Best Outcropping Poems
Wings flutter
off in the distance
as I shuffle through these stones,
tasting the energy trapped in each,
scouring my lands
for my lost crystal,
that which can mend
what I’ve torn asunder.
In frustration
I abandon my quest,
deciding to find
my feathery deity,
the wind carries her scent to me
and I head Northeast,
diving through brush
and dodging trees
like only a Lycan may.
She must have picked up on my intentions
for I sense her
heading towards me
so I veer more northward,
there’s a place I know.
As I draw near
you can hear water
cascading off rocks,
when I arrive the moon is up,
clouds curled beneath it
as if it were a white pearl
resting on gray cushions,
to the right
the beginnings of a river
being fed by the waterfall,
about 80’ tall
careening off the three
stone outcroppings
and filling the air in the clearing
with a fine mist,
the left is ringed
by long needled pines
which have supplied the ground
with a soft cushion.
My winged beauty
lands on the third outcropping
whipping her hair back
under the waterfall’s edge.
I sprint to the water’s shore
and leap to the first,
as my claws connect
bound to the second,
paws touching
then legs thrust me
to the third
where I bring myself erect,
better to ensnare my love
within my arms.
As I bring her close to me
she raises her left hand up
and caresses my muzzle and cheek
with her claws,
I bend downward
and gently
sink my teeth
into the side of her neck,
she springs off the precipice ,
me entwined,
and glides down to the pine needle bed.
As we land
she pushes herself up,
drags her right claw
down my chest
and leans in to drink.
I drag one nail along
each shoulder blade
and let her blood
drip down on me
while I lick my claws clean.
After hours
she crashes down
into my chest,
exhaustion settling in.
I cup my hand around the back of her head,
hair entwined
in my fingers
and as she uses her wings
to blanket us
we drift off
into a pleasant slumber
while the stars blink at us
and the night creatures
serenade us with their calls.
The hawk lay upon the lazy late afternoon
air currents;
Floating, circling, spiraling, ever downward.
Its wings spread wide, white feather-tips splayed.
It teetered on the updraft
above the terraced alluvial plains
in the lea of the Himalayas.
Landing with a compression of desire
upon the crumbling limestone outcropping,
It stood preening.
Waiting,
For the next breeze.
hot, humid, barren
granite outcropping garden
brown moss, flowers bloom
8/3/2018
Senses are aware of a cavernousness,
And of a stillness almost quietley abrupt..!
softness of light & air surround all,
deft as breath as from a doves wing reposing
billows of liquid descending are as grains,
the seeds of an "almost raining"
A lowering of horizion encompasses,
Valley, ridge, and outcropping crag's
the listening atmosphere waits...
breathless as soil is enriching
Close by mammals disturb the folds of fallen bracken,
with bursts of muffled sound, as hand in hand lovers stroll around
Poem by Joe Maverick copyright 27 9 2011
This poem is for Michael J. Falotico's falling in love in the fall contest:)
Firecracker - a paper or cardboard cylinder filled with an explosive and having a fuse, for discharging to make a noise.
Firethe Southern sergeant shouts to the boys behind him
In unison, we live or die together, light the fuse. The enemy
Rises up from behind a rocky outcropping
Effectively blocking the allied advance. Shrapnel
Crescendos from the jeeps in the rear, cutting down
Riflemen not killed instantly by the attack.
Another night passes, nightmares replay the
Carnage of a war un-won, I see the bodies of friends
Killed in the name of God. Every dead man
Earnestly left life not knowing if
Right was truly in their
Side.
High amongst the mountain peaks,
Stands a gnarled old tree.
Clinging desperately to the rocky cliff,
It is the only one to see.
How many years long past,
Has the tree tried to live,
On that rocky outcropping,
The mountain would grudgingly give.
Into the ancient cracks of the mountainside,
The tree’s roots desperately cling,
Barely covered in the little soil,
That the airs could barely bring.
For countless ages has it borne,
The wraths of wind, ice, and snow.
Reduced to a contorted pose,
The tree continues to grow.
