covered lawn
at the first sweet smells of dawn,
I can see life go on with the handsome man
and I blind and wanting to go to bed.
I dream of dreams that have no meaning
Gardens of cluelessness and raging emotions
tare me down and I am confused on which way to go.
Do I stay here and dream away, blind and half awake
as life slaps me across my broad cheek?
Or shall I walk on with life hand and hand
and regain my vision of the world,
Start to sleep with dreams that make sense
and dreams that are made of gold and have no end?
Dream of fancy dreams that show love and happy endings
I would love that, and I would love to walk with life,
but she is out of my leauge.
And my bed is so cozy and I feel like sleeping.
So I shall sleep on more restless night chashing life down.
I lay sleeping with my eyes wide open.
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning.
I lay sleeping waiting for life to come back from the mountains
and lay beside me.
I lay sleeping with hope of regaining hope and salvage
what is left of my spirit at hand.
The clouds drape low,
shrugging blue mountain shoulders,
melding with ghostly river mist
ascending in specterous vapor trails
salted with primordial tears.
Between stately mottled sycamores
and aged medicinal white oaks,
slippered phantom figures glide,
clad in hides of deer and mountain lion.
Down to the silvered stream--
a mirror for chalky spirits and bright stars--
they slip to drink of pristine springs.
The powerful spell impacts within, without,
invading every animated sense.
A dream, an apparition?
I wonder at the dawn of bright sun rising,
green moss clad boulders warmed, fog dissipated.
I discern the curious sensation
of withdrawing from an ancient trance.
The happy river dances down the valley,
bordered in mountain laurel ruffles, pink;
the fragrance of breakfast bacon wafts,
a tantalizing, hunger inducing wave,
and campers' laughter echoes off a dream.
August 19, 2014
I traveled and see
The mount of glory
Where animal and person
Live as friends
The mountain of peace
Caries two peaks
Home of wonders
Guests be keen on
Mawenzi is the smaller
Kibo is the taller
They all have snow
Melts to life juice
The mountain is splendor
Tanzania must celebrate
sheltered colonizers and travelers
Kilimanjaro is the mount
Where lord was worshiped
A mount of glory where glory lives
Dare not missing once in being
People come people go
They dare again going
They felt the beauty
More and they live
Our friends and neighbors
Live in mount’s gossip
That we play and teasing
Though lucky than them
Still illiterate and stupid
Of all the years!
No body had volunteered
that attract sightseer
Only is thought
pouching and smuggling
I hate this life, full of poverty
On natural richness!
The magnificent river
coming down the mountainside
spreading out in its majesty
as it moves towards the ocean
then rising up to the cloud
from where it condenses
on the mountain
as snow or rain
that ends up in the river
repeating the glorious cycle
- the essence of nature
i travel three-and-a-half hours
for peace of mind
leave the city dwellers
worship our Mother Earth's kind
She takes my breath away
A trail, I take my hike
"Who walked this path?" I say
as dusk draws near
a dance with the rays
the sky, the clouds
amber and red hues
an a fading blue canvas
my mind blends in
top of a ridge
sweet smell of sage
my mind at ease
one with the earth
The wilderness has been improved of late,
Or so they say.
The maple trees where sticky syrup oozed
Between the cracks of scarred and broken bark,
The wild apple trees whose crooked branches
Cradled clumps of crudely woven twigs,
Have been replaced by houses, row on row
Of painted boxes gleaming in the naked sun.
The narrow trail, a divine doodle
Traced across the earth and kept in place
By centuries of coyote and bear
And deer that bounded zigzag up the slope
Lies tame and straight beneath the asphalt sweep
That cuts a leveled swath across the peak.
The blackberry briars that pressed against the path
And tore the skin from little hands that wiped
the purple stain on Sunday clothes,
Are cut away, and soft green grass grows in their place.
“Superior development, and more to come,”
The realtor explains,
Not knowing that I was here before.
I scan the hills for one certain house,
An Improvement on a three-room shack
where squirrels chattered in the rafters
And wasps built nests against the eaves,
And berry bushes dirtied up the window panes.
The modern house is pink with snowy trim;
A cement sidewalk leads from drive to door,
And tulips nod obediently by the steps.
Beyond the manicured lawn,
The last undeveloped forest hugs the hill,
And stubborn briars spill onto the planted grass.
“I’ll buy the house,” I tell the man.
He sees me looking at the woods and smiles
Apologetically. “For a slightly higher fee,”
he says, “that bit of forest can be cleared.”
“I’ll take it as it is,” I tell him.
“The blackberries might still grown in there.”
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Sun sending in a
line- one stands
on mountainous perfect
rock to sing and
sit in meditation
to her travels.
A polite rain
joined me briefly
before heading uptrail
to leave me standing, alone,
in a suddenly steaming forest.
1) Roger Davis
I wrote this on a hikein the Adriondacks to to Mt Marcy, the highest mountain in New York State. My Adirondack Guide indicated that Tahawus was the a first Nation (Iroquois ??) name for the mountain and it meant “cloud-splitter.” I decried that the mountain is now named "Mt. Marcy"after William L. Marcy, who as Governor of New York (1833-1839), authorized the geological survey that explored the area. I speculated that this is why there is so little poetry in our time.
However, a later Wikipedia search revealed that the name was likely never used by the aboriginal peoples of the area to refer to the mountain, and its meaning, may have no roots in any language.
Summer Morning When sun is bright with its vibrant light..
When water level gets down from its height..
Summers are where hot winds blow, When sun gives all its glow..
During Summers the Mornings are mystical...
Where birds chirps sounds musical....
Morning Dew makes Mornings Refreshing...
Just a cup of Tea takes away all the stress...
Where nights are cool and serene....
Moonlights in the blue...
All around seems to get filled with Evergreen hue....
Invincible Summers make me mesmerized its time to make minds get Energized ..
. Dated 3.01.2015
In the midst of conclusion,
this breathtaking, last sight.
