I clasp your hand the moment I realise I will fall alone
You grit your teeth in anger holding me as I dangle there
Your jawline is rock hard, the veins on your head popping out,
You are breathing in and out in desperate fear of losing me
But your lightening, determined eyes shoot through me and say,
"Damn it all!
I love you
I will never let you go"
The mountain's edge falls around me and below us
But I will not look down
Gravity is pissed
With all of my strength I hurl my shoulder upwards so that my other hand clasps your arm
You pull me up to safety and draw me into your fiery embrace
Nothing will take us but each other...
I know this and sob in your arms
I have never fallen so in love with you
In that moment when death was so close
From here, we will rise
Kiss me relentlessly through all destruction,
You have taught me that
Every mountain will fall before us
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
Just drop once, when you happen to go by.
A tale they may count, mountains of my country;
Of paradise invaded and forests destroyed,
Of vessels adrift and sailors athirst,
Of savage hunting and extinction of the Dodo.
Witness to history stand mountains of my country;
Bloodshed, war times, hunger and poverty;
Settlers, slaves, coolies or expatriates,
They know all, who defiled in time.
Inert and helpless lay mountains of my country.
Waves of changes struck their homeland.
Forest cried but sweat fell with hope in heart
For making habitation in a newfound land.
Store of knowledge are mountains of my country.
They may tell you of slavery abolished,
Of unification of heart and mind and
The fight for freedom for a respectful life.
Beware, omniscient are mountains of my country
They may tell you of clean or dirty business.
Of unity in diversity or the fumes of hatred
Which burn dark hearts in the sanctity of homes.
Sages are to me, the mountains of my country.
From childhood to youth to parenthood;
Refuge they gave my helpless heart,
Blessed me when crossing overseas,
And were always here to welcome me back.
I love and respect the mountains of my country!
Winner: 1st place.
Copyright © Sunita U.Palawon Daiboo | Year Posted 2016
My ordinary life -
like the plain stretching across the region of my birth,
has been for the most part
Though sometimes on my path, I’d encounter hills,
they were few and were not difficult
to get over.
One day on my travels when I was still young
I came across a man who, like a majestic mountain,
would take my breath away.
He captured my attention completely,
distracting me from all the normal things
my plain life had entailed.
When he smiled, it was as if
the sun were peeking over him
in golden splendor.
Madly in love with him I fell,
and every day I worshiped at the mountain.
This was a short phase in my life -
a time of pure enchantment but also woe.
I behaved as if I were a stream, a babbling school girl
murmuring with joy for a while
as I meandered
the mountain’s pleasant aspects,
but one day my meandering came to a halt.
Coming to a cliff’s edge, I became a waterfall
frothy with madness as
to the rocks below.
Picking myself up, I had to turn my back
to the glorious mountain.
A final look at him, and I saw the red sun sinking
into June’s cool night.
Finding my way back to the plain, I trudged.
At the mountains of madness, I’d known something -
something I had foolishly mistaken for love.
Other mountains wait there, for me, for you,
for almost anyone who desires to find one.
But since my later summer years and in my fall,
I’ve kept walking on the plain,
for it is truly, after all,
my heart land.
for the But it was not real Poetry Contest of Lewis Raynes
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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
Copyright © Shiraz Iqbal | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014
( Whitney Duet )
Clouds softly pass
A band of seagulls fly high.
The air's cool
And the sun's warm
Warms my heart
His love shines upon my face.
Dorian Petersen Potter
The "Whitney" is a syllabic poetry form or style, that was created by Betty Ann Whitney.The "Whitney" is also known as an American Asian Poem.
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2017
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
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013
A thousand echoes
whispering through the deep seashell
As the common bond between us
is lovingly holding
Sweet gentle tenderness
On desert dry lips
winds of change kiss
Looking towards the mountains
snow covering her face
White clouds cap the head
Just a plain country boy
Drifting away with shadows of a past life's pain
finding your love completes the circle of a promise
Believing something greater exists
As the birds sing over amazing grace
Searching the high plain
Blue holds heaven's vision
As a cold wind alone cuts clean to the marrow
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016
( A Whitney Duet)
Clouds softly pass
A band of geese fly high
The air's cool
And the sun's warm
Warms my heart
His love shines upon my face.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2010
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.