Half dead in the summer it is,
From the eternal lack of rain.
Still, when the snows do melt,
It tries to grow again.
How many years more will it be,
Before the tree is finally slain,
And standing there forevermore,
Its withered shell shall remain.
Cold breeze cutting to the bone
as pitter patter of sleet hit leaves.
Squirrels running around gathering acorns
blue jays, sparrows, juncos
flying tree to tree.
Fountain spraying free
in the lake
as I walk at its side.
Leaves in winter array
lay on the ground
crunching under my stride.
Flakes of white
begin to fly from above
as I round the bend.
Rocky outcropping covered with ice
as go through the valley
my mind floats free
with joy and peace.
Cold wind swaying mighty trees
side to side
in their naked array.
as you walk in to this world
your power is absolute
your imagination the only cage
power is an unknown
as it seems but a dream
you take your lover by the hand
in the fields of tall grass and prairie flowers
you fell the wind twist between your fingers
you watch the flowers bloom in the suns rays
they hit our face as the moon rises
the sky fills with stars
like a glass hitting the ground
your lover takes your hand
as the sky falls in to you
there is but one light before you
it start to twist and grow
the sky runs from you
as you take up the chase
you come to a stop as a lake appears at your feet
on a outcropping above the lake
your lover sings with a voice of ice
there voice following the shiver running up you spine
you stand beside you lover
the smile falls from your face
as your lover fades away
the moon smile with your lovers face
the moons loving rays mirror in the lake
the rays hit your face as the sun rises
a book in your hand a fire burning in the hearth
the night is complimented by the snow falling
the snow flakes hit your face
your clock blows in the wind
as you lover touches your neck
you look in to their eyes
and take your lovers hands
your lover takes you lips
as you walk in to this world
your power is absolute
your imagination the only cage
power is an unknown
as it seems but a dream
COLLABORATION CONTEST
The Petal-Sprinkled Path
The petal-sprinkled path
We walked together
The lip-sharing math
In the cherry weather
We walked together
Time flew with lightning speed
In the cherry weather
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Time flew in lightning speed
We knitted the tales of lips
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Through an ocean moved the ships
We knitted the tales of lips
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there
Through an ocean moved the ships
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there,
Outcropping of pleasure, around, and through
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Audience veil, ardent scents, and blush dew
Outcropping of pleasure around and through
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
Audience veil, ardent scent, and blush dew
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
The lip-sharing math
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
The petal-sprinkled path
7/7/2017
Poetry Contest: COLLABORATION CONTEST
Sponsored by: JAN ALLISON
a lonely tower
on a rocky outcropping
gold light pierces fog
sailors raise a mug
aboard the once doomed ship
all mainsails unfurl
Contest: In the Light of haiku
Poet: D. Guzzi
The Petal-Sprinkled Path
The petal-sprinkled path
We walked together
The lip-sharing math
In the cherry weather
We walked together
Time flew with lightning speed
In the cherry weather
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Time flew in lightning speed
We knitted the tales of lips
Witnessed by the moss and weed
Through an ocean moved the ships
We knitted the tales of lips
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there
Through an ocean moved the ships
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Amidst of ancient woodland hidden there,
Outcropping of pleasure, around, and through
In a quiescence of lulls spell, time wears
Audience veil, ardent scents, and blush dew
Outcropping of pleasure around and through
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
Audience veil, ardent scent, and blush dew
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
Bring forth a curtain of rare verdant trees
The lip-sharing math
Peering out heavens trickle summer seas
The petal-sprinkled path
7/7/2017
COLLABORATION with Probir Gupta
Poetry Contest: COLLABORATION CONTEST
Sponsored by: JAN ALLISON
Late one balmy June afternoon,
I perched on an outcropping of obsidian rock,
watching wide-eyed up the mountain
spewing molten lava into the sky. I was fourteen.
The base was fringed with a blanket of the green canopy,
which abruptly ended halfway up,
where the the bare rock face stood out like a scar.