Fitting the peace of final sigh,
the picture perfect landscape
spread out beneath a sky clear as Heaven’s light.
The vastness of nature’s reach and the danger of death
combined in dance creates an epic last note
in which one edge of balance will topple onto the other.
In a flash, my past performs a scene
to the rhythm of panic
as I’m held on edge by the arms of a murderous heart,
refusing to let me fall to forgotten love,
telling me to hold on…
Beyond the threshold of the rugged horizon
Heaven's gates beckon.
Should I let go?
To die inside myself or to live in slavery?
I look up to the now brilliant, crystalline sunset.
Time is running out for choice
as bloodied hands lose their foothold.
I look back to see the shadows multiplying,
encompassing the hope of life.
As night chokes the permeating beams,
I shut my eyes
and give up the fight that was never mine…
from the wild untameable
Rugged and timeless
for the eyes to adore
Spiralling hills and sweeping green vales
Plagued by harsh wind rain and hail
and silver ribboned streams flow
Where the purple carpets of heather grow.
Moss covered old drystone walls
baron trees from which the crow
shouts out it's raucous calls
A patchwork quilt of varying greens
and tawny browns
Where sheep majestically graze
with their woolly down.
A rustic stone cottage
long abandoned and run down
graces a hill
Where the wind blows through
the windows with a haunting howl
and biting chill.
A place where many an artist and poet
have been drawn to and inspired
Their hearts at one with nature and beauty
their imagination fired.
A place through the ages
Countless lovers have dreamed and swooned
under the velvet diamonded filled skies
and magical glowing moon
Love stories now left untold lost in time
the pledges of soft love and romance
ans sweet love divine.
An idle timeless wonder land
crafted by Gods loving artful hand.
Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Dec.
High up on the rockiest mountain
A mountain of black stone
Very sharp the flat face
This place has a dark cloud
Floating just over the mountain
It’s the only cloud in the sky
Ominous darkness over the black stone
A mountain of doom it is
It will rain on the harsh land
Treacherous the landscape is
Great and mighty
Especially with the large cloud
All power is spread about here
Not many can climb this mountain
The mighty sheer mountain
Of all slate, coal black stone
The cloud seems to be attached
To the dim mountain
A whole scene of darkness
Very hard to see and visualize
To see the top of the mountain
Maybe no one has really seen the very top
They might not be able to reach it
To feel the mightiness of the mountain
What power is there
What a true feel of dominance
A real deliverance of the soul
Into another realm of life
The black mountain
My heart is in the Adirondacks
And day by day i drink the courage
captured in these mountain heights.
The trail winds across the slope where bramble
lies like Tangled Truth--Blending Berries and Briars
--Bold challenges for hungry wanderers.
The great white pine leans low in mountain wind--
but lifts its top again--the living hiding place
of antelope and bear--and little things
the birds and scurriers finding safety
in the needled limbs.
The contradictions here abound,
The breathless height amid hollow crevices,
The stillness--absence of humanity--amid
a cacophony of Nature's jumbled cries;
the barren rock 'tween rooted evergreens;
the toxic elder hiding almond scented mushrooms;
the dying elm that shades the sprouting oak;
The tumultuous roar of naked storms
Belied in the quiet tumble of mountain streams.
All these things--these contradictions
do but mirror the tortured passion
in my breast. Nor in the madding cities
or steepled churches hiding frightened people--
nor yet, in tenuous arms of would be lovers--
do i find peace. But only here--
where trembling deer dip cautiously
into the water's edge; squirrels scold
in unquiet trees, and wild turkeys
strut unfrightened across the wind-bare
rocks. Here--on a mossy bank--
where the current curves in gurgling smiles
around the jutting stones; here
in the flickering welcome of mountain shadows
the human spirit finds release.
As if hugging the sky,
The father hill stands,
The child beneath his knee,
The mother to her side,
Looks down with pride -
A wonderful sight to see!
The child lifts up her arms,
And carries the ball so bright,
Then brings it slowly down,
When it’s time to say Goodnight.
Snow Flake And Mountain
A snow flake came down, in turns, in twists, in blizzard company
Never lands, captured in an updraft, lifts up with other plans
A mountain positioned for a collision with the flake
Seemed tall enough to follow the movement of the thing
Aging in good time, conversant in snow and what it takes
Also knowledgeable in smaller matters, practicing due diligence
Waited, as mountains are apt to do, in these conditions
To receive the snow form with all its molecules
Take it to a final resting place along the lower face
Crystal flake continued though, on a sojourn to the sun
Still clinging to the upward draft
Not knowing what the sun might do to it
The snow floated, transforming into water
It drew closer to the warmth, to the point of vapor
But in a miracle of ice and cold, it fell or floated down
It drifted back to earth and hugged the mountain
Thanked it for a friendly wind and place to get some shade
Snow flake gathered whiteness on this little break
Came back to proper form
From the crystal core
And went on floating ever down for ever more
It would never reach the bottom
The mountain saw to that
It kept the snow flake by its side above the tundra line
Near a full grown pine tree whistling through the needles
Singing sweet lullabies of winter and storms gone by
Snow crystal glides in cozy circles about the pine
Everything in life
is in a constant state of change
A mountain may appear fixed
for it is unlikely to change noticeably
in our lifetime
Yet from the perspective of infinite time
that mountain is just as transient
as the morning mist
Even as one looks at the mountain
it is changing
The sun, wind, rain, snow
and other forces of Nature
are continually changing that mountain
It may take millions
perhaps billions of years
for a noticeable change
but Nature has infinite time
for the change
Your flannel shirt hung on the back of the chair
Your boots sit on the floor
I walk to the window,breathe in the air
How could I ask for more?
The sun is rising on the mountains below
The whipper wills they sing
The little cabin was built with love among the pines and streams.
I feel your arms around me
my robe falls to the floor.
This little cabin in the woods...
Awwww who could ask for more ??
Fifty years together,our love has never changed.
Our little cabin in the woods
where we heard our children sing.