Copyright © Wayne Hill | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Jeffrey Bovee | Year Posted 2014
i belong to mountains
.............not to town
i love the fountains
..........not the crown
i lift up the curtain
...never let it down
and bear the burden
........of other's own
human race decaying
....with bluff and fake
......not a true feeling
from nature they take
each one pretends
......to be the best
with other dependence
go get the words
...involve a space
ask the leading herds
they leanrt the base
more nature insight
reopens your eyes
..... bathed in light
makes of you, a wise
harmony is gained
if nature is host
at poetry's post
i belong to nature
.........not to men
i love the pasture
........not the den.
Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2015
There are things we speak of, while we stroll
along the ridge, in summer sun
The mundane things, a chore, a task
ignoring what is stone and ash
or how it came to be,... to grasp
this place, we've named "Serenity"
The magnitude that lived within
had once emerged, a debutante
It pushed its way up through the core
with first, a thrust, a trembling
to break the crust with shooting stars
to forge the rock where we now stand
The frozen years are buried here
And frost still sleeps in hallowed graves
of valleys deep, and jagged peaks
Blue ribbons, sprout from melting snow
and purple shadows shelter growth
of trees and shrub , while sundown throws
a flame to warm the granite's dome
to shine a light on history
Will we ponder, eyes in awe
while strolling, deep into the past
of wilderness and ancient lore
into the vast of questions asked
and of everything that slept before?
Contest: Mountains: Judged 7/18/16
Resubmitted For Contest: I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016
In the musty mountains crevices
covered with overgrown foliage.
Trees hang on the edges
grasping the sheer rock
of these aging towers
that reach for the sky.
The clear pristine waterfalls
flow endlessly, cascading downwards
Into the cool blue pools below.
The water creates a rainbow
within it's downward spiral.
Sparkling water sprays
all that lies in it's path.
As it flows the downhill slopes,
it veers and runs to the canopy
of forest below.
The water along with it's cleansing rain
are nature's refreshment.
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2011
On the western horizon where the sun goes to bed,
there stands the Canadian Rockies,
so majestic in size,
solid and immovable,
yet fluid and ever-changing.
I am awed by their beauty,
the way the sun reflects off the snow,
making them seem closer than they really are,
a three-dimensional monolith sitting in my own backyard,
sometimes shrouded in clouds,
or resting under the halo of the sun,
while their crevasses hide in the shadows.
At times a mist covers their peaks,
and they are subdued,
as if a veil has been pulled across the landscape,
making them seem distant and one-dimensional,
a flat backdrop at the edge of a rolling prairie.
And as the sun sets beyond this mighty fortress of rock,
painting a canvass of red, pink and orange,
the mountains sit in silhouette,
dark and foreboding,
as if hiding a secret deep within their walls.
Spring now gently invades this frozen rock,
and as the snow melts,
the hillsides turn green,
and palettes of colour dot the meadows.
The mountains are alive with movement,
struggles for survival,
The cycle of life is being played out in their bosom,
yet from a distance,
as I survey their silent grandeur,
they appear to be indifferent to the drama taking place within.
Spring becomes summer,
penetrating much of this rugged world,
but the highest peak is buried in ice year-round,
a giant glacier,
the birthplace of mighty rivers.
I have stood on that glacier,
drank from its cold, clear waters,
as they cascade down the ice,
water so pure,
as if the world is new,
and being touched for the very first time,
a frozen paradise,
a fragile cradle of microscopic life.
I love these mountains,
for their beauty never tires,
and I am content to live in their shadows.
*For the Love Of Nature contest*
Copyright © David Pekrul | Year Posted 2017
The base camp was my youth
I stood alone, ill-equipped, looking up.
The challenge before me, gullies filled with tangled unknowns
and sharp lessons.
My guides had abandoned me, left, tight lipped
no map, no promise
and so I started my ascent,
faltering, stumbling, tightly gripping
any friendships I could find,
skinning my knees on setbacks as ages passed
until I found myself peering over the summit,
But in the distance
and at its base
For contest 'Mountains', sponsor Julia Ward
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016
Replenished with rain, it rushes on,
Its brown water pours and spills
Like vinegar from the pickle bottle,
Tumbling over, bubbling through
The jagged jumble of rocks,
Those early plants pushed aside to let it pass,
Its running melody ringing clear,
Competing with the robin’s call,
The stream pushes on, its cheerful song
Belies the chill beneath,
As it strives to outrun Winter,
While the fragile sun sighs
‘Too soon, too soon’.
