Best Hills Poems
The Black Hills wept for Thee
East of the Black Hills of South Dakota,
On the Pine Ridge Reservation,
Live a proud tribe of Oglala Lakota,
Part of the Great Sioux Nation.
On saddled chargers rode half the Regiment,
of the Seventh Cavalry.
A tune they played on behalf of the GarryOwen,
was such a sight to see.
While climbing through Prickly pines, they spied,
near the summit of Porcupine Butte.
Spotted Elk with Hunkpapa Lakota tribe,
the chief of the Minneconjou.
Five miles West through the cold day they walked,
the Lakota and soldiers of the Seventh,
Where Wounded Knee creek's icy waters balked,
between hell and heaven.
The Colonel ordered all of the tribe's rifles confiscated,
while the braves danced the ghost dance.
For rumor had spread of a new religion, long awaited,
that would turn the tide of chance.
Then suddenly came the report of rifles fired,
as the women and children fled to a ravine.
From the heights the thunder of cannon, now inspired,
close quarter fighting and lead, now convened.
Who knows where Providence went,
on that cold December morning.
Both guilty and innocent, now spent,
lay dead with little warning.
Bodies of the fallen now sprawled across the snowy plains,
with faces frozen in a moment of violence.
One mass grave with all, is all that remains,
of tears and laughter forever silenced.
In the days that followed medals were pinned to chests,
who proclaimed victoriously.
Though God only knows why, ignoble and divest,
life taken in vain, ingloriously.
In the shadow of the land of Sitting Bull,
was now told the tragic story.
Passed down from Mother to Daughter were recounted,
days of lost glory.
“Let us put our minds together to see what life we can make for our children.”
-Sitting Bull
why do all the hills rejoice
with rivers in the north?
why bother to go racing
in a race to then 'come forth'?
where on earth's the green hill
far away outside a wall?
and how can all God's creatures
be as great as they are small?
which dancer got up early
when the world had just begun?
and why do I feel frightened
by the words "thy will be done"?
how can any fight we fight
be seen as being good?
- the young me sang about a world
I never understood.
Alluring elegance of Simla, the queen of hills,
Morning pleasant breeze, at night gives chills !
Snow clad mountains, silvery charming shine,
Tall Deodar trees , dense forest , also few Pine,
Aromatic flowers garnish nature's platter, vividly grow,
Rivers run smooth , at times exhibit a turbulent flow !
Soulful scenic marvel, must artistry come alive,
No artist or poet here can ever fail to thrive,
Green valley on one side, hilly serpentine road,
As summer sun peaks, it is my heavenly abode !
Written on 13/6/14
Contest- Hills are alive with poetry
Sponsor- Scott thirty seven
* Simla is the capital of state Himachal Pradesh ( Devbhumi Himachal meaning thereby Land of Gods ) in India.
Ranked 5th
Now for Andrea's contest- let's get technical
Awarded HM
upon blue grass hills
roan stallion grazed among mares
verdant and serene
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Although not for her contest,
my regards to Tania for her
inspiration. Merci
mist rises across the mountain’s wrinkles
painting the hills in His silent embrace
rain, His blessing, gently falls in sprinkles
mist rises across the mountain's wrinkles
laughing, singing, glistening with twinkles
pausing to pray for His abiding grace
mist rises across the mountain's wrinkles
painting the hills in His silent embrace
Reflections of God
I feel God’s presence when walking o'er hills
In nodding heads of golden daffodils
In fields of green and crystal waterfalls
In trees standing proud, statuesque and tall.
I hear God in vibrant sounds of the woods
In murmurs of the breeze and babbling brooks
I find Him in the glow of risen sun
Fresh days and fresh pages to write upon.
I sense God's love flow through charmed symphonies
In enchantment of choral melodies
I seek Him in the dewy morning mist
In the sky when it has been rainbow kissed.
God’s revealed in roosters crowing refrain
In rain dancing upon the window pane
I rejoice in nightfalls scenic display
Stunning sunsets taking one's breathe away.
There's not a fragrant rose in June that blooms
Nor stars twinkling brightly around the moon
No clouds adorning the canvas of sky
That doesn't send reflections of God on high.
In the morning I will sing of your love...
* * *
19th October 2020
Dear All
Hot today. Hired a car. Took to hills. Travelled far.
Narrow road. Never ends. Sweat on wheel. Hairpin bends.
Glanced at temp. Glanced at fuel. Aircon found. Turned to cool.
Island sun. Not like ours. Single track. Other cars.
Parked at top. Lovely sight. Valleys. Vineyards. Left and right.
Church looks out. Opened door. Spanish writing. Walls and floor.
Candle lit. Sat for prayer. Silence deep. Everywhere.
Dark and cool. Warm in feel. Off The Strip. Life here's real.