They're all grown up and moved away,
to their places right down the road.
Their own little cabin in the woods
Where they'll watch their children grown.
What lies behind the mountain?
A far and distant land?
Are there valleys and flowers,
Or hot and burning sands?
What lies behind the mountain?
A place I’ve never known?
Is it desolate, and barren,
Or do you reap where you’ve sown?
What lies behind the mountain?
Somewhere to rest my head?
Do the weary cease their labor,
Or do they toil in fear and dread?
What lies behind the mountain?
The sun’s warming glow?
Should I stop or keep on going?
Many things I do not know.
But I know what is behind me,
And where those paths have led.
Of all the odds around me
Greater things must lie ahead.
You are you are of
a mountain, becoming
higher when enlarged
a mountain is- the
epitome of what
being selfsame can
I am, a mountain,
believing all in
which I can he be,
a mountain therefore
seeming come, I know
of which of which I
can be mountain,
mountain believing I
I wonder what’s on that untraveled path
It looks detached from the human race
That mud-spattered trail has no footsteps
I wonder if it was ever taken by anyone
A shepherd and his sheep, a mule skinner perhaps
The shrubbery on this way are yearning for human touch
I stand at a distance to see where it takes
I stand to see this barren region and one dying lake
It leads to the mountain of fairies, people say
Then why we don’t ever go this way
It is cursed and so are the mountains, they say
I wonder what is more blessed and motherly than the mountains
I wonder who will first traverse this trail, and take away its pain
I wonder who will first leave a trace of footsteps on this secluded course
I've seen countless paths forsaken; countless forlorn roads
Lost in the woods…I asked god for help.
But he was busy with one of his wives,
I took a deep breath, and looked down
The vines crept up my feet, but
What they didn’t understand was that:
I had absolutely nothing to give them;
My body is blood n bones, turning to dust
The cliff, far away, was magnificent
I ascended the highness, slowly:
Only to find the hues of the sky under the setting sun,
More appealing than making love.
I picked a spot and surrendered to the rocks..
The clouds didn’t overshadow my sorrow
The wind didn’t dry my tears
The mountains didn’t hide me from myself
But I still confessed to nature,
The sins and the secrets..
Mingled with the fleeting specks of joy
Designed my fabricated days,
As I raced the waterfall in revealing:
I thrilled the rocks of my rudeness,
The trees of my passion,
The mountains of my desires,
And the wind of my choices;
My heart was not in this world,
And my soul was thoughtful;
So I smiled for one last time,
Wilderness was all that was left of me.
~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
Razor top peak cutting the sun,
A full day sliced in two before my eyes.
Then a breeze burns this face without fire.
My legs cramping and giving out, yet I can't feel it.
These delicate little orbs of vision,
Protected within goggles frozen to my bitten skin.
An evil wind sings a death call in ear;
While I cling to a giant that doesn't know I exist.
Still, you'd swear it was alive,
Whispering threats at speeds that surely can kill.
Just one little sneeze,
Could blow this human bug from its wall.
I thought about giving it a hug,
But this unmovable monster is too damn big.
Could easily die falling into its belly button;
Finally past its private parts, so I'll just keep climbing.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
There is a green
Beyond the grey
That hides behind wild wintry white.
A green so sweet
Tears slip from the eyes
And turn to dew to please the thirsty grass.
A green so sweet
Deeply buried dead burst up into flowers--
Before snow whispers in the summer.
In the sweetness of the green---
And as it slides into the sea
Azure kisses gently in reply.
Above the lowly metro din,
we climb through earnest efforts
to slopes of grouse and goats.
Where skies brim pale and pure,
trails narrow, plummet, climb,
and jackknife over the granite jumble
of broken planetary bones.
We glimpse a momentary thaw
in a world frozen in icy fingers.
But we don’t whisper this to the lush grass
springing from damp soil,
pooled in the cool seeps,
between the shades of fir and spruce.
Who trembles on the lonesome
peaks and ridges?
Disoriented, by sparse air and stark beauty.
I long to view the hidden valleys
of alpine grace, and remote peaks of
and ponder a holy, violent birth.
I bow to this risen paradise.
I see a beam of light coming from the little hole of the broken window
I sit alongside the window & stretch my hand to unlatch it
It creaks when I struggle to open it
It is my grand maa’s partially illuminated & restful room within the serene valleys
There is an old grain storage wooden box & old oil lamp flickers near the window
This room holds so many memories of her husband
She is consort of a brave army man
There is an old black & white picture hung on the damp wall of her room
It is a beautiful picture of this couple
Every evening she sits on the veranda wall for some calm and fresh zephyr
Wind howls, it travels through all the valleys, peaks and hills to meet her
A calm gush of wind tenderly touches her body
I can see her placid, contented face
She has intense & impassioned blue eyes holding many deep thoughts
A flash of remembrance passes between me and my babyhood memories.
I was 10 when I last saw her; she looked young but not any longer
I could never understand why she chooses this room when she has many other
She again gets inside the room to light the lamp
And I see the flickering lantern alongside the casement once again
That’s how she passes her endmost days & nights.
COME LIVE WITH ME IN THE MOUNTAINS
In the mountains we shall live
We shall live together, come
In the mountains we shall scale the slopes
Every morn’ we shall hike and turn the tide.
A new life and a new challenge
We knew we can live with fresh atmosphere
Herding friends and relatives for mines.
Troop the liner for heaven’s sake!
Living in the mountains
We’ll view the valleys and trace the river basins
The deep blue seas and down the white shorelines
Gathering seaweeds and fishes of varied sizing.
We shall not ask for more serene
The less shall miraculously exceeding
Our needs and longings
Dampened and blessed accordingly.