Copyright © Deborah Alexander | Year Posted 2017
away away from town and crowd
away from the blares out loud
skip and trip through the lands
take a breath safe an sound
the town is stiff, it gives the grief
i can't breathe, my life is brief
the chaos grows,messy ways
rushing swarms,''the end of days''
shops hustle,streets bustle
shouts, yells, reign of muscle
spit, maltreat, force and beat
horror movies in the main street
i fled the town opting for the roam
left them behind, said bye to home
a quill and sheet were drink and eat
and nature was my poetry retreat
Copyright © Lonely Shepherd | Year Posted 2016
At times, the feel of the sun on my whole body is delicious
How warm, how comforting, how addicting
Of the sun's rays I shall never have enough
Why, amidst life's harsh darting arrows
The warmth of the sun is like a protective umbrella!
At other times, the caress of the wind is arousing
It tends to guide me towards adventure
It tends to bid me to listen to its call
To imagine that somewhere, on high grounds
It can take the form of hot air balloons and just swipe me away!
More, each time, the touch of the rain feels soothing
The flames that inhabit my body die out
And cooled off, I can shake my toils away
And smile at life
As if I were its own queen!
And of course, the wet and cold grass is inviting
On it, I do feel like reclining
For as long as my free time shall allow me to
Grass, smelling like the paths of the other worlds
Bid me to smile, at nothing and no one in particular!
Pray, to enjoy the display of nature
I have chosen to remain unattached
Unburdened, even if this implies
That I shall have to be penniless!
Yes, there, scotched on the mountain side, I get to dream
Of flying like birds
Of flying without wings
Of swimming in torrid waters
Of touching the moon, while keeping my feet on Earth!
Pray, I shall not get home tonight
I shall sit and wait on the mountains for the moon to show up
Who knows, I might turn into a werewolf
Or meet a romantic vampire
Who knows where my nature-bent imagination shall take me?
Copyright © Anoucheka Gangabissoon | Year Posted 2017
The clouds settle in a ring around the distant mountain
Like a soft colored pearl necklace hanging low to be seen
A distinct sight of beauty in a bland, dark, dismal day
I do believe there is always something amazing to see
With our own mountains to climb in our daily lives
There are moments of peace when we stop our climb
Just to look at what surrounds us in unexpected places
Whether it be far or near, it reaches us in a heartbeat
Maybe there are thoughts or feelings to acknowledge
Whatever it may be, there it is like a ring around our being
Waiting for us to pay attention to all that matters within
Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2017
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
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
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
Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013
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
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2014
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
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
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"
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2013
Those who climb mountains
unless they fall.
They only drink icicle drip
and chew thorns.
Their soles are like thin mattresses
that are well used.
They breathe tinted air,
Over and over again
the hill is calling.
No obstacle is too long.
They are blind
except by instinct.
A raptor circles, catching a thermal.
The climber would mount one
and ride higher
if he could.
A rock falls from its place
and like a seesaw
lifts the hikers.
Always there is imagination.
Always there is a goal.
Sky is no limitation.
Her imagination is married
to her distant goal.
Rules are broken here:
no time for fooling.
They are reaching,
Like shoppers wanting stacked goods
on a high shelf.
The eagle flies in the day;
the climbers never stop.
Mountaineers are like people,
colorful as the Swiss.
Their cheeks glow like tomatoes.
Their toenails are steep.
Finally the launch is ready
and all who climb
drift down again.
Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015
close my eyes
think of myself
are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls
allowed to spread
for some reason,
Ararat comes to mind
but to be honest,
Arayat would suffice
all these rocks
Even just this once...
and release it to these mountains.
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2011
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"
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013
I no longer keep a diary,
Repetitions giving quintessence
to insights gained, from symbols in dreams,
the fault in our stars, living and contriving,
each plight by force of circumstance
provident planning, the difference it makes
to declutter, the truth about multi-tasking,
worldly themes continue, the mad pulse
of someone's net loyalty, stopped.
The blue period between silent, pre-dawn light,
river descriptions, your problem as a mountain,
how best to comprehend time, hold to silence
an opulence of patience,
this flower, this beauty, another nascence.
knowing all along, your niche is here, where you are.
For Cyndi's Free Verse Challenge
Written January 2016
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2015