Gary & Ann
X
Mornings, light and smiling
Coffee brewing, black
Meat frying in a cast iron skillet
Grease, flour and milk, stirred together
Gravy poured over steaming biscuits
Granny’s breakfast – typically
Grown to life from a wood cookstove
Noon, gentle sunshine
Picking cornfield beans, breaking
The beans and then washing them
Placing them into a vessel, a pot
Seasoned with pork - fatback
Cooking over the sweaty heat
Of that stove where oak and birch
Smoked with flames of dripping
Perspiration falling from faces
Who were encouraged to listen
With wistful wishes warming
Hearts who know Granny’s garden
Will sustain the whole lot of a family
From the Appalachian mountains
Evening, flickering fireflies
Dancing through the night
Flavoring the heart with joy
As the porch swing squeaks to life
Reminding the heart that loves
Lives here, amid the beans and trees
The biscuits and pork drippings
Grease for gravy, seasonings
And the mind just a bit gladder
Because there is this devotion
Family with foundations of love
Brought to life by His presence
It is their faith that awakens
The mind, the heart, the soul
To the light that survives the test
Of time, of memories, of sighs
In the air of reminiscence, memory
Breathing music through the night
Singing praise to the God of love
The reason for all that delights
The wonder of a prayer satisfied
To the memory – this is the good life!
u CHOOSE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Theme chosen - 15.Love
April 9, 2022
I shall not waiver nor will I digress
from gazing at these lambent hills of green
where mounds of grass like cobblestones progress
from creek beds where the ash and alder preen,
their leaves like coins that shimmer in the sun,
up to the graceful summits round and lush,
that as the waning mists become undone
and dissipate within the morning hush
are bathed in iridescent emerald.
My eyes are now redeemed of paining dark,
though stars' asunder twinkling would herald
the incandescent trilling of the lark.
Indeed with eyes enraptured I confess
I shall not waiver nor will I digress.
10/22/18
Wood Hills Creek
All is quaintly quiet on Wood Hills Creek
The day after Christmas a silence unique
No shaking hands or exchanging of smiles
Only symmetrical snow as it pleasantly piles
All is fractal frost on Wood Hills Creek
The air chilled and damp a barometer bleak
No warming of hands and hearts left cold
For Christmas is over now back to the old
All is blasphemy bitter on Wood Hills Creek
With shivering silences no words they speak
Goodwill toward man nowhere to be found
Only merchant materials that keep us bound
All is lamentingly lost on Wood Hills Creek
As greed gracefully falls a morphic mystique
The Spirit of Father Christmas left far behind
Until next year...just one day...to be kind.
Dec.21.2016
The Day After Christmas - Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays...
Lavender Hills
Tenderly I sit
on green and lavender hills
watching what's new.
04/15/2018
Evelyn Knight
Every morning at close to four
She made the coffee, percolated
Poured it into cups with saucers
And they each would have a cup
Pouring the potent black liquid
Into the saucers before drinking
The cooling solution from them
This was only one more glimpse
Into the heart of Appalachian living
A day by day extravaganza of insights
Carried down from the Irish ancestors
Who’d come to this land in America
Realizing it reminded them of the
Wonders that were once their Ireland
As the coffee moved from the percolator
To a Mr. Coffee that sat on the sink
The children began to drink from their cups
But Granny and Pa still used their saucers
A reminder of all that had come before
And the things that were past that would
Forever remain ingrained in their hearts
I long to walk the hills today
among bare trees that dance and sway
where leaves, now flightless, stories tell
where damp and rotting, earthy smells
enhance and echo what they say
I long to walk beneath the trees
so graceful, bending in the breeze
reflected in the runoff creek
where I can often catch a peek
before fawns scamper off with ease
I long to walk beside the brook
that shows the path the water took
when last the clouds threw back their doors
and blessed us with their precious stores
left shallow ponds in shady nooks
I long to sit upon a rock
and simply let the water talk
I babble far too much, it seems
there’s much to learn from quiet streams
away from demands of the clock
So I’ve decided what to do
and maybe it’s okay with you
for I’ve resolved: put down the pen
cast wide the door and walk again
perhaps you’d like to join me too?
Stardust burning your eyes,
Colors you long to touch,
Lots of luck
dreamin' your way out of this one,
you've run out of time;
Your covered in dust;
Touch the waves with your toe,
Feel the joyful breeze:
the joyful lack of direction
the total lack of frustration
and always the smell of the ocean;
There's a reason
the stars make California their home;
It's the place everyone sings about
the ocean, the stars, the sun
lot's of luck
dreamin' your way out of this one
your already gone.
sloppy fields carpeted
with golden mellowing wheats
a fevered light
with vibrant sun, trapped in pigment
bleeds across the canvas
the wheat, thousands of tiny swords
with each stalk a silent hum
caressed by a gentle breeze
ever try to reach
the impossible blue
some dark green defiant cypresses
overshadowing the surrounds
stretching towards the sky
spinning their secret story
of sublime strength and resilience
providing shade around them
stand as silent vigils
guarding intruders
a serpentine path
winds its way through the fields
leading to some houses
and beyond to a cobalt stream
the dwellings of familiar shape
not grand, not imposing
stand gazing at the sapphire sky
shrouded with some stretches
of cotton clouds
each window, a rectangle of mystery
holds surreal surprises
one can hardly guess
blooming like whispers
with the chimneys` silhouettes
a smudge of charcoal
breathing quiet sighs
into the vast, indifferent air
in the background
hills shaped in quasi-perfect triangles
reflect the azure blue sky
merging with the horizon
with a sense of infinity
it is not just a scenic scene
of undulating wheat fields
and giant cypresses
but a warmth of feeling
a serenity made tangible
a quietude, that speaks
its own language
Vincent with his passionate brush
made the scene bloom
made it blaze
a place for living in peace
a place for inhaling nature`s bliss
a piece of land fallen
from heaven to earth.