Morning On The Mountain
Glowing cathedral spires of the gold mountain range
Rising with the sun above the reflective ice lake
Between deep green sequoias tops
Passed, and down below the pine needled path
Stretching on thin rust colored winding road to those still sleeping
This bundled feast that feeds the eyes and feelings
Greeting the morning explorers grasping
Waking, on the new dawned day
Yawning men with their warm breath turned instantly to mist
Lifting in a cloud of thick steam, as it passed their lips to speak
Frozen temperatures on their exposed encampment
Reminding them more cold is yet to come before they reach the summit
They were engineered to climb the mountain
It’s in their DNA
They climb it because it’s there
It is their living and their livelihood
The trees can only watch
And wish they could
though splendid in view
ridges of Grand Canyon fall---
Haiku Aha Moment
Contest of Regina Riddle
Majestic and yet strangely innocent, they are silent sentinels of the past
Rock holding fast a million memories though the surface shows the only scars
The range of ranges, old today and ancient tomorrow, these are divine gifts
I speak of mountains, the greatest of all to ever try the feet of angels
I cherish them for what they are, yet I despair for what I will have done
Rain clouds upon infinite horizons though the stolid mountains give no mind
The sun bakes the lofty heights and shade will not find it's foot upon the mountains
Fear is not about them, but it should be, the terrible yielding is at hand
The continuous teeth choose a dark gaze as they grind away His perfect touch
I can only move past this epoch, there are no words for this tragedy
So terrible the clawing of lazy devils, so complete are matters
The beautiful bijoux stood no chance against the grinding, against the placid soul
Though one long diamond broke free, the tors still fell, leaving only the hardened valleys
Crushed rocks rinsed from the scene as the flesh of mountains smoothed from Earth's sliding skin
I have learned that "the agent of destruction knows that time is apt to salve and scour"
A gentle rain cascades down on the flora which now fills the carnal fissures
Life seeps from the roots of mountains and calmly breathes in the air of waste and wanton
A mist issues from the forest floor on those dismal days when remorse weeps from the sky
Too thick for heaven, the foggy specters roll over the hills still trying the feet of angels
I will forever see the mountain ghosts as the life that once was and the future yet to come.
Mountain sleeps once upon a lake
Yellow bird skims the surface of liquid blue
Draws in an insect on the slender beak
A subtle noise discerned as it gathers up the bug
Disturbances below are heard, a lifted fin, a splash
In nervous motion the trout moves back below
Cheated by the bird who stole his living meal
Above the lake, below the gaze of mountain
Snow melts, rain rides the spine and washes down
To purify the path
Make the past and present one and the same
Gliding between here and now
Mountain looks for a cover
But only finds the white of ice
Trees are used as toothpicks upon the ponderings
Lake is gargled with the blue and brine as mountain thinks
Wakes, meditates. It rises on green grass
Mirrored at the water’s edge
Pretends to see right through it
Then turns with each hour of the sun
Bakes with the red birds spinning like rotisseries
Mighty wings lift and swoop on clouds
Rivers rush with them to some lost town
Forsaking summer in a rush of churning waves
Joined by colored feathers keeping tempo
Mountains are too heavy to go with them
They are only rocks and rocks don’t run or fly
They only fall and roll with wisdom into winter
Tectonic movements take them slow along the land
Steeped in snow that covers everything with solace
On the giant slopes pulled over like a blanket
The mountain, brought to its knees, to sleep
The leaves are all but gone as they fall from the trees on the mountain top.
The breeze blows the last few away making way for the winter snow.
A few flake start to fall with the help of old mother nature
Fall as if God had taken them from her and places them here on the mountain top.
Soon it will be covered like a white cap on your head. Snow is blowing here and there.
Each mountain top covered in its own way . Snow flying from tree to tree.
As the tops are white and ready for the long winter storms.
The cold will blow and the snow will fall until the birds do fly once more.
But the mountain top snow will remain till the warm summer breeze.
Feelings of nostalgia slide down my throat with the creamer.
Hot and burning,
but love reigns my taste buds.
Dry, mountain air and
long drives to short places.
Let’s have a chat,
Catch up and share our lives since we’ve grown up.
Disbelief is written in our eyes as we count life’s adventures.
Who knew we’d go from watching sunsets on the barn to staring at a starless sky through strange windshields?
Country music and dirt roads
run through my vessels,
stringing together the elapsed with the contemporary.
Change was inescapable,
but why escape the prosperity we’ve run into?
On the yellow line, I’ll lie with what’s ahead
and drink in life until I’m too full of experience to stand.
I’ll find my way home by the smell of the mountain rain, and once again we’ll revive in good company.
We blast mountains from our vision
To shape how things should be
Punctured the sand with cold derision
Power reigned with sudden glee
And what now?
Nothing in the caves
Except blasted stones and gaping wounds
Time frantic, raves
At nothing midst the shadow of the ruins.
The mountains there
Where we lost them, concentrated in dust
Saw it disappear
So vulnerable our destructible use of trust.
Nothing in the sands
Nothing in our hands
Nothing in the rivers
The petty law givers
Are mingled with dunes that twirl and twirl
The blind thought of what will end the world.
Hill And Mountain Talk
Copper flowers quarried in the lower tundra
In sculpted form beneath the pebbly footing
Two giant mountains there to quarrel with each other
Who will occupy the lion’s share of space
One mountain insults the other to its face
Calls it a hill and asks it to leave the place
They stay for centuries, carving out the sky and sun with their jagged shapes
Copper flowers do just fine with moisture from the fog
And survive quite well between the hill and mountain
Who shade them beneath their faces, but feel their weight disgraced
6/21/14 Hills are Alive With Poetry contest
Sometimes I am in doubt
about why I am here
Here amongst these mountains
certainly not just anywhere
The path seemed to just effortlessly
want to open itself to me
The draw was powerfully magnetic
So I surrendered and let go
of the part that was hectic
Often now as I drive over a hill
and I look into a luscious green dale
my feelings of joy give me little chills
My eyes water and my breath is taken away
by the beauty I am surrounded by
every single day.
Rollercoaster On The Scenery
Life rolled along on another day’s roller coaster
Two steel rails and rubber wheels forged the way
Speeding along a narrow path from mountain top
Shadowing the vast lake below in green
Left bank is scenic with the pines
The right side is a wall of rock and ice
As you race into the tunnel entrails
Carved out by man by way of nature
An abundance of mountain to be sculpted
It meanders onward winding in the dark and wild
Two moving seats secure with rails and grips
Accompany you through
Gripping tight the bar along the waist
What seems like hours in the mountain cavity
When you come out the other side
Sun smacks you blindly in the eyes
An eighty degree drop takes your fall
Miles fly by while twisting on the wind
Faster than the speed of sound in screams and fear
Roller coaster has no mind or recollections
Knows only one direction, to be very mean
When on the side of mountain going down
Clinging on the cart and falling far
The best of scenery to be seen
Is in the blinking of an eye that quickly passes
Brakes would be nice to view the other side of life
Would make life more interesting
Take you places unforeseen at lesser speeds
Strange sights below sea level come on the rapid waters
Two coaxial cable cords replace the rails
Gliding under lake, as coaster goes on faster still, adding to the thrill
And tunnel under water opens up
Made of clear plastic tubing, to view the lake another way
Racing through, the fish look down, look back at you
To the other side where you emerge
Another country now appears with rolling hills
Takes you up and down upon the land again
Through fields of grain and sanity
Red poppies wave as cart and you fly by
Rages on into tomorrow
Rolls on to other days with thrills and smiles
In the distance rising is a small silver disc
Growing in size as you approach, directly in your path
It is a giant metal spring and disc like bumper; hold on fast!
The ride hits this dead end dead on the disc
Recoils back the spring with monumental force
Folds back on itself, almost into the past
Builds up momentum mighty, then
Thrusts you and the coaster back from where it came
But this time faster going backwards
Coaxial cords both break as you fly off the track
Escape along the coast line flowing on
Which goes on forever by the shore
Roller coaster rides above the waves
Life rolls along, on another rollercoaster day
The prophet is questioned
Stopped in his path
Strangled with words
Absorbed with questions
He answers back.
The simple city is where it's at
A self-sufficient utopia is a matter of fact
Living with the basic necessities
Food, water, and all the necessary sureties
No classes, no war
Food and water, no more
But the children of Adam want more, more, and more.
1 mountain of gold and they'll ask for more
2 mountains and they'll beg for sure
3 mountains and they won't talk to you forever
No mountains, for their mercy is severed
The prophet is ridiculed
For the simple city is a city of pigs
We want a city with a cherry on top
What fools, the prophet said.
Let us move away from the simple city then
And I will write for you an ideal city, brethren
But for a luxurious city, which I personally pity:
Turn a segment of the population into an army
To defend this city and usurp our enemy
Force a segment into bleeding, sweating, and crying workers
To make our luxurious crafts
And stomp the best and worst out of the cave
Oust them out of this machine
To see the sun
Source of light
And out of fright
And let these best and worst return to the cave
For the cave IS the ideal city
A city of ignorance and evil
And let them return unnoticed
Ridiculed, crucified, and beheaded
Let the people of the cave push away those who will save them
And the prophet looked back and said, I offered you a simple city
A true and Standing utopia
But you wanted more
In a world where more just isn't enough
And we will instead meet our end
The ideal city
Obscurity and complexity
Everything you want
Including what you shouldn't
A Hobbit Dream
by: Earl Schumacker (influence & credits to J.R.R. Tolkien)
What’s its gots in its pocketsezzz is here
Words slithered from the creature’s mouth
Where it dwells alone within the mountain
What’s in its pocketsezzz my dear
Came again from the unseeing being from total silence
Never having contact with another thing before
Other than the darkness there
It had conversations with itself
Explaining speech that seemed a little odd
Well within the sealed off world beneath the mountain
Something sensed or heard or smelled of someone near
As it closed in with slimy skin upon the hobbit
Cold, wet, murky flesh fell on the lad
Who stumbled into this strange place and company at hand
The boy informed the creature it had nothing to fear
That he was simply passing through as a visitor down here
The entity insisted on the truth
What’s in its pocketsezzz it says
The hobbit says it’s nothing precious
At that he woke up from the sleep
With nothing in his pockets
The ring still stationed by the drain and sink
It must have been a hobbit dream
Making Love Over The Cliff
Edges of the wool blanket ripple
Wave on the breeze in the fever of the wind
A parade of plaid, reds greens and blue
The lovers lay there for hours
Wrapped in warmth, in bliss, on the high mountain
There, on the jutting cliff edge, with their soft kisses
Out on the ledge overlooking the vast ocean
Yellow silk scarf beating on the woman’s flesh
Her red dress comes off suddenly on trembling fingers
Naked on the mountain top that sees a distant lighthouse
It watches back from out at sea
Cloaked in bright orange and green
One hungry yellow beaming eye of light
Spins day and night on open waves
Scanning for intruders on this mystery
Love in the afternoon is nice
It is the spice of life
Red wine leads into passion
On the cliff on mountain top
As we transcend snowy bright mountains that thrill the adrenaline seekers
Buds spring up around the foothills of these mountains and
populate themselves by way of white bells and other lovely flowers
making themselves well known in summer months by their scent that wafts upon billows of breezes
This is the time of cherry blossom trees that line our street in a symphony
A riotous coloured canvas splashed with magentas, thalo, and cobalt hues
if a symphony were playing it might be Ode to Spring by Benjamin Britten
each season has its beauties
Is gifts for the eye and the body
My favourite is spring
As it sometimes not so meekly melts the snow with vengance.
into an open space
on an island
in faraway dream
lost in each other
walking a path
upon heather scent
with a mix
carried on a breeze
i am just
one's mind thinking
of just you love
in the land
of milk and honey
were the honeysuckle grows
captured my time
like a flower
it grows stronger
in the distant space
my world love
your my princess
shining distant thoughts
yet so near
is capturing one
~ ~ ~ ~
I have descended down from the mountain
From being another one
A man whose errands were Norwegian snow
To one whose role I now not know
I have fallen far from a midnight fountain
To spring from work and work alone
Whose parole to parley silence
Now must insight some other sense
To be someone and then another,
A bit here, there, but never anywhere,
Is to hide from you so you can seek,
The winter that makes me more than bleak
Courageous but also seeking cover,
A secret grove gives light to wear,
The tree whose soul makes me weak,
Into her hands my tears are meek.
The snow, white and grizzly in my beard,
My chiseled hair wild in the fierce north,
Now tamed, refrained and differently framed,
What lies in the brush but civility tamed.
My dishevelment is certainly not to be feared,
A finer figure will soon come forth,
Whose mimicry will appear contained,
To settle down with mind pertained.
Down, down we all must someday go,
For to stay around too long up high,
Is to bother new shadows who need their space,
From your ashes they too must build a face.
Tell me brother that all this you know,
That the hull of summer makes the winter rye,
The Nordic way is like man’s big race,
To leave this earth with a skier’s grace.
Back to the heights I soon do trek,
Here below I breath but just barely so,
The sea in the north is not the sea of paradise,
For fish indeed but surfers please think twice.
Miles high beyond the hills lies a sleeping wreck,
A day dreams carving a downwards flow,
Under a layer of snow a family feasts on salted mice,
A wasteland refuge for solid people made of ice.
The land of white
Home of Ahiram your ancient king
You, who grows cedars in her back yard
You, who raised millions of children
Whether they did you harm
Or left you blind
Your door was always open, and your yard was always green
Loubnan, you are not my country
You are not a landscape of cedars and mountains
You are a patch of soil
The same patch
The one beneath my face when I fell
When the taste of blood trickled down my throat
But always a drop escaped, and landed on your rugged surface
Your tested and scarred surface
And when I sweat, of toil and pain
When I run from your invaders
My sweat trickles into my lips
And I taste the pain I endure
A drop escapes
And on your cheek it lands
That rugged surface of root ridden soil
But you do not wipe your cheek of my blood and sweat
You build us mountains
Crystal white beacons of your fortitude
You grow us cedars
Vivid green emblems of your prosperity
And when your foe would bring his fist and thunder
Crush your mountains and burn your trees
Always, whether we ran
Left you alone and blind
Or stood, made you hopeful and proud
Always of our sweat and blood
You made us roses
Roses to place on our dead
The dead we burry under the shade of your Cedars
Under the protection of your Mountains
My patch of soil
You are still not my country
Because my country is not a patch of soil
Not without someone to work it
A farmer to work your land
Not without your people to stand proud with you
Is nothing without her children
Without her fruit
Without her cedars and mountains
Her running rivers, the tears she sheds at our turmoil
But whether fists come crashing down on us
Or thunder shatters our hopes
We will always work the land that raised us
We will always be One country
Of mountains and cedars
Of hope and pride
We will always be
Oh, if only fiction was as real as hope
© Samir Georges
Are the rivers and streams clear
Do they have great water to drink
Are the mountains and peaks clear
Can you get crisp air there to breathe
The rivers and streams have little
To do with clean drinking water
The problems are with what’s dumped
Into the rivers and streams upstream
The mountains and peaks can’t receive
All the clean air that once was there
Because of everything that’s put into the sky
It goes up and fills the mountains and peaks
I hope that one day we can find a way
To keep the pollution out of the water
And also the containments from the sky
This will save our planet
Not to mention keeping it all beautiful
the ribs of falling night
cold flints of a dark path
a dark curtain
creating two rooms
nameless stumps of teeth
melted to the white rock jaw
heavy as the light is frail
the way a black swan`s neck
tubular and serrated;
the pines guard the frost
the tree line has swallowed the sun
a dead story under the forest floor
pushes me along
all light has fled the sky,
apart from the points of dropping stars,
and the distant road into the far.
There once was a boy
Named Java Lava Joy.
One day Java was climbing a mountain
To get to the fountain
At the mountain top.
Suddenly he heard a bop!
Then came bursting so much lava
Down the side of the mountain that Java
screamed with terror!
He wasn't aware of the lava's color
Or the lava's burning heat!
Java jumped off the mountain
and landed on his feet!
He ran to his mother,
packed their bags, took some other
family members, and caught a plane.
Even though he would rather
go stay with his brother
than stay with his aunt and uncle,
Aunt Rant and Uncle Runckle.
They'd prepared for lava over ten years
The thought made his eyes filled with tears!
But everything was better when they got there
And after a while he did not care.
He stands at the edge of a tall mountain looking down the sheer drop.
The man jumps!
Nothing stops his fall.
Rocks smash his frail limbs like matchsticks.
End over end till he finally hits the valley floor 2,800ft below,
his body a bloody broken mass.
Why did he jump?
Because he enjoys it.
He's the faller.
This jump is his 318th off this mountain.
Broken limbs, pulped body, severed head, fatal injuries and death
are an occupational hazard.
The destructive injuries vanish after 30 minutes and
the faller is as fit as a butcher’s dog
and mad as a psychopath to jump again.
Witness a freak: the faller.
Watching the Mountains Change Color
The doctor, who plans
to dismiss her this evening,
tells the nurse,
“Go ahead, send her home
with the husband and kids.
Why did we admit her anyway?
Then the husband
he hadn’t mentioned at dawn
when by the hand he led her in:
“My wife stands for hours
at the window,
watching the mountains
change color, mountains
that aren’t there,” he says.
Off to mountains he climbs
Whilst staying in his mind.
Off to battles he goes
Defeating many foes.
The nature of his quest
Unruly as it may be,
Sings noiselessly in the air.
It cries and screams,
Yet pride smirks on his face.
It wriggles and squeals,
Yet his begotten one he will not yield.
His words speak kindly to it,
Soft like the wind,
Yet harsh they become
Like leaves rushing through the mountains’ wrath,
To those who may bring it harm.
Invisible string links them no matter the distance,
And at the beckoning call it grows taller than trees,
And has become stronger than the foundation of the earth.
Off to mountains it climbs
Whilst staying in its mind.
Off to battles it goes
Defeating many foes.
Stand above sea level, rise as earth shifts.
Watch the land bow, amidst continental drifts.
All that you surround lie in shadows below.
Here hills on active ground, climb to heaven and snow.
These massive creations, are born from plates underneath.
Pushing together, they force the earth up until the mountain has peaked.
The highest of these is mount Everest almost 9 thousand feet to the sky.
Although Ecuador's Chimborazo peak is farthest from Earth's warm inside.
Some mountains are born of volcanoes an opening from within earth's core.
From these cuts in the crust of the earth gases, and ashes spew forth.
And with them come rivers of lava, molten rock, liquid light.
It covers great distances in strides at 2000 °F.
Solidified, it is igneous rock and this can form the base.
Even from the ocean floor and now an island is made.
At the summit the weather is different there.
The air is quite thin, so ascend with great care.
It is cold and water and life may be scarce.
But the view from above is a sight worth a stare.
24% of the Earth is shaped,
and taken by mountains, and that is ok,
For human beings like you and I,
rely on the water that flows from up high.
Oh, mountain, the landscape you decorate,
is a wonder for eyes to behold.
It is hard to believe, that one such as thee,
could fall to the clock and erode.
But for now, these mountains stand proud,
and will be here to keep our perspective.
That we all have our role, that this earth has a soul,
-and I think it is best we respect it.
Is an obstacle course,
And I am a geek trying my hardest,
As i climb the mountains get higher,
As i swim the lakes get wider,
I feel as if the world is out to get me,
I am a lost child in a grocery store,
A dog chasing it's tail,
I am pointless,
But as mountains get higher,
I get stronger from climbing,
And as lakes get wider,
I get stronger from swimming,
Lost in a grocery store,
I grow smarter,
And as long as i still can,
I will run in circles,
FFor i am still running,
And running is better than walking,
And far worse can occur.
I will master this course,
And move to the next.
Feeling the vibrations
Of the moutains
Of the valley
People right in the shadow
Moving with micro-second
Bodies are replaced with shreds
Waking at moments of high realization
Spend a life time wanting something
Then finding everything at hand
The clouds upward
Seem to speak
Looking down on eyes
Spending the times spent spelunking
Really only to bring to the surface
Coating the soul
The Yeti nature of our origins
Recoils and simutaneously unfurls
Spending more money than time
On a real configuration
That runs through veins and
Causes electricity to pump
Do not stay at your window only to watch
The Snake is dizzy
Do not worry
Give up drinking the white milk of prey/ies
Express your positive suma
The road (in/on) up to the mountain is full of curves
Drive safely and wisely, go slowly.
As I look out from my window
I see there are mountains for me to climb
I would not much like to ignore them
But there waiting there for me; all the time
And though their boulders seem so trivial
Their precipice so very narrow
On the rocky slopes that I perceive
Seem so very steep
And there are mountains in my garden
Mountains in my sleep
These monoliths to my frustration
These monuments to my belief
Raise their convoluted flanks
And excuse my lack of peace
So I raise my eyes to dizzy heights
Enveloped in confounding mist filled sides
And brook no easy compromise
And rather believe the truth has turned; to lies
And though their tricky crags seem so petty
It is cold determination which drives me
To fathom every nook and cranny
Of these mountains I choose; to climb
Each foot I gain with conviction
As I scale to the imperious point
With the rattled landslide of berated argument
And every pebble is turned so neatly; on its back
And there are mountains in my shopping list
Mountains in my coffee cup
These confusing megaliths to insignificance
These monuments to a principal
Raise their candid flanks
And excuse my lack of peace
And there are mountains in my paper work
Mountains every day
Their spires and aspirations cloud my every vision
These giants of my dissatisfaction
Raise their procrastinated flanks
To excuse my lack of peace
Yet with unwarranted enthusiasm
I shall dig at their very root
With no intention left to climb them
It is enough for me to believe; in their importance
And through their very heart I shall burrow
An excavation tunneled without regard
No worm or jewel shall deter me
I shall dig, kick, crawl and claw at my desires only enemy
I will prove to the world that mountains can be overcome
I will stand triumphant even if it is blood I have to spill
I shall burst into daylight from their hollow crown
As triumphant as a mole; upon its hill
America, Dreams That Sing
Like a voice from the wilderness, a name
a song ringing shore to shore.
America, cast your lines to gather searching fish,
souls that venture forth to quench heavy thirst!
As beautiful and faithful as an old friendship,
a place to let spirit rejoice and laughter ring.
Walking into sunsets laced with freedom's gold
waking to morns fiery born and heavenly laced!
Where jewels of laughter ring out in silver drums,
brightness shines and shines upon wishes granted.
Sun filled hours bake dreams to glowing perfection
ovens spew out magical pies that sing melodies!
America, birth the hearts of glory forever and a day!
Yield not to complacency nor defeated hopes cast asunder!
Robert J. Lindley 07-20-2014
A three day break and this came to me on the five hour
drive back home .
High in the mountain
Low in the sea
Deep in the valley
I hear your heart calling to me
Even though I know you are gone
I still hear the beat of your heart
The sound of your voice on the wind
I see you standing just out of my reach
I run as fast as I can to the Mountain top.
High in the mountain
Low in the sea
Deep in the valley
I hear your heart calling to me
I see the gates are closing
I run but I am too late you are gone
I stand alone at the Mountain top
High in the mountain
Low in the sea
Deep in the valley
I hear your heart calling to me.
My heart calls out
But no one answers
I hear nothing but my
Heart breaking into a thousand pieces
On the Mountain top
High in the mountain
Low in the sea
Deep in the valley
I hear your heart calling
To me up at the Top of the Mountain.
Grandpa got the boys to gather at night.
Grandpa on the fiddle is so sweet.
Old Pa on the big bass can really make it sing.
Uncle joe plays a mean wash tube.
While I slap the knees with my spoons.
The sound of old rocky top
Brings the valley to the hills.
We play all night long
As the sing the songs.
The hills do rock to the hillbilly sound.
Of nothing can be finer the being in Carolina.
Hillbilly music is the sweetness of the hills.
Neon landings lift
And softly spill
Night air along the coast.
She sweetly whispers,
Breathes through leaves
And lives with trees,
The girl with flowers
In her cassock.
Far away in a galaxy once unknown to man
A vision of mass seen from other land
She does rest there, with her people of many
North America a land of plenty
A sub continent broken away from years gone past
She lies there watching with her coast land so vast
Included are the sub-regions here to name a few, from the Great Plains
and the Canadian Rocky Mountains and the great basin with a view
The Canadian Arctic with waters of crystal blue
California and Alaska a flat eastern region, wouldn’t you agree
And the varied eastern region in the Appalachian Mountains ,can't you see?
Along to the Atlantic seaboard and the Florida peninsula there are fountains
Mexico with its long plateaus and cordilleras falls, is largely in the western region,
although the eastern coastal plain does extend south along the Gulf so pleasing.
I thought I knew this world of ours
A rolling ball in blue
Of beauty rare yet a place where hearts
To view one instant of spring or fall
Or winter days and nights
or bask in summer’s evening light
is to touch illusive time
Clothed in green and awesome colors
Of streams and mountains high
Treacherous cliffs and winding roads
An abstract art in time.
Yet when the shell is shattered
One views between the cracks
A startling side of this world
Emerges in grand old style.
In between the cracks I spy
another place and time
Still on this earth yet in between
A place of endless time.
Where mountains float and oceans hum
Birds squeal with sheer delight
Trees perpetually evergreen sway in eternal light
Mesmeriziing those with eyes to see
while hearts quiver at the sight.
Silent Beings of color and light
Glide gracefully on high
Immersing one and all in tender light
And love’s unending bliss.
Vivid colors, timid hues of translucent flowers
Fuse in awesome splendor against a backdrop of dazzling light
a powerful energy and force that mold to oneness
All that moves.
Where is this place I wonder,
This wondrous world apart
Where pain and tears are strangers,
though the heart wonders the spirit knows
that this indeed, must be Heaven.
there is a wild whisper that's blowing in the wind
it sweeps down from the mountains like a very old friend
it whips my hair about my face and eyes
and though it makes me squint
it brings back all of those memories
and I wonder where they all went
all of those times of laughter and dancing really close
all of those songs we used to sing and tiles on a board
all of those mornings talking, as we refilled our cups
all of those times of loving and sharing that I miss the most
there is a wild whisper, that's blowing in the wind
it sweeps down from the mountains like a very old friend
it brushes up against fantasy and dreams of me and you
and though it makes me squint
it brings back all of those precious things
precious times between me and you
The whitewashed sands are blowing across the meadow
The hill upon which she stands
Her legs spread apart
Feet turned out.
Her head wrangles side to side, like blades within her toes
That sprinkling from ground
Do grow up and up
Her face is white and whiter still, all the blood be gone
The sign of the aorta pumps bleat
Ventricles slam shut
Jolt of silence.
The whitewashed sands are blowing across the meadow
The hills upon which she stands
The body that leaps out.
Her limbs roll down.
Pinhead sized raindrops fall in numbers, attempting to imitate fog
Green needled giants with red bark stand at attention and point at the sky
The odd deciduous turns yellow as though in fear of the impending cold
They are dwarfed by valley walls which are sealed above by oppressive clouds
Mighty Columbia drops an ice cold tongue, coloured from the cleanest blue to the dirtiest grey, to lick the valley floor
It drools crystal clear water and spits moraine
The wood makes the same sound being split by fire or by axe
We face each other on a bench by the stove
We alternate sides attempting to maintain a balance between the side feeling the heat of the stove and the other being chilled by the mountain breeze
Our hot side like the heat of summer and our cold side like the chill of winter
The seasons change in us as they do outside
Each season returning to itself in the course of time
White streaks through dark night-sky-hair to slowly become the meteor shower that awaits us
Nothing but the blistering wind
Is heard by some around the world
Lonesome and boredom fills their interiors
Where no one is around
The sand's friction against the mountains
Is heard by them
They are the people that were once so lonely
But in fact they are the discoverers of the world
They were so quiet in their life
That unknown voices were heard
Therefore, their search of the source took place
Faith and hope were injected in them
As their journey began
Some took them years to discover the sounds
While others only days and hours was the needed time
But, in the end
They all united and found out
These sounds were the voices of nature
The voices of mountains and valleys
That told their stories to many
But non heard it for they were too busy
And their voices dwindled and vanished
They kept their stories in the wind's blisters
Hoping one day someone would hear
Paying close attention to what's being said
When they were discovered once again
The mountains and valleys roared with joy
As they told their stories once again
In the end, no one's left alone
For nature is present for everyone
It is their to accompany us all the time
To keep us engaged in the happiest times of all
Nature is the lightning of care
As well as the light leading a lost soul
It is our friend that was once lost
And discovered again by the true listeners in our world
Yang holds mashed potato mountain space
for Yin to diastolically fill
with life-yeast regeneration's mysteriously familiar spire,
born of Yangform Space and Yinfunction diametric Time.
Yang grows Left's deductive mountain,
Yin reflective mirrored through Right's inductive smooth deep sea,
where mountainous heavens meet cavernous Earth
we grow bicameral sacred skin
incubating ecological economies,
exchanging equivalent (0)-sum
win-win breaths and beats
and flowing coincidental minds
of peaceful confluence.
Within our still emergent speciating sea of mindfulness,
Right-mind prehends our supereco mountaintop,
piercing up and out toward Northern skies,
and ego id-entity as mountain's boundary skin
of Self meets Other
swimming in a deeply composting
lotus-flowered root system,
Informating sap flowing from
Earth's ecoPrime Polyculture Tao,
to cooperatively feed our healthiest needs
and noble wants of wisdom.