The towering volcano bore its wound proudly,
roaring its challenge, molten spittle flying from its mouth. I was fourteen.
What must it be like to have the power to create and destroy?
Closing my eyes, my feet left the outcropping of lava rock.
I joined the flow of lava,
reaching out and devouring the nearest organic material,
traveling farther, over the outcropping it had taken years to build,
hissing as I cooled, leaving my mark on the majestic landscape. I was fourteen.
My hands trembled as I raised my small blue camera,
trying to capture a snapshot of the incredible force of nature before my eyes.
A tumbling rock, slapped the mountain side.
The resounding crash vibrated through my feet.
A shiver, that had nothing to do with the sinking sun, wracked my frame.
If I had ever needed proof of God, I was witnessing Him at that moment.
There I stood, weeping with awe, fourteen.
Sorrow drowns on dry land
Standing at a distance,
staring at staggered lines
on a rock face outcropping
buried deep beneath
an ancient rose garden
Corroded iron bars
chained and bolted,
left for dead as brittle petals
find a funnel cloud forming
and dance in a whirlwind mosaic
Disguised bold lettering
of forgotten fonts curl and peel
as bark from a crying birch tree
waits for spring
so it can start anew
Sunlight smears blue sky dreams
in finger paint colors
designing the moment
in portraits of a heart – this heart
basking in your glow
And as your smile approaches
the earth rejoices, pine tree party hats,
hibiscus streamers wave
as a happy ending reigns
at the conclusion of this poem –
with the deceptive title
I
Cut clean through two tall black mountains,
A jagged metal river froths like rabies.
Raging between outcast boulders and spires
The blue-grey greatsword eternally grinding at stone.
The footpath worn through and ground in,
Etched into the cliffs over centuries,
Standing testament to humanity’s trials;
Written upon the precipice with bones.
II
My footsteps echoed over the muddy grey shale
This day, as the ashen sunrise cast
Each arduous step in a lazy silver haze,
The singing sea’s fog slipped along the slick slate
Impaling wary souls upon a bone-rattling gale.
The roar of the piercing wind lashed
At an unseen shoreline, driving stakes
Through shivering, shuffling, submittent wights.
III
The line crawling across the ancient path
Moved as if on a string: the last
Step falling into the prints made
By those ahead, left for those behind.
Beckoned onward by destiny, seduced by blind faith,
We journey under frayed sheepskins and threads.
My hand, pitted and dark, digs with nails like dull spades
Into a low outcropping, preceding the fall of the Blind;
IV
The gravel pathway melted underfoot, under ragged boots
And, clinging for life, for desperate survival in vain,
Left hand fighting fiercely a losing dance with gravity
While the right reached out to be saved.
Shadows encircling but none too close, they were rooted
In the breadth of their path. None seemed impelled
To reach for anything save the light pouring forth from their grail.
Hope fleeting, I release, and what was given been repaid.
V
Never to see the sun’s golden promise on seaside fog,
The restless river races to greet another truant soul
Who dropped from the odyssey like a fruit fly born next to
An empty bowl. The silver-wreathed cemetery trees ring;
The seeds that sprout a network bloom in springtime sunrises;
A sapling oak without strong roots blows over with a light breeze.
It’s not the bitter winds of Winter that saps soul from the weak -
It’s the slow frost of existence in the lucent promise of Spring.
I'm scrapin' the marrow
I'm scrapin' the marrow from the
splintered bones of my last hero
Sustenance
Flecks of sustenance as I cower
Cower under this shelf
This outcropping of old white guy
Trepidatiously I peer out at a
Skynet world
Shadow governments
Shady leaders
Populations being winnowed
Pared back by progress
There was a time (and I remember this time) when it was said "Man will never walk on the Moon"
And now when it is said "Worldwide famine is impossible"
I ain't so sure
Weavin'
Weavin' the sinew of my last hero
Weavin' a cord
A sling cord
Need a pouch
Here's one
Need stones
Here's two
A guy once told me "You have to give a bit of yourself to the effort"
I understand that now as I sip from the skull top cup
of
my